Aloha and Beyond
Leaving places has become a bit of a standard for me throughout my adulthood. Part of the fun (if it can be called that) of growing older is noticing the patterns of behavior that wind through the colorful threads of story that make up life as we know it. For me, moving places and then leaving at a certain point is one of them. Doing so on a whim, or with trust, or with whatever you choose to call it, is another. Wringing all the juice out of each spot along the way and then setting sail for another land, another port of call, a new spot on the map: been there, done that. It's a thing for me I suppose, and I would say I am as comfortable doing it as anyone else I know. Dare I also say, I may have even gotten pretty good at it.
As I prepare to leave Hawaii in the morning, I can see how this pattern, this restless thread, has run through my life since before I can remember. I have always had the wanderlust. I never used to know what it was called. Now I know. I have been called many names in reference to this particular trait. Free spirit. Wanderer. Nomad. Adventurer. Crazy Bastard. I have heard every one of them. Perhaps they all even apply, I don't know. Such names are not up to me, existing totally outside of my realm of control. The only thing resting in the palms of my medium-sized hands is me. My dreams. My goals. My choices. My happiness. In the end, these are what count. These are my responsibilities. These are what people commonly refer to as "my life". I have systematically, and even a bit unconsciously, set my version of "my life" up this way. The details and circumstances have varied from home to home, city to city, and yet a spirit has always been there in full force. It has propelled everything, this spirit, and is most certainly alive and well as I type this tonight. That spirit is where I hang my hat at the end of the day. It exists, often times, without my knowledge. I can't say for sure, but I'm thinking these kinds of things just are.
As a kid, I remember never knowing what I wanted to be when I grew up. I could never settle on a desired profession. My dreams as a young child were to, I don't know--just kind of figure it out as I went along. I knew I wanted to be free, whatever that meant at any point in my development. I often visualized myself just going wherever I wanted, checking out this and that, and doing it with eyes wide open. I knew I wanted to move around. I wanted to travel, to see the country. I wanted to live at the beach. I remember the first time I ever saw a palm tree. It was a spring break trip with my fellow collegians, heading from frigid central New York in mid-March to balmy Panama City Beach to party like an underage rockstar for a week. When we crossed the Florida border, I teared up from joy. When we got out of the bus to relieve our bladders and buy a final snack for the stretch run, one crazy bastard bolted for the nearest palm tree and gave it a big old hug. I can still feel the initial kiss of warm Floridian breeze on my skin as I bolted from that crowded, smelly bus. And there is that throwback photo of Paul the tree hugger that is still so clear in my mind's eye. The giddy smile on my face said it all: Once I graduate, I'm getting the hell out of dodge! There are places to see, man! Warm places even! Let's do this! It wasn't actually Florida that lit me up. It was the idea that a world full of places unknown was out there, waiting to be discovered. I guess it was the first real indulgence of the wanderlust, the spark that lit the fire, and it was powerful.
Moving to Hawaii was never my dream. I know that it is the dream of many others to at least visit these islands, and now I know exactly why they would want to. Me, I don't think I ever had that particular goal. The thought of such an excursion to Hawaii never really crossed my mind as a possibility until midway through a five-day Carnival cruise to Mexico with three of my friends while I was still living in California. As we sat on top of the boat soaking in the rays, I was completely intoxicated by the expanse of blue water all around us. In every direction--nothing but water. It arrested my senses, and before I knew it I was declaring that I was moving to Hawaii. Everyone laughed. I was serious. I knew it. Having been only to Maui the year before (on a weeklong vacation), I somehow decided that this time I would go to Oahu. It just seemed right, although I didn't know why. I never have to know. What started as a five-month sabbatical turned into a five-year residency. That is just how it goes sometimes.
How to describe what it is like to live in Hawaii, the paradise of all paradises? As I prepare to leave, I will only say that it has been an honor to live here for as long as I have. Oddly enough, I will add that it is not as easy to live on one of these lovely rocks as it is to visit as a tourist for a few days or weeks. Things can be ridiculously expensive here, as in $7 for a box of imported Frosted Flakes expensive. Yes, that is a sale price. There is a culture here that can be tough to crack for outsiders (that means you, haole boy), and probably more than anything else, life here just is what it is. You have two choices: Get over it, or leave. It is not going to change because of you. Honestly, I kind of liked that about living here. And yes, it is a small island, which I am sure gives some people a tad bit of claustrophobia. I don't think I ever experienced full-blown "island fever", that so-called disease of transplants who move here from the mainland or other foreign soils which feeds signals to the brain to escape or flee to a larger land mass, and to do it now or else. Personally, I loved living on this tiny green dot in the middle of the Pacific. Landing in Honolulu after going anyplace was always a thrill. Sure, the weather was always welcoming. Actually, the climate here is pretty close to perfect and I can say with nary a doubt that it will never be better anywhere else. But the best part of landing back home in Honolulu, in my eyes, was looking down and seeing that little strip of land totally bordered on every side by the ocean. Far, far away from everyone and everything else--the most isolated land mass in the world, in fact. Every idea of paradise stems from such isolation. Paradise is the place in our dreams where we can escape, get as far away from the rest of the world as is humanly possible. Coming back to Oahu always, and I mean always, produced such a feeling for me.
