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Little did I know, I would hold that blue bottle again.

I continued along the beach, lost in the pros and cons of moving. I loved it here in my little cabin close to the water. I loved to walk here. I loved the sound of the water. I loved the blue sky, the dunes, the goofy things that washed up along the shore. Aside from that bottle, I’d also picked up random single shoes, reading glasses, a plastic Smurf, and once, an old gold coin. But opportunity was knocking, and I was getting itchy. It was true that I had a steady job at the small local library. It was also true that I was just coasting and had a lot more to offer and, well, I wanted more. Sure, Monte was here, and solid, and consistent. And I wanted more.

This was not helping, and it wasn’t making anything easier or clearer. Looking out, over the water, I had to wonder what might be out there. Why did I have to wonder? I’d been here what felt like forever, five years, and it was good. Problem was, every time I picked something up off the beach when I walked, its story pulled at me. I didn’t know any of the stories, but I wanted to.

I stopped and, resting my hands on my knees, I breathed as I rounded and flattened my back. Repeating the stretch several times, I finally sat down out of the reach of the lapping waves and tried to shut the voices up that kept on in my head. I let the whisper of the breeze take the voices while I tried to think about nothing. You can imagine how that was working out.