**Monday, 15th March – Before It’s Too Late**
Edward sat on the bench at the bus stop, watching cars crawl along the rain-slicked road. A chilly March wind crept under his thin jacket, but he barely felt it. He was waiting—for what, he wasn’t sure. A sign, maybe. An answer to the question gnawing at him: *What now?*
Life had ground to a halt, like a broken record. The office job made him sick, his flat echoed with silence, and the dreams that once burned like bonfires had dulled to embers. Every day was the same, and waking up felt harder each morning.
He pulled out his phone, mindlessly scrolling through feeds. A message from his mum blinked: *”How are you, love? You never call.”* Edward didn’t reply. What could he say? That everything was falling apart? That he didn’t even know why he was wasting his life on this grey emptiness?
The bus arrived, but Edward didn’t move. Why bother when he felt as hollow as an abandoned house?
“Oi, mate, you got the time?” A rough voice cut through his thoughts.
Edward looked up. A bloke in his mid-twenties stood there, wearing a scuffed jacket and a heavy rucksack slung over one shoulder. His face was worn, but his eyes sparked with life.
“Ten to eleven,” Edward muttered, glancing at his watch.
“Cheers. I’m Alfie,” the lad said, sticking out a hand.
Edward shook it half-heartedly, not offering his own name.
“Why you sitting here alone?” Alfie asked, plonking himself down beside him.
“Thinking.”
“About what?”
Edward scoffed bitterly. “About how to escape this bloody rut.”
Alfie dropped his rucksack and studied him. “Sounds familiar. I was stuck like that too—until I packed this,” he nodded at the bag, “and left. No plan, just going where the wind takes me.”
“And that worked?”
Alfie grinned, a fierce certainty in his eyes. “Now it’s *my* life, not just days to get through.”
Edward stayed quiet, but something twisted inside him, like his heart remembering how to beat.
They talked till midnight, perched on that cold bench. Alfie told him about quitting his office job, the fear that nearly choked him—and how the thought of a life full of regrets terrified him more.
“Don’t wanna die wondering *what if*,” Alfie said. “You could do it too. Just take the step.”
Edward watched him, and for the first time in years, a fragile hope flickered to life in his chest.
“Maybe…” he whispered.
After they parted, Edward trudged home, his mind racing like a river after the thaw. He knew one thing—if he didn’t change now, he’d be trapped in this emptiness forever.
At the kitchen table, he opened his laptop and searched for train tickets. *Anywhere*, as long as it was away. His finger hovered over *Book Now*. His heart hammered as if trying to break free.
“Do it,” he rasped.
And clicked.
By the next evening, Edward was on a train, watching streetlights blur past. He’d chosen a seaside town in Cornwall—not too far, but different enough to feel new. His pocket held a small sum saved over months. It wouldn’t last long without work.
The first day, he rented a bunk in a hostel. He wandered narrow lanes, popped into cafés and shops, asking if they needed help. By dusk, knackered but not beaten, he spotted a sign: *Boat Repair Workshop—Assistant Wanted. No Experience Needed.*
“You hiring?” he asked the grizzled bloke inside.
“Aye,” the man eyed him. “Know anything about boats?”
“No. But I’ll learn fast.”
The next morning, Edward started. At first, his hands fumbled—tools felt foreign, his movements clumsy. But day by day, he came alive. For the first time in years, he woke excited for what lay ahead—not just another day, but something *real*.
His life didn’t change overnight. But he’d done the one thing that mattered—stepped into the unknown. And that was enough to make the world turn toward him.
**Lesson learnt: Waiting for a sign is just an excuse. Sometimes, you have to be your own sign.**
