Traveling becomes a drug. As soon as you get home, you want the next fix as fast as possible. All you can think of is to flee and make new homes in new places far, far away where parts of you that go unexpressed here get to sing and soar there.
So when you have a bad travel habit and yet can no longer sojourn, you go into withdrawal where everybody and everything fades into the dank and dusty paint chips you’ve been staring at for ages. Social anxiety and dasein go ape-shit…sending high voltage shocks to all your nerve endings and neurons….
I am currently coping with this withdrawal, and so I am quiet, a bit anti-social, and ultimately trying to suss out how to keep the spirit of place and travel alive in my writing and my heart while possibly never getting to leave my home state for quite a while.