Run away.

All of my life I've dreamed of "better" places. Of running away.

I romanticized about Paris and Greece, wishing to be basking away in the sun by the sea and sipping coffee in a little bakery down the street from my apartment.

I played out scenarios of living in little villages in Africa and traveling all up and down Central America.

I've planned trips around the States in my mind, stopping wherever I pleased, never having a map or agenda. Working odds and ends jobs and being whoever I wanted to be.

All I have ever wanted is adventure.

Traveling at such a young age, I've acquired some wisdom and knowledge about the ways of the world. I've had cultural experiences I could never have imagined in my 11-year old brain. I've met beautiful people along my journey. Inspiring, creative, motivated, loving, wild, visionary kinds of people. Kids with big smiles and big hearts. Friends that have left a tremendous impact on my heart.

So every time I've come back to my small town, the same small town I spent 18 years of my life in, I get antsy. I get this rushing, overwhelming urge to run, to get out, to experience, to adventure, to be somewhere else. It's been like a thorn in my side. I never feel satisfied.

What am I doing wrong? What is the underlying problem here?
I want, need, have to be satisfied.

I honestly enjoy my life. I enjoy every minute, I look for all the positive and good. I cherish the people around me, my family, my beautiful friends, my coworkers, my classmates. I try as much as I can to experience new things around me and to point out the small, wonderful things happening in my life. And I'm happy.

So what's the problem?

I think the problem is me.

I'm not satisfied with me.