Did I tell you about Hawaii? If you’ve been within three feet of me in the last two weeks I’m sure you never want to speak of the state again. I was there, you see, and had a fantastic time, the time you tell grandchildren about, a string of days that reminds you that you’re more than an Outlook calendar. That the ocean is wide and deep and the sky similarly so.
I was in a best friend’s wedding. She’s the kind of friend I think of as a sister, a woman who saw me through Freshman year care packages and late night dinners made in hot pots. She was the girl I bought a hamster when hairy friends were prohibited, one we’d hide in our dorm room closet when the fire alarm barked. She was the friend who consoled me during one of my hardest boy breakups and taught me expensive hair products are worth the Stafford loan hit. I read this woman’s LSAT scores to her when she dreaded opening the envelope, sat at her table with family when my father was still alive, visited her in her New Orleans home long before Katrina was an infamous name. We talk voice to voice very little now, courtesy of my phone phobia and the harried schedules we’ve both taken to, but time and distance matter little. It’s a beautiful thing. As expected, she was a stunning bride, seemingly giving the finger to a broken hotel’s air conditioning. As expected, I cried the whole way through my maid of honor toast, save the beginning part, when I sat my champagne flute on the podium and steadied myself to capture 19 years in 45 seconds. I’ll never forget those flashbulb moments and the days that preceded them. Glorious.
I spent the latter part of my trip alone on Kauai. Lush mountains, a lesson in leis and upgrading to the ocean front room being worth it. Every bit of my body was alive. A lone rooster yelled throughout the mornings – and the afternoons – outside my room. I ate some truly awful food and drank my first mai tai plus a few more. I snorkeled in rough surf and swallowed the salt water of the Pacific, saw a dolphin pirouette as if on stage, marveled at the zest of a pup unfailingly fetching a ball tossed far into the ocean. I felt anxious when I chose to stay indoors and watch old episodes of crime shows I’d likely seen before. I wrote life notes in an old school composition notebook and snapped close to 800 pictures in five days. Eight hundred. Pictures of black rocks and teenagers riding waves and young couples reclining beachside for what must have been a honeymoon. I had gelato for the second time in my life. I ate by myself as the sun set. I talked to strangers. I lived and I felt in a silence broken only by the ocean’s breeze. Glorious.
It’s a reminder to me why I choose to spend money not on an expensive car or jewelry, why I save cash and search the web for dream destinations and the best seat coach offers. Travel, my body in another space altogether, is intoxicating. This trip was 10 days of brilliance, not on my part, of course, but on the part of the universe that every so often whispers in your ear and jolts you back to life. I’m listening.
19 Comments
So glad you went, and so glad you are back.
I have a friend like that, too. And we wish to wander like that together every year. Maybe one day we’ll do it.
I love this. Your Outlook quote is going right up on my blog, right now. I am so happy for your vacation. And to read your writing again.
Sounds divine. Sorry it had to end.
I have missed you!
I need to get to Hawaii one of these days.
Glad you had a great trip! Welcome home. Such a beautifully written post about a gorgeous destination. I love the last two sentences.
There is nothing like travel to an appropriately-distant location so you can completely unplug from all that you know; it is this divesting of normalcy that seems to re-invigorate us in ways that few other things can.
On our most recent trip to Australia, we spent a week in Tumby Bay, a small seaside town, courtesy of some friends of ours on their honeymoon who decided to take us along. I remember long days spent sitting on the white sands, wading and floating in the crystal blue waters, and nights spent feeling equally awed and fearful of the dark waves and the winds that rustled my light clothes. My mind gave up all of its concentrations for a simple existence and mellowness. I long for it often.
Travel is an investment I am 100% behind. And it is an investment. So glad you had such a great time!
Travel is always worth the splurge. Things break, get lost, get boring. Memories are forever. A nice trip, a camera and a journal are the essence of life, I think.
So happy it was good.
I pink puffy heart Hawaii. The end.
Gotta admit, everyone around me is taking island vacations and I’m jealous!
Always enjoy your writing.
Kauai…I never understood what the hell everyone was talking about until I went 2 yrs ago. What.a.place.
Kauai. KAUAI. I hope I’m lucky enough to go back one day.
that sounds simply wonderful. so glad you had such a sweet getaway.
Oh I’d much rather travel, explore a culture and community, than drip in diamonds. There’s a tediously dry but great book by Alain de Botton, The Art of Travel, that takes a philosophical approach to why we travel.
Miss you!!!
Sounds wonderful!
I live in Hawai’i, but on the big island, and agree that is absolutely amazing!
I sure love it and am glad you enjoyed your trip (:
Welcome back, Kris. I missed you. Glad you had such an experience. Peace.
Did i comment yet? I dunno.. but woman.. how AWESOME is it that you got to experience that?!! If never in your world another thing.. that was awesome enough.
You are more blessed than you realize and I a SO happy for you!!
::hug::
PICS OR IT DIDN”T HAPPEN!!!!!