Before that, there were other places that called to you. Places built of stone and wood. Castles and cathedrals, palazzos, museums, chocolate shops, and tiny bakeries. Libraries, town squares, cemeteries--they called to you in almost a sacred way. They still pluck at your imagination and beg you to people them and layer them with stories.
Sometimes you have to wander down narrow alleyways until you reach a long band of road stretching out into the distance before you figure out what that story is. Meandering is something you do well. You meander like a champion. But, eventually, you have to get somewhere, so you hitch up your britches and move along.
These days, you've been moving along at quite a pace, though often it feels like a snail's pace. But now your snail's pace has brought you to the end of the road. You're just about ready to leave one place and exchange it for another. The chasm seems wide, and the bridge narrow, and you can't help looking back to the safety of the known. Still, adventure calls you. It's time to meander elsewhere.