Yesterday evening, Ty and I met Randall in the cluttered, creaking harbor of Fisherman's terminal. Randall lives there, for now, aboard a boat that in five weeks will make its slow way up to Alaska till the end of summer. He met us standing on the deck of his ship with his familiar checked flannel and slow, bright smile, the smile that always makes him appear like he's laughing at something just beyond our line of vision.
The three of us were supposed to meet up and study for our national EMT registry exam, but the strange, steadily undulating world of the harbor drew us in. Pale Ale and stories of a life guiding off of the rugged Alaskan coast and living in a berth beneath the water line easily stole our attention from our massive text books.
And in the End, Ty and I walked away feeling rather landlocked. Even with everything we've got going on, even being permanent residents of my favorite city on Earth. We both want something more. We both want Sea Change.
I want ships and medicine.
But first, we have to pass this exam. So for now we settled for a Ballard coffee shop and a few more hours of quizzing each other on the Glasgow Coma scale and all the endless acronyms.