249-The Lanyard

There's a few things in life that will wake you up.

Most of those are unpleasant things- things we would rather sleep through, wish they never happened, or bury deep.

And then there are the good things in life that nudge you awake with light fingers- casting shadows where there once was only darkness.

One of those is standing on a crystal beach in the dawn hours, watching dolphins swim less than a hundred yards away. Alone and quiet, music playing softly in the dangling earbuds - ripped out to hear the sounds of the ocean and feel the ocean breeze as it brings some kind of answer back across the water.

And you realize- if you are lucky- that this tranquil scene, this peace is really just raw power- an ageless, nameless mystery that is the sea. The dolphins, seaweed and shells that scatter in the sand are simply a part of the whole- the whole is the sound that echoes in you- and you realize how hollow you've become.

Or perhaps that was just me.

The man next to me- who I stopped by while frantically texting back an answer to a coworker about a continuous reservation set up- seemed more at peace with himself than many men I've seen in my time standing behind the desk.

He simply tapped my shoulder, waited until I slipped my earphones out of, and murmured, "Can you see they're following us?"

And as I walked down the beach, they did.

So, I stopped at the edge of the town houses littering the dunes- legs aching with the effort of walking on the hot sand, legs crusted with the salt of the ocean, and eyes narrowed at the sun fiercely bouncing off the blue waves- and I let everything go.

I let the phone buzz the rest of the trip- I didn't pick it up if I could help it. I turned the music down so it was a part of the waves instead of drowning them out. I walked back along the umbrellas and chairs, keeping my eyes on the pod. I stopped- knelt at the shore line and stopped worrying about getting sand all over my clothes and just let the waves and seaweed and heaven knows what else just wash over my legs.

And I did this every morning. Alone. Because when I silenced my head, I could better understand my heart.

 That week I was surrounded with friends who I knew and loved- with all their faults and all their virtues.  And as we laughed and joked, argued and bickered, sulked and resented, talked and loved- we all put lanyards of various color around our right wrist and laughingly called ourselves a family of sorts.

By the time we found ourselves heading home, I still had the lanyard wrapped around my wrist to remind me.

Remember what it was like to face the ocean and know there are bigger things in this world. Mysteries and wonders and horrors and tragedies that you can either avoid until they find you or you go seek out.

Remember that waking up every morning and dragging yourself to a job you hate and then back to a home that you've outgrown, with friends miles away and hitting dead end after dead end is not going to change anything. (Putting in dues and being in a rut are two different things, my friends. Don't forget that. )

So, a little piece of rope sits bright orange against the tan skin of my right wrist- fraying and wearing as the days go on- as a reminder. It brought me peace as I drove home, strength as I walked into the office of a good friend and wonderful boss to turn in my notice, resolution when faced with unerring distress from family, and tranquility in the hours when doubt wiggles in and drowns out the roaring of the waves in me.

So, why am I packing up, taking a huge risk by forsaking a steady job, free food and rent, and going back to a city I left a year ago?

Because I stared out over blue water, fell asleep on the sand, and woke up with the knowledge that I had to stand up and move forward- even if that means falling flat on my face. I keep the orange tied around my hand, a constant source of reassurance and a reminder of what I'm headed towards and I ignore the jibes as they echo in my ears. This may not be a wise decision, I'll admit to that readily. I am doing it half blind and with no real safety net.

But it will be living.

And I'm ready for the next adventure.