Restlessness is my existence. Constant need for stimulation in one form or another does not sound like an uncommon problem, but in my case, the need is not satiated by social media, television, or materialistic gain. Adaptation is one of my favorite forms of stimulation. Translation: I deeply crave the challenge of flying to a new place, parking myself there, and living in that new environment for however long it suits me. People have called me adventurous, or chalked my craving up to basic wanderlust. I agree with the wanderlust part, but adventurous struck me as odd the first time I heard it. Adventures are things that you participate within temporarily, and then you return (or not) to a place of homeostasis (or, at least, something decidedly “not” the adventure). I recognize I just identified the noun form when I am talking about the adjective, but my brain inextricably melds them. I am dissatisfied with the definition of adventurous as only the willingness to try new things. Adventurous describes someone who enjoys an adventure. I would not set my craving in the same category as the things I simply enjoy. I would rather liken it to something I do because I feel compelled by a constant itch in between my shoulder blades that will not relent while I am within this body. Mayhaps I appear adventurous, but truly I am just doing what I can to feel closest to flight.