Aloha // I've always been fascinated with how aloha is used to say both "hello" and "goodbye." The ambiguity of whether you're coming or going—it's almost as if you never leave. So it's only appropriate that I say, "aloha," to Hawaii, as I sit in this lonely terminal. And because she is so lovely, I want to say it properly: What an incredible experience this has been. In January, I felt burnt out, emotionally and physically exhausted. Maybe it was because it was the first holiday alone, maybe it was because I had finally completed the divorce process, or maybe it was because I haven't taken a vacation that took me offline in 3 years. Whatever the reasons, I came a home from work one night, sat with both a glass full of and a pup named Jameson, and opened a credit card. I had promised myself I would go to two different places in the US before I turned 29, and I was feeling the pressure to make that goal happen. For some reason, Hawaii popped into my head. I then promptly charged a flight and a rental car. I woke up the next day, saw the bills in my email, and panicked. I've done spontaneous things intoxicated before, but nothing anywhere near this expensive. Luckily, my friend responded to my, "I did a thing..." text with, "Good, do it." Ohana is the best. I then emailed my boss (ooppsss) to see if I could take the time off. Luckily, we have unlimited vacation technically, though you wouldn't know it if you only knew me. Given the all clear, I slowly came to grips with what I was doing. "Holy fuck. I'm going to Hawaii." The time flew by and of course, work explodes the weeks leading up to my trip. I begin to regret planning it, knowing I'd be leaving in shitstorm, and returning to a possible (now definite) fucknado (very technically industry terms.) My coworkers (short for, the friends I work with) wouldn't allow me to not go, responding to my email responses with prompt, "STOP ANSWERING EMAILS!!!" On my flight to LAX, I sat next to a guy named Sage. He was a wood carving artist (think totem poles), and he was going back to Canada with less than $200 in his pocket because his visa had expired. When he landed at his finally destination, he didn't know where he'd be staying or even going. He just knew he had to sell a mask to get his feet under him. And I thought I was flying by the seat of my pants. Talk about living for the moment. On the flight across the Pacific, I sat next to a couple on a business trip that they were treating like an early second honeymoon. We hit turbulence coming into Honolulu airport, and the wife ducked in fear while her husband comforted her and laughed, "Sweetheart, if we die, at least we die together in Hawaii." Then there was the married-with-two-kids military man who was alone at the luau, like me. He had been stationed here for nearly half a year, working and living in a hotel, and missing home despite being in paradise. I met a retired couple (the husband a retired police officer) who were tracing their family roots. Despite family tragedy striking (a family member passed right before the trip) and various Murphy's Law incidences, we all enjoyed watching the volcano glow in the fading daylight. Another couple, just married, talked about how where they're from, you get 4 weeks vacation that you can accrue, so they were on a many-weeks honeymoon that would take them halfway around the world via Hawaii and other spots in the US. Of course, I've got to remember the beach boys that taught me to surf. They were super patient and immediately called out my flexibility, "If I could do it like that I would, but for us less flexible folks..." I stood up on wave after wave easily, and we laughed and joked about surfing, burritos, and what brought me to Hawaii. My landlord for the week was incredible--very helpful, but not intrusive in the least. The best thing I did was not stay in Waikiki, but rather rented an Air BnB about 30 minutes away, avoiding most of the congestion and allowing me to see and experience far more of Oahu. ----- And now here I am back home, my pup asleep in the bed next to me, having greeted me by peeing all over the floor the second I walked in the door (it's good to be loved?). The trip back was uneventful, except for the nagging feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. I don't want to be back. I know I'm going into work tomorrow with a schedule jammed with meetings and EOD deadlines (again, it's good to be loved?). I already miss the mountains, the constant cool breeze, and the sound of the ocean. Most of all, I miss the adventure and the lack of stress (at least, work stress). While nothing is perfect and I'm sure had I stayed longer, I would've seen cracks in the facade, this is bigger than Hawaii. It's even bigger than travel or vacation. It's about refueling the soul, and I feel like I just left a gas station with no idea when the next one will come up, but knowing I have a very long journey ahead regardless. And while the old me would've just anxiously worried and hoped I had enough to get to the next stop, the new me is already building station after station. Hawaii, you stole my heart and replenished my soul. You taught me to see my strength and trust in myself. You taught me to trust my ohana to wait for me and to enjoy every precious moment. You taught me to live again, and for that all I can say is mahalo, and aloha (for now).
