The brief evolution of the life of a person with wanderlust who lives in one place:
First, you tiptoe around, watching how everything is said and done and discreetly mimicking others, getting stuck behind obstacles before eventually climbing over them, and searching for the local key to health and happiness. (It must be somewhere).
Then, you start walking normally, though still a little gingerly, as you learn the lay of the land, and feel at ease as you discover this new place and make new friends. You even make jokes about those silly mundane hurdles you encountered a few months earlier.
Then, you start stomping through town, sure of your purpose and your ability to fulfill it. This is your project, and this is your house, and these are your people.
Then, the stomping wears you out and you sit for awhile, just wanting to take it easy and enjoy the comfortable life you’ve somehow created in spite of your flighty tendencies.
Then, you get bored of the sitting and feel trapped by the easiness and you start to wonder where else you can start tiptoeing around.