There are places that each of us are meant to be. We may never find those places; worse, we may never recognize them for what they are, for the unique and special connection that we could have with them.

In the meantime, we’ll stumble and wander from place to place, perhaps lost, perhaps only restless and dissatisifed.

The only other option is to settle for less than what we really desire, to be content with what we are given, with what floats our way. There’s a level of sloth in that way, though.

While there are no guarantees that we will ever find what we are looking for, or that we will recognize it when we do, or that what we seek will even be obtainable once we find it — while all of this is true, does that really rationalize giving up and making do?

I don’t get too comfortable here, because it’s not where I’m supposed to be. Not in the end, at least. And I’m not anxious to leave, because there’s no point in jumping from one place to another without taking a look first, feeling around and checking to see if it’s where I want to be going.

Outside of that dream destination, it’s all just different names for the same place.