So why leave? Well, I'm not sure exactly. I had a love affair with this green dot that lasted for quite awhile. Upon arrival, and knowing nobody, I did what I always do. I made friends. Created bonds. I reinvented myself, or rather, discovered different aspects of my being that I never knew about or thought I would want to know. I did pretty much every outdoor activity I could have dreamed of doing while living here--hiking, swimming, kayaking, biking, beaching (is that a word?). Been to every other major island in the chain several times over (excluding smaller-kine Molokai and Lanai and of course, Niihau). During the last few weeks I have been asked by so many here what I planned on doing before I left the island. What was on my bucket list, they wondered? After much contemplation, I had an answer. Nothing. Nada. I did everything I wanted to do. No desire to hike the Stairway to Heaven again, or swim to the flag one last time at my favorite beach, or slurp down one more bowl of tan tan ramen. And so I leave feeling no sense of regret. I still love this place. How could I not? But there is something else stirring. I have known it for a good long while, probably since returning in September 2012 from yet another "long sabbattical", that time over in Europe. Sound familiar? Seems I like to dip my toe in the pond before deciding if I really want to dive in for a swim. Another day, another pattern revealed.
I have referred to the upcoming changes as my 'new adventure'. Truthfully, it is just the way things are playing out. In the story threads of my life, adventure is another name for living. Each place I go is just a backdrop for a new chapter. I don't feel like I am leaving paradise because I am fairly certain that such a place does not exist in the outside world. It is a mindset--an inside job. Adventure is that way, too. Living is the best kind of adventure. There are no guarantees. It is all trial and error, and right now the thought of that excites me to no end. Yet going out on faith-- really trusting--can still be a frightening prospect. Back in January, I wrote about committing to practicing what I know and understand to be true this year. I am determined to keep that commitment. There is a load of uncertainty, but when during our time on Earth is that not a true statement? It can all go in so many different directions. Sounds like my kind of adventure. Let's explore, shall we?
Aloha, mahalo, and see you in California.
As I prepare to leave Hawaii in the morning, I can see how this pattern, this restless thread, has run through my life since before I can remember. I have always had the wanderlust. I never used to know what it was called. Now I know. I have been called many names in reference to this particular trait. Free spirit. Wanderer. Nomad. Adventurer. Crazy Bastard. I have heard every one of them. Perhaps they all even apply, I don't know. Such names are not up to me, existing totally outside of my realm of control. The only thing resting in the palms of my medium-sized hands is me. My dreams. My goals. My choices. My happiness. In the end, these are what count. These are my responsibilities. These are what people commonly refer to as "my life". I have systematically, and even a bit unconsciously, set my version of "my life" up this way. The details and circumstances have varied from home to home, city to city, and yet a spirit has always been there in full force. It has propelled everything, this spirit, and is most certainly alive and well as I type this tonight. That spirit is where I hang my hat at the end of the day. It exists, often times, without my knowledge. I can't say for sure, but I'm thinking these kinds of things just are.
As a kid, I remember never knowing what I wanted to be when I grew up. I could never settle on a desired profession. My dreams as a young child were to, I don't know--just kind of figure it out as I went along. I knew I wanted to be free, whatever that meant at any point in my development. I often visualized myself just going wherever I wanted, checking out this and that, and doing it with eyes wide open. I knew I wanted to move around. I wanted to travel, to see the country. I wanted to live at the beach. I remember the first time I ever saw a palm tree. It was a spring break trip with my fellow collegians, heading from frigid central New York in mid-March to balmy Panama City Beach to party like an underage rockstar for a week. When we crossed the Florida border, I teared up from joy. When we got out of the bus to relieve our bladders and buy a final snack for the stretch run, one crazy bastard bolted for the nearest palm tree and gave it a big old hug. I can still feel the initial kiss of warm Floridian breeze on my skin as I bolted from that crowded, smelly bus. And there is that throwback photo of Paul the tree hugger that is still so clear in my mind's eye. The giddy smile on my face said it all: Once I graduate, I'm getting the hell out of dodge! There are places to see, man! Warm places even! Let's do this! It wasn't actually Florida that lit me up. It was the idea that a world full of places unknown was out there, waiting to be discovered. I guess it was the first real indulgence of the wanderlust, the spark that lit the fire, and it was powerful.
