Its been three years since the day my life changed forever,
You are missed.
]I’ve now been here for three months. A quarter of a year.
I guess I’ve proved my point, that if you are unhappy where you are, pack your bags up and find someplace better. Truth be told, I’m less miserable than I was in Portland. It’s a great city (both of them.)
A few more months of slogging along, and then I’ll have to come to the inevitable decision.
There are opportunities abound, but few of them in the writing field. I could probably land a nice gig running a cleaner somewhere by this point, or land that dream job from Crothall from years back. I could head back to Maine and open my own shop. There is talk of a Hunter S. Thompson “Gonzo” roving film festival coming next year, with someone needed to herd the turtles, keep the worms all in one unopened can, and securely pack the cats in the correct bags.
But the writing…and the lack of it. There lies the problem.
Frankly, the Sarasota Observer never even bothered to respond to my phone calls. The same trend seems to be developing for the Herald Tribune.
I suppose I could expand the travelogue into a short book. At least one frequent reader contacted me to ask for advice, as she is considering taking the leap herself in a few months.
Vexation, thy mirror image is indecision.
Since relocating to Sarasota, I’ve had this on again off again love affair with going to the beach every weekend. I guess I just didn’t want to be the guy who went to Florida and never went to the beach.
Last weekend was difficult. The weather had not been cooperating, so noon on Sunday I took the plunge to go take a plunge.
Life is tricky sometimes. I had been in a funk lately, so the beach was what I needed. I waded waist deep out into the water, preparing to do the usual body-surfing toward the shore. Then, I noticed something.
A pod of dolphins, roughly 8-10 of them about 20 yeards in front of me. They were lazily surfacing and swimming about. No stupid tricks, just swimming around and showing the fins.
This went on for about fifteen minutes. There were a couple of other swimmers nearby, and we all stood there, watching the pod swim back and forth in front of us.
This wasn’t one of those “Pay us a hundred bucks to jump in the pool with our trained dolphins” kind of things. It was an honest to God wild experience.
A lesser man would lie and say that the dolphins swam near us. They weren’t the slightest bit inquisitive about any of us swimmers. They were just swimming around, and couldn’t give half a pickled shit whether there were humans around or not.
That kind of thing subtly lets you know your place in the universe. The bastards never even bothered to give a thanks for all the fish.
Later that evening, showering off the salt from the ocean, there was another discovery. The first grey pube.
On a Facebook post, I compared this to being the owner of a 1967 Dodge Dart. It isn’t much of a showcar, but years of being careful with it, I still have all the original equipment, with nary a scratch. Sometimes, I even get the chance to take it out for a spin.
This discovery was the equivalent of finding a big old rust spot on that classic.
Serendipity gives, and nature reminds.