Saved by Signs: A Hopeless Flirt's Journey Back to Wonder

There’s a kind of flirtation that doesn’t involve come closer looks or witty banter. It’s quieter, deeper—more like unfolding your heart to the universe and whispering, “Show me you see me.”

I’d just finished reading Signs: The Secret Language of the Universe by Laura Lynne Jackson, a book that invites you to believe in something more—to trust that the universe does, in fact, want to talk to you… if you’re willing to listen. I was in the throes of an awakening. Meditation had become part of my daily rhythm, and the hope and gratitude I felt were brand new but very real. It was one of the most uncertain times of my life—but for the first time in a long time, I felt excited about where it might lead.

So there I was, sitting on the sand at Duxbury Beach in Massachusetts, sun warming my skin, heart full of cautious hope. And I decided to ask for a sign.

According to Laura, the more specific your ask, the better—but I was still a newbie at all this. So I said, simply, “I’d like to see an animal.”

Now in my mind—because of course I’m a bit dramatic—I imagined a whale breaching gloriously out of the water right in front of me, like something out of a nature documentary. But instead, I saw a group of humans splashing and laughing in the waves. I squinted at them, a little confused, until I laughed in surprise.

Oh, you’re funny. That’s the animal I asked for, huh?

A couple strolled by with their dog. A few birds passed overhead. That was it. And you know what? I accepted it. I smiled, let the sun sink into my skin, and whispered a quiet thank you to the Atlantic breeze for at least making me laugh.

A week later, Sagi and I were headed to the Cape for my birthday. We had a little Airbnb on the water. I drove out early—Sagi had work—and after hours in traffic, I stopped at the Eastham Salt Marsh just to stretch my legs and breathe. I ended up on a bluff overlooking the wide, sweeping marsh, where distant waves crashed and birds moved like art across the sky.

And then… I heard it. That low, rhythmic whoosh of wings slicing air. A massive gull glided right past me. Then another. And another. Gulls soared along the bluff line, one after the other, riding the wind with such confidence, such ease. I stood there, completely enchanted.

Later that trip, we drove through Provincetown to the very tip of the Cape. I wanted to ride my bike through the grasslands and soak in the raw beauty of that place. But before riding, Sagi and I walked along Race Point Beach. That’s when we saw them—bright white birds, hundreds of them, hovering like kites over the ocean, then plunging into the water with needlepoint precision.

They were mesmerizing. I had no idea what they were, but I was enthralled by their gorgeous strength. It’s a pattern of mine to go into wild places without a plan, without trying to control the experience. So I had no expectation of what I might see.

Sagi had to head back to the Airbnb to work, but I kept walking along the beach alone, eventually sitting down to meditate. I opened my eyes at one point and saw a splash. Big. Much bigger than any bird dives.

And then I saw it—the unmistakable arc of a whale launching itself from the water, silhouetted against the horizon, before crashing back into the sea.

And then another.

And another.

For over an hour, I watched them. Breaching again and again like they were dancing with the ocean. A private show for one very stunned, very grateful human.

That was the moment I realized—the universe had heard me all along. It just took its sweet, poetic time to answer in a way I’d never forget.

That year, the signs kept coming. Northern Flickers. Robins. Hummingbirds. Elk. Encounters that felt like little cosmic flirtations. One day in Prospect Hill Park, I spotted a Northern Flicker hopping through the underbrush. The Disney song Colors of the Wind floated into my head, so I played it on my phone as I walked. And as I listened, I got it. I felt what it meant to “run the hidden pine trails of the forest” and “roll in all the riches all around you.”

For the first time, I understood not just the words—but the ache behind them.

Pocahontas’s story has always left me heavy-hearted. It marks the moment we began breaking our bond with the land we call home. An inflection point, when this country's first immigrants started reshaping this wild, stunning continent into something to be used, not cherished.

Flirting with the natural world has brought me back to something sacred. Something that can’t be bought or built. A way of listening. Of noticing. Of loving the world again.

So if you’re feeling lost, if you’ve forgotten how to flirt with life—ask for a sign. Ask like you mean it. Then be ready to laugh, to wait, to be enamored. The universe will answer.

Maybe not with a whale breach on day one.

But trust me—it’s listening.

Race Point Beach

Eventually I left the beach and the birds and the whales. I am not even sure how I found it, as I surely wasn't even thinking about a park sign. I had been riding my bike a bit aimlessly and ended up at this lookout tower, where I found these signs.

And learned the birds name: Northern Gannets.

North Gannets Sign

And a close up view of a whale.

Whales Breaching Sign

#authenticconnections #love #joy #trust #vulnerability #outdoors #play #hiking #alonebutnotlonely