Is travel my drug?

"I should like to spend the whole of my in life traveling abroad, if I could anywhere borrow another life to spend afterwards at home." — William Hazlitt

If travel is my drug, is the high wearing thin? I find myself addicted to travel, to the lure of the unknown, the intrigue of strange faces, the funkiness and vivacity of the appearances - not to mention the personalities - of fellow travelers. I relish the delight of a foreign accent upon my ears, the fusion of anonymity with otherness of wandering among a sea of faces unlike my own, the excitement of never knowing where I might lay my head in the evening.

But while I'm enjoying myself here, certainly, and my excitement builds about the adventures awaiting me, it's not the same level of delight I once had. It's nice, but it feels comfortable - almost normal. I suppose I wanted to be elated, this whole time, which likely is an unsustainable emotional high. I suppose part of the novelty of travel was learning I could take care of myself, amidst people whose language I hadn't mastered, with different customs. I've learned that lessonyear ago - I haven't wowed myself on this trip. I haven't learned anything new about myself (yet). And while I used to meet travelers and be wowed at their stories, it's become commonplace. Yeah, yeah, we all are variations on the same few themes. We're all cut from the same mold. So there's less intrigue about meeting strangers, developing short-lived friendships.

If travel is my drug, what's the next, bigger, high? Or is this trip - a spiritual quest, in part - an example to learn to live with the Buddhist belief of the middle path of non-attachment?