When I was very young and the urge to be someplace was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked. ... In other words, I don't improve, in further words, once a bum always a bum. I fear the disease is incurable
-John Steinbeck

Just meandering about in the electronic universe, trying to come to grips with my own life in some way. In that meandering I came across this quote from the site of Gavin Gough, a traveller, someone who cashed in his comfortable life to risk acheiving his desire. Cheers to him, my applause for following the dream.

Inside myself there is an itch, some burning desire, unexplainable as to the details, but the general jist of it is this; there is something within which I yearn to express. Somehow, I don't feel comfortable in the life I lead, there is more to my life than I am currently experiencing. I know it, my heart knows it, my brain knows it. Problem is I'm not sure how to satiate my own desire, because I cannot (as of yet) put my desire into words. It exists as a feeling, undefined, intangible. Not until this feeling becomes defined will I be able to walk its path or quell the fire within. Desire is a strange feeling. Burning desire is near soul destroying. How do I discover the unknown, sing into existence that which resides in the recesses of my soul?
- posted by the Tourist @ 14:40UTC - want to