A timer had been set. A timer for one year. It began ticking. I could hear it in the back of my mind.
It would ring before we knew it. I suspected it would startle me when it went off as timers always do.
I look at my oldest son filling buckets with water for my little ones to dump in the sand. They are so precious. I want what is best for them. What mother doesn’t?
My husband and I were both silent, the wind roaring through my hair, muffling the sounds of the squawking seagulls, the waves, and my child’s cries. We both sat deep in thought, staring out at the loud rumbling waves. Crash. Crash. Crash. The life I had planned for myself for the next 50 years came to a crashing halt. My body felt relaxed as I sat with my feet pushed deep down into the warm sand, but my mind was anything but. I felt uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with not knowing where life was leading our family. I am a planner. What woman isn’t? And what woman doesn’t feel a bit uneasy when there is no plan?
Where do we move this family? There was no job pulling us to a certain location. My husband could work from anywhere. Should we just pull out the map and do a little eenie-meenie-miney-mo? Okay, let’s move there?
Little did I know, our traveling search was about to begin.