I was moving out of my first flat because I'd quit my job to go travelling. It was a happy occasion, of course, because I was very excited by the adventures that lay ahead; and I was glad to get out of a damp old concrete box. But it was a sad occasion, too: I'd been happy there; it was a huge leap into the unknown; and I was anxious about flying alone to Pakistan, meeting the group and starting the journey.
So all these feelings were sloshing around inside me as I cleaned the flat for the last time before leaving. Most of the boxes had already gone, including the one containing my stereo. As I washed the windows, I thought "I wish I had a radio to give me something else to think about."
At that moment, there was a cheery "Good morning" from the open front door. It was the postman. He had a small parcel for me. "Lucky I caught you," he said, handing it over.
I pulled off the wrapping. Inside was a small blue radio, and three batteries. No note, no packing slip to give a clue as to who sent it. I stood there astonished, feeling as if somebody, somewhere really did care about me. It's a bit of a leap of logic, but it made me sure that this travelling wasn't all a terrible mistake.
I still have the radio. It's a reminder that the world is full of wonders, and to look out for the signposts.