I want to simplify, but cluttered chaos trails after me like smoke after a comet. I want to be consumed by one vocation, but my mind and body pull to a rotating half dozen callings of hands and head. I want to revel in contentment, but my soul can’t stop reaching toward something higher, a loftier goal.
I want to walk across miles and miles of earth. I want to climb up mountains and listen to the secrets that hum within them. I want to feel sturdy, fertile earth beneath my feet. I am tired of shifting sands. I am tired of changing winds. I am tired of the sea and its moods and its restless motion and its incessant noise.
I am tired of the sea.
I’ve promised my love five years. Five years in this town by the sea, five years in his job, five years of payments on this mortgage in this house.
I wish we could take the house and, if he liked, his job with us. This town by the sea is not for me.
When he and I met, we marveled at how hard we had tried before to make the wrong people, the wrong relationships, work. We had struggled and fought and tugged and surrendered far more than we could stand to lose. And then, when we met, we learned that love did not call for such sadness.
That’s how I feel about this town. I feel we have spent four years struggling for friendships, fighting for a place, tugging strangers together to form community. He sees nothing but potential, but growth, but the light of dawn just beyond the horizon. I am too buffered by sea winds and disappointment; certainly we have made progress, but what if we can’t ever win?