Wanderlust

Been thinking lately about the idea of wanderlust. Is it a malady or a boon? The ultimate literary example of wanderlust is Ishmael, the narrator and protagonist of Herman Melville's Moby Dick. Ishmael, who must take himself to see whenever he finds himself "grim of mouth" for fear of knocking the hats off people's heads as he walks down the street.

I can sympathize.

I've moved more times then I can count and find myself wanting to move again.
Feeling the constraints of small town, dreaming of the city, San Francisco, Oakland and all of the adventures I dream await me.

Yet, how many times can one move in a lifetime? Look at the trouble that Ishmael's constant wanderings brought him. He watched all his shipmates die and almost died at the hands of the great white whale. But how boring might his life have been if he stayed on shore?