The undefinable tug for new challenge, to know what is beyond, what will become.
Does it pass through blood?
Ancestors were restless enough to travel the Earth, optimistic that what they carried in the wits about them was enough to be transformed.
Is it human nature, this twitch that holds in it aspiration?
Is it courage? The strength to hold that the future is not lost when loaded with the need for change.
Or is it evil, the anxiety, the discontent that blocks the present, consumes thoughts, makes fools?
Some call it the hand of God, the will of the almighty to direct us where we are supposed to be.
To feel it is to be beckoned. Summoned by the future. Pushed away from complacency, mediocrity, towards the better, to who you want to be.
Hope is hauled by the restless, pulled by small steps, big urges.
Impossibly heavy burdens made somehow light.