itchy feet

I don't know if this a curse suffered by other people. I say curse, because those of us with it seem destined never to be able to fully settle down, become totally involved and engaged and do all those lovely community-type things so beloved of...well, (other) people. We may learn and experience many new, strange things in our lives which shape us and help us to become more open-minded (and hopefully) wise people. We may see mind-broadening things. But this isn't necessarily "better", as we often don't get the hang of fully experiencing any one thing properly. In essence, we lose the trees for the wood. We're the ADHD kids (for complaints for using the simile, please go elsewhere) in the class - constantly taking in but never, perhaps, fully retaining. And we never seem as contented, somehow.

Anyway, with reference to that first sentence: I know it's experienced by some, but the full extent of the curse is unknown to me. Is innate discontent at the root of it, or is it an effect, or even a mobius strip-like phenomenon? Is it a sort of Chernobyl-type cloud in its pattern, simply reflecting the randomness (or chaos in its true sense) of nature, the little outcroppings of oddness in a sea of sameness?

(And yes, I know the cloud mentioned is anything but random, having been buffeted by climate for years, but looking at its patchy meanderings now it seems rather scattered and confused.)

Or is it a function of our culture? And by this, I don't necessarily mean the culture we're born into, but also, perhaps, the culture we adopt as we grow older/more difficult/more individual? (I would like to argue here that many people, in fact, grow less individual over time - those who don't appear to be either completely incapable of integrating fully, or put effort and thought into it.)

Perhaps it harks (yes, harks) back to a period when mankind was somewhat more mobile - used to seeing different landscapes, meeting different people (if only to steal their women and livestock). If so, then it could be argued that people who're inveterately itchy around the pedal extremities are still very much in touch with our more, well, ancestral selves. Instinct? Ancestral memory? God alone (or not) knows.

Whatever the causes, I find myself in a fit of itchiness at the moment. Not for travel in the "travel for the sake of it" sense, but more the need for new people, new adventures, new experiences. These don't necessarily have to come from visiting the blah blah temple in some far distant land, eagerly pushing aside other people with the same idea. No, a quiet little suburb somewhere holds the same level of interest and learning as anything that grandiose (more on that in another post at some point). Not that a "great" adventure would go amiss either, of course.

Some sun would be nice, too. The UK has it in incredibly short supply, and the little Vitamin D critters that used to inhabit my bloodstream have stopped multiplying, and indeed have begun to shrink drastically in number: in this way, they resemble increasingly large parts of Europe.

More on this later, but I wanted to get it off my chest. Adventure, please, any adventure, would be great right now.