He’d headed west ’cause he felt that a change would do him good,

But now, even years later, he wonders what he was chasing.

California’s beauty never matched the restlessness inside.

The golden hills were just a backdrop to a mind always looking for the next escape.

It’s the stillness that gets to him.

The silence of routine, the comfort that starts to feel like a trap.

He once thrived in the unpredictability, the sudden orders,

The kind of movement that kept his thoughts sharp,

Where every mile meant something new, something unknown.

Now, the urge to leave lingers like a low hum in the back of his mind,

Not loud, but constant, unsettling.

It whispers of places he hasn’t seen yet, roads that stretch without end,

And people—those friends scattered across the country—

Who feel like fragments of a past life,

Tied together by the moments shared in motion.

Sometimes he imagines the relief of simply leaving,

Driving until the doubts fall behind,

Reconnecting with those who understand the need to keep moving.

Each visit a reminder that he’s not alone in this unsettled state,

That others, too, are scattered like him,

Drawn together not by place but by the shared experience of never quite belonging anywhere.

But the thought of staying—of roots, of routine—

It digs at him, too, making him question if it’s fear of the unknown that holds him back,

Or something deeper, something he’s not ready to face.

For now, it’s easier to stay in place,

Though the road always seems just a thought away.

You’ll likely notice a line in this pulled directly from the song Hollywood Hills by Bob Seager. You aren’t crazy, it’s there. That song was the inspiration for this. It’s one of my top songs and when it comes on, this poem is where my brain goes.