He was waiting.
Waiting for – something. Not a sign, he didn’t believe in signs, nor was he religious. Though he did have faith. Faith in the natural order. Faith in the odds – and the odds were, something was bound to show up sooner or later. Though sooner had long since turned to later, and lately he was beginning to think he’d miscalculated the odds. Or maybe he was just unlucky; either way, it hadn’t shown up yet. Things had come and gone of course, but not the thing – the thing he was looking for. He wasn’t worried that he didn’t yet know what the thing was, confident that he’d recognise his destiny. At least, he hadn’t been worried before.
As time passed he added more things to the list; the list of things he had ruled out as not being the thing. And with each new thing that was relegated to the “not the thing” category his worry increased a fraction: what if the thing had already passed him by and he hadn’t realised it? What if there wasn’t a thing? Bit by bit his worry grew until it reached a tipping point, a call to action. He was still certain the thing was out there, he just needed to find it, and so began his search. First into the heart of the city, through the lights and the noise and the despair, but all he found there were fleeting distractions. So he spread his search to the flat-lands and its vast pastures of isolation, but still it eluded him.
Worn from his quest he decided to rest for a time on the edge of the flat-lands. He found bed and board working as a farmhand to support his respite and fell quickly into his new routine. He had a knack for the job, content to lose himself in the methodical chores of the day to day, happy to momentarily forget the search. He worked hard and reaped the modest rewards, soon able to afford his own humble piece of land to plant. He didn’t give it much thought as he settled deeper and deeper into his new existence, he didn’t need to, he was just putting one foot in front of the other.
And so the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months, and his departure date stretched out little by little until it was just a shimmering, translucent notion. He occasionally entertained the thought that maybe this was his thing. Though over time, he hardly thought about it at all.