On life as a nomad

You get used to living in a place - it somehow seeps into your bones, and you start to feel as though it is normal.  After living in the England for 1.5 years,  it has started to become part of me.   Although there are things about England that I don't like, and I certainly miss Australia and my original home, NZ, England has a feel about it that is now something like home.  I'm not sure that I can explain what it is. 

When I first moved there, on the surface it seemed so similar, but it felt so different - as though it were screaming, crying, shouting.  In contrast, Australia hums dully, peacefully, calmly.  Australia is shiny, fresh, sparkling and dry like dead tree branches on the ground; England is like a crowd of cranky old people who yell at you, then tell you their life stories and give you biscuits!  But mostly, England groans with activity, hobbies, eccentricities, clubs, groups, old houses, new houses, people, crowds, carparks, picnics, fetes, churches, ramblers, signs, instructions, broken people, lost people, discovering people and celebrating people.  You squeeze your life into the gap between all the things that went before and are still there.  Mostly, Australia is empty, lying on the back lawn with a book over its face.  Your life can sprawl where ever it wants to.  The difference is hard to get used to.

But the life of a nomad - how to go forward, knowing another new place awaits with new people, new lives and a feeling all of its own?  And even harder, how to go back, knowing what you've already left behind and moved on from.  In particular, how to go back from a buzzing, groaning life of mad, eccentric, sometimes grumpy chaos, to a life of peace, sleep and serenity?  I don't have to go back of course, or forward, but I have to go somewhere...