A nomad stuck in the City

I’m a nomad, through and through. The blood of my roaming ancestors runs hot and thick in my veins. I’ve been living close to 12 years in my current home and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of my house, the neighbourhood and The City. I wish I was someplace else, far away. I feel like there is so much more for me to see and experience beyond my little, suffocating bubble. I used to beg my Mom to move every couple of years just so that I could have a different scenery. My father and I are alike in that respect. He hated being tied down in one place and loved to travel and take trips. He practically went all over the US and back home he used to take trips spontaneously, whenever the urge hit him. He used to ask my Mom to come with him but she refused all the time. Moving around wasn’t good for us because we were going to school and it would’ve disrupted our lives, but oh how I wish he was still alive so we’d go on road trips.

I feel like the most I want to stay in one place is 5 years tops. Then I get bored, restless and yearn to go someplace else. It sucks to be a nomad in a big city. And worst of all, I seem to be the only one with a wandering heart in my circle of friends and family.