The Change

There was no escaping it. The thought had lurked in his subconscious for years. Time to time it would pop into his mind. He never knew what to do about it, so he'd dismiss the thought and trudge on.

He read somewhere, he couldn't remember where, that if you can't see where you want to be from where you are, change something, change anything, change everything, but make a change. Where you want to be isn't on your horizon, it's someplace far away, with choices far different from your choices here. He just couldn't see the point of his life here or the lives of his friends, either. Life's not about accomplishments, houses and toys. Life's about the journey. If you're not enjoying it, what's the point? He finally decided to finally break free. But where would he go from here?

When he tried to imagine possible new futures, all that came to him were sleepless nights and headaches. Well, he’d solve that first so at least he’d have a clear head. He saw a doc, then headed straight to the local pharmacy, turned in his prescription and wandered over to the magazine rack to wait.

He was staring blankly at the rack wondering what he was going to do with his life when it jumped out at him. There in front of him was a sailing magazine, the cover adorned with a sailboat floating gracefully at anchor in a gorgeous, pale aqua bay with a sandy, palm lined beach set against a steep, lush green cliff. The caption said, “Exploring Remote South Seas Islands … page 32.” He grabbed the magazine. Quickly flipping to page 32, he saw thatched huts, outrigger canoes, fishermen casting nets, people tending small farms, a boy half way up a coconut tree, and a bold inset mid page: “A simple, if somewhat difficult life, typifies the outer islands.”

There it was, staring him in the face. After years of brushing the thought aside, he knew he had to act on it.

He took the magazine home, tossed the prescription on his desk, and sat down to study the article. He clipped out the pictures, pinned them to the wall and spent much of the night searching the internet and staring at the pictures. He studied island peoples, how they lived and what they ate, focusing particularly on the more remote islands.

He bought more magazines, and looked into sailing conditions in the South Seas, researched boats and looked into sailing conditions in the South Seas. He joined a sailing club where he took lessons. They said he needed courses on boating safety and first aid at sea. He signed up. It was a start. He could finally see his new horizon.

Of course, his money could run out in a two or three years if he wasn’t frugal or had a bit of bad luck. He'd need to either live off the land or find some way to make a little money here and there. It shouldn’t be that hard. He was a pretty good jack of all trades. He could even charter his boat, take folks around the islands, feed them, pour a few drinks and be with people enjoying their days. If the answer wasn't in paradise, he just jump right back on the boat and change his horizon again.  Somehow, though, he felt that was where he needed to be.

When it came time, he'd sell his car, take all his clothes to Goodwill, buy a ticket and take a cab to the airport. Hell, he could walk. What was the hurry? The decision to go made him calm. It felt right. He'd fly to Tahiti and find a fast boat, a small trimaran or maybe a catamaran. He didn't want to spend forever getting from island to island, he just wanted to see them, explore them. There were literally thousands. Maybe he'd find that magic place where he'd become one with the land and the sea. Maybe he'd settle with an island girl in a small hut with a thatched roof, have kids, raise them in the traditional way, trying not to pollute them with the crazy, stressful ways of city life. In a planet gone insane with complexity and stress, in the islands he was sure to find peace.

His friends told him it wouldn't change a thing. What he'd find in Tahiti was his same old self. He'd see the new world through the filter of his same old values, not those of the people he'd meet. He wouldn't understand their values, wouldn’t be comfortable with them. He'd be a fish out of water and drown. He wouldn't have medical insurance or retirement income. In the end, he'd have to come home and start over, work the rest of his life and ultimately go on welfare. They told him life was just as hard anywhere he ended up, just in a different way. “Exactly,” he thought, “in a different way.”

For them, security was everything. For him, security was giving up everything for a distant, short, and dismal future. How was that going to end? When your bones are old and your muscles ache, and you walk stooped over, cane in hand? The world had lost its way. It just kept spinning faster and faster. He couldn't do it anymore.

He said his goodbyes and promised to send postcards. His closest friend drove him to the airport, walked him to the gate and watched the plane take off, wondering when, not if, he would return.

He boarded the plane, threw his only belongings in the upper bin, settled in his seat and closed his eyes. He should have felt excited, but he just felt calm. He wanted to sleep until he was out over the warm ocean somewhere.

His seat bounced as someone plopped down next to him. He popped out of his mental meanderings to see who it was. “Where ya headed?” the girl asked him. She had bright eyes, a bright smile, a bouncy pony tail, and was just too excited to sit still.

“Tahiti. Then nowhere in particular. You?” he said. 

“Nowhere in particular sounds nice,” she said.