Moving to Hawaii was never my dream. I know that it is the dream of many others to at least visit these islands, and now I know exactly why they would want to. Me, I don't think I ever had that particular goal. The thought of such an excursion to Hawaii never really crossed my mind as a possibility until midway through a five-day Carnival cruise to Mexico with three of my friends while I was still living in California. As we sat on top of the boat soaking in the rays, I was completely intoxicated by the expanse of blue water all around us. In every direction--nothing but water. It arrested my senses, and before I knew it I was declaring that I was moving to Hawaii. Everyone laughed. I was serious. I knew it. Having been only to Maui the year before (on a weeklong vacation), I somehow decided that this time I would go to Oahu. It just seemed right, although I didn't know why. I never have to know. What started as a five-month sabbatical turned into a five-year residency. That is just how it goes sometimes.
How to describe what it is like to live in Hawaii, the paradise of all paradises? As I prepare to leave, I will only say that it has been an honor to live here for as long as I have. Oddly enough, I will add that it is not as easy to live on one of these lovely rocks as it is to visit as a tourist for a few days or weeks. Things can be ridiculously expensive here, as in $7 for a box of imported Frosted Flakes expensive. Yes, that is a sale price. There is a culture here that can be tough to crack for outsiders (that means you, haole boy), and probably more than anything else, life here just is what it is. You have two choices: Get over it, or leave. It is not going to change because of you. Honestly, I kind of liked that about living here. And yes, it is a small island, which I am sure gives some people a tad bit of claustrophobia. I don't think I ever experienced full-blown "island fever", that so-called disease of transplants who move here from the mainland or other foreign soils which feeds signals to the brain to escape or flee to a larger land mass, and to do it now or else. Personally, I loved living on this tiny green dot in the middle of the Pacific. Landing in Honolulu after going anyplace was always a thrill. Sure, the weather was always welcoming. Actually, the climate here is pretty close to perfect and I can say with nary a doubt that it will never be better anywhere else. But the best part of landing back home in Honolulu, in my eyes, was looking down and seeing that little strip of land totally bordered on every side by the ocean. Far, far away from everyone and everything else--the most isolated land mass in the world, in fact. Every idea of paradise stems from such isolation. Paradise is the place in our dreams where we can escape, get as far away from the rest of the world as is humanly possible. Coming back to Oahu always, and I mean always, produced such a feeling for me.
So why leave? Well, I'm not sure exactly. I had a love affair with this green dot that lasted for quite awhile. Upon arrival, and knowing nobody, I did what I always do. I made friends. Created bonds. I reinvented myself, or rather, discovered different aspects of my being that I never knew about or thought I would want to know. I did pretty much every outdoor activity I could have dreamed of doing while living here--hiking, swimming, kayaking, biking, beaching (is that a word?). Been to every other major island in the chain several times over (excluding smaller-kine Molokai and Lanai and of course, Niihau). During the last few weeks I have been asked by so many here what I planned on doing before I left the island. What was on my bucket list, they wondered? After much contemplation, I had an answer. Nothing. Nada. I did everything I wanted to do. No desire to hike the Stairway to Heaven again, or swim to the flag one last time at my favorite beach, or slurp down one more bowl of tan tan ramen. And so I leave feeling no sense of regret. I still love this place. How could I not? But there is something else stirring. I have known it for a good long while, probably since returning in September 2012 from yet another "long sabbattical", that time over in Europe. Sound familiar? Seems I like to dip my toe in the pond before deciding if I really want to dive in for a swim. Another day, another pattern revealed.
I have referred to the upcoming changes as my 'new adventure'. Truthfully, it is just the way things are playing out. In the story threads of my life, adventure is another name for living. Each place I go is just a backdrop for a new chapter. I don't feel like I am leaving paradise because I am fairly certain that such a place does not exist in the outside world. It is a mindset--an inside job. Adventure is that way, too. Living is the best kind of adventure. There are no guarantees. It is all trial and error, and right now the thought of that excites me to no end. Yet going out on faith-- really trusting--can still be a frightening prospect. Back in January, I wrote about committing to practicing what I know and understand to be true this year. I am determined to keep that commitment. There is a load of uncertainty, but when during our time on Earth is that not a true statement? It can all go in so many different directions. Sounds like my kind of adventure. Let's explore, shall we?
Aloha, mahalo, and see you in California.
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