Fighting the Blues

For some people, traveling is a luxury. It is something to do when you have money and time.

To me, it's a necessity.

Stay too long with the same scenery and the anxious, antsy feelings come on. My friends can recognize it—the restless habits, the apathetic attitude, the hermit-like tendencies. They know it's coming. And they love that I travel.

They say it's for the pictures.

But I know that I'm more pleasant after an adventure. After I'm reminded of how good I have it. 

After I strike out on my own for a minute or two and realize that maybe I'm not brave, like I pretend to be. 

I'm lonely.

And these trips to this places on my own only heighten that emotion. And make me crave human contact. 

The trips make me happier, more pleasant to be around. But I'm only satisfied for a few months. It's a fleeting happiness. 

I wish that there was reason to my travels. And some companions.