Wanderer

Some people have told me that I’m this way because I was born under a wandering star. Others say my name, Cain, has cursed me to roam the Earth just as the first person that bore this name was. I’m not sure if one theory or the other is right. Maybe they are both right, but probably neither one is correct. I am more like a magnet that hasn’t been able to find that special piece of metal to attach myself to. I’m searching for that unique attraction that doesn’t seem to exist, no matter where I look, and it probably never will. So, I continue to wander.

My wanderlust is a compulsion that is difficult to explain, especially to a person that has lived in the same town their entire life. I imagine staying rooted where you were born comes with a sense of security. It’s a feeling I doubt I’ll ever experience. Each time I find a place that starts me thinking about making it my permanent home a part of my brain sparks to life. It reminds me of all the places I have yet to see and people I have yet to meet. When that happens, I know it’s time to move on.

I arrived here two days ago, which is one day longer than I had any intention of staying. Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with this place. The scenic mountain vistas coupled with the sparkling waters of the local lake gave the town a picture post card feeling. So, with all this going for it, why not settle in? The answer is simple. As beautiful as this place is, it wasn’t the right place for me. Something was missing. Perhaps it wasn’t the location, maybe it was the people.

During my two days stay, I didn’t see anyone smile. I’m not sure how the town got its name, Happy Valley. Every person, from the waitress at the local diner to the clerks stocking shelves at Walmart, displayed dower expressions. The children playing in the park didn’t laugh, the dogs growled instead of barking, and the cats never purred. Whenever I tried to start a conversation with anyone they would turn and walk away or pretend I never spoke. This was a mystery I wanted to solve, but did I care enough to delay my departure? My standard answer was always, who cares, it’s not my problem.

Apparently, my not my problem attitude didn’t belong to me alone. As I walked along the lakefront a young girl, maybe six or seven years old, stood by the water’s edge, tears streaming down her cheeks. A bright red ball bobbed in the water just out of reach. I watched as four different adults walked past the upset girl never giving her a glance. A long branch rested a few feet from the girl offering a simple solution to the girl’s dilemma.

I walked to where the girl was standing, reached to pick up the stick. A terrified look shot across her face, and she quickly stepped back. I gave her a smile and explained that the stick was to help retrieve the ball. I could tell she didn’t trust me but her curiosity won out over her fear and she stood watching my every move. I extended the stick over the ball and after several attempts, pulled it into shore. It was the first time in two days I saw anyone living in Happy Valley smile. Not only did she smile, but she also thanked me before running down the beach bouncing her ball.

Something inside me changed that day. My wandering now had a true purpose. I will always be a wanderer, but every place I go I will leave at least one person with a smile on their face.