A sense of place is a strange thing. We never seem to be happy where we are because we’re thinking of another place we’d rather be, or not necessarily rather be but be as well. On the rare occasion when we’re content in the moment with where we are, we must soak it in because it doesn’t come by too often. We always think about what we could be enjoying somewhere else, and fail to realize what we could be enjoying right where we are. But I guess this applies to other things in life besides just place. We always want what we can’t have…