I’m pretty used to flying by the seat of my pants but, now it kind of feels like it’s just the pocket. My next step has fallen through before I even took it. Cedar Key is not opening its museum until July now, so I’m not going there in March. And that change kind of changes, oh, everything. I spend my way-too-early-for-me opening shift at the ranger station scrolling through the Opportunities section of the Volunteer Portal looking for a place to call home and plug in for a little while. I have my map, my weather app, and an active connection with the Universe. And I have two and half weeks.

I get pretty frustrated very early on. They’re either way up north or they’re for the summer months. I cross reference and the few places that do have openings are in places I don’t want to go–they’re colder. And in the places I want to be, people are already there. I can come when they go. It’s Winter and we’re popular, with the warmest temps on the continent. And a lot of people have been doing this for a lot longer than I have. But none of this deters me. It actually pushes me on, makes me determined and wanting it even more.

I scrap my scrolling and look at the map differently. Where do I want to be? I scan and land on the Anna Marie Island area. I loved it there. I know people there. There’s good cycling, beaches, breweries . . . best chiropractor of my life is there. The bottom line: I was happy there. I make a list of nearby parks and make some calls.

In the midst of transfers and voicemails and rejections, I get a great ranger. His name’s Mike and you can feel him reaching through the phone to you. He’s that personable, that caring. There’s always a Mike. I’m often in these moments of whimsy where I’m trying to figure life out on the fly and there’s always an angel when I am. And often his name is Mike. My dad’s name was Michael. The salesman I bought my first RV from–an RV that wasn’t even listed on the inventory sheet–was named Mike. John Travolta even played an angel named Michael. He’s at Myakka River and he’s not in charge, but still, it’s a glimmer of hope and it’s telling me I’m on the right track. And that’s enough for now. He’ll pass the message on.

It always feels so much better when I’m playing offense instead of defense. Even though I’m not getting any immediate scores, my game plan feels good. And now that I’m in the flow of my departure from here — a park with its own magical arrival story — that also feels good.

I print off my last tide report. The forecast is for a maximum of fourteen days — the last tides listed will also be my last day writing them on the board and ringing people up. I glance over at the big wall calendar with a line through every day so far to affirm.

There was an opening in a park near Tampa, but I couldn’t bring myself to formally accept the position. Partly because it was looking a bit chilly there, but mostly because– I didn’t know why. I’d been all excited to receive the offer, but now I wanted to wait to see if Myakka River came through.

And I wait. Days go by and I try to hold off taking the sure bet as I hope for my first choice. It’s a gamble, but it feels like the dice are being rolled by a peaceful, knowing place in my soul. Hillsborough River isn’t pressing me for a commitment either so that’s good. Maybe I should call them, I look out the window, take the certain option. But something in me says, ‘No.’ It is soft, but it is certain. Okay . . . I whisper back to it–one more day. My departure date is a week away, I don’t have forever. The smell of the saffron plum in bloom is delicious and Nature once again comforts me; a car pulls up and distracts me.

A couple hours later the phone rings. It’s the volunteer coordinator for Myakka and she’s offering me a position. We talk and laugh and connect. . . for almost an hour. Feels like I’m gel-ing with them and I’m not even there yet. I’m not sure what I’ll tell Hillsborough River, a whole slew of the typical vague options parade across my mind, but then I get an email from that coordinator apologizing and saying that she’s been out for two weeks and that the position has rearranged; she no longer has it to offer me.

That’s what that feeling was. I’m really glad I listened. Again.