I love traveling and when a friend of mine posted this poet I thought "That's me!" (Thanks Mark). This poet "The Men that don't fit in" is from Robert W. Service. The text is actually much longer and becomes even better.
There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;So they break the hearts of kith and kin,And they roam the world at will.They range the field and they rove the flood,And they climb the mountain's crest;Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,And they don't know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;But they're always tired of the things that are,And they want the strange and new.They say: "Could I find my proper groove,What a deep mark I would make!"So they chop and change, and each fresh moveIs only a fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,It's the steady, quiet, plodding onesWho win in the lifelong race.And each forgets that his youth has fled,Forgets that his prime is past,Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,In the glare of the truth at last.
He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.Life's been a jolly good joke on him,And now is the time to laugh.Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;He was never meant to win;He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;He's a man who won't fit in.