The Grasshopper Year

Two weeks before I packed all my belongings into a six foot by eight foot trailer and moved to a studio cabin in the Redwoods, I was full of doubt and fear. I was leaving behind my jobs, my friends and family, and my familiar home-town to try my hand at the writer’s life.
That morning, I found a giant, bright green grasshopper poised non-chalantly on the driver’s side window of my car. I stopped and considered the creature. We considered each other, perhaps.
The grasshopper was not interested in relocating from my car. I opened the door, took my seat, and closed the door. The grasshopper remained.
I started the engine. It moved to the windshield.
I waited.
It sprung away, out of sight.

I believe in the universe sending signs, messages, what-have-you, in the form of animals, people, and coincidences.
Serendipity? Perhaps.
Or a sign letting me know I am on the right path. Or perhaps, at other times, that I have been battling my way down the wrong path.

Seeing the grasshopper sent chills running across my skin, tingles of energy. “Take a leap of faith” sprung to mind. “Grasshoppers are good luck” did as well. My doubts retreated as a feeling of connection to the universe welled inside me. Whatever happened, I’d give it my best leap.