Natasha Fondren

I’m restless again. One of the things I feared was that even though I left my old town, I knew I was bringing myself with me. And I feared that I’d be bringing bits that had been making me miserable before.

I’m glad to report that none of my bits were making me miserable. Those bits are all back in my old town.

But I’m surprised that my restlessness came with me. I’ve got what full-timers (those who travel in RVs permanently) call “hitch itch,” as in, time to hitch the trailer to the truck and get on the road again. This feeling surprised me, because I’m so happy here. I love being near my best friend and niece. I love everything about where I am right now.

My dad died when I was ten, but there are so many conversations that I, the adult, wish I could go back in time and have with my dad. He was a restless sort, a traveler. I wonder if this is a permanent condition, if I’ll constantly be chasing new places for no apparent reason at all.

I wish my foot would get better, so at least I could vent some of my restless feelings in some sport.

“Itch” is a good word for it, because it really does gnaw at you like an unscratched mosquito bite. Restlessness is irritating. I’d lived with it for several years, and I’d hoped to leave it behind. It is not a comfortable feeling.

But here it is again.

And I’m not sure what to do with it. I’m perplexed.