Life in motion
I traveled a lot as a kid. My parents came to the US without a plan, which usually meant that they had no choice but to find work wherever they could: South Carolina, Oklahoma, Massachusetts, New York — wherever the next paycheck was. And since we had family across the Pacific, we were always tethered to Asia, so trips back were a summer routine.
When I was a teenager, my sister moved to San Francisco. I visited frequently, and remember being fascinated by all of California. So, when the time came for college, I packed up all my stuff and moved to Los Angeles. Just to be there.
For the past 6 years, I've lived in San Francisco. And as great as the city is, it's weighing on me.
Why?
There're those of us who are, because of our childhoods, adapted to lives in motion. Who feel the urge, after a certain period, to drastically reinvent ourselves or our surroundings.
On one hand, what a curse — as soon as we settle into a new place or identity, the timer starts ticking. Regardless of the spots we've found, the friends we've made, the job we've worked so hard at, and the person we've become, we can't find it in ourselves to ignore the urge.
On the other hand, what a beautifully human experience. There's a mechanism that, every so often, overpowers our evolutionary bias for stability and comfort. It screams and yells and pouts, until we feed it the right amount of uncertainty, exploration, and reinvention.