Ho, Hum

Ho, hum.

I’ve had breakfast (I’m an early riser even when I don’t have to be) and now I’m lingering over coffee—I might even brew a second pot—looking out at a world as new as the morning sun. In the distance, Moloka‘i looms under a cloud bank and this morning, the sky is more overcast than blue.

It’s a beautiful day.

Every day is a beautiful day, everywhere. Looking back, I see. I didn’t always see it when I was elsewhere, but the new perspective that comes of new life illumines both the present and the past. It was never the day that was ugly; rather, it was my experience, and although sometimes that experience was influenced by the actions of others, the choice to see the experience as ugly was my choice.

I’m not sure I will ever be enlightened enough, wise enough, calm enough to take even difficult experiences and see them as beautiful. I am, however, already wise enough (it doesn’t take much) to see that it's possible.

How lucky I am to have learned this while still (relatively) young! How fortunate that I finally followed my heart to the place I could learn it! How close I came to never knowing; to allowing fear of the unknown to keep me in ignorance!

In some ways living in Hawai‘i feels like living in Mayberry R.F.D. Even in Lahaina, a tourist destination visually dominated by resorts and vacation residences, there’s something “small town” in the air. People greet one another with a smile and a wave. It’s customary to “talk story” when together; to establish and refresh a common context.

Yesterday I rode down to Kihei to open a credit union account. Once again, as in almost every circumstance, I was made to feel welcome and at home. The agents who served me were more than just professionally friendly; I could tell that they took a genuine interest in me. The spirit of “Aloha” is just that—a genuine liking and interest in others.

After opening my account, I decided (apropos nothing much) to ride past Kihei. Eventually, I found myself at Makena State Park and “Big Beach.” Coincidentally, earlier in the morning I’d done an Internet search on “nude beaches on Maui” after a friend inquired, and I’d found mention of a “clothing optional” beach called “Little Beach,” accessible from “Big Beach.”

“Big Beach” is beautiful and big:

I didn’t get a close look at “Little Beach”—I forgot my sunscreen—but it looked quite nice, too:

I wish I’d thought to take a picture of a bumper sticker I saw in the parking lot; it read: “Little Beach: A Great Place to Hang Out.”

I admit I LOL’d.

The lesson that’s unavoidable for me here is simply this: It is possible to live a very human life—one where there is an obligation to treat and a reasonable expectation to be treated with dignity and respect and compassion and “Aloha” (“Love”). It is not only possible but desirable for such a thing to become routine; something that can safely be taken for granted.

No, this isn’t Heaven. Yes, selfishness and cruelty and neglect can still be found here. People can be unkind... What’s different, at least in my experience here, is that here those things are far less common than they were in my prior life. I am learning to expect and assume dignity and respect and compassion and “Aloha.”

Ho, hum.

Lovin’ Life (part 2)

In part one I wrote a little about the whirlwind inevitable when arriving on-island one week before starting work and less than two weeks before first facing students. Only teachers really know how little time that is to prepare for students, but everyone should understand how little time that is to get settled. There was:

• a lease to sign
• a change of address to file
• 100 pounds of luggage to unpack
• groceries to buy and a kitchen to stock (and find the best prices)
• basic school supplies to acquire
• a contract packet to complete

much to do!

Even so, I managed to get to the water fairly frequently, explore Front Street Lahaina, ride the Harley, take plenty of sun. No matter how busy I was (am!) I always made (make!) time to appreciate where I was (am!) and what I had (have!). And the knots tied in my shoulders by a lifetime of living somewhere I didn’t really belong loosened and eased.

Let me explain what I just said: I don’t want any of my beloved friends or family to think I grudge one minute spent in their company or doing what I did on the mainland. The people I love and the time I spent and the things I did on the mainland—relationally, educationally, theatrically, socially, etc.—are time and effort that made me who I am, and I like me. I’m glad I lived where I lived and did what I did...but after just a couple of weeks of living here it’s clear; I am not made for mainland living. I didn’t belong.

Since starting school, the sense of rightness has doubled and redoubled. I like my students; I was worried at first, since my memories of teaching middle school were not that pleasant, but somehow over the years I forgot the upside, and these kids are (mostly) just plain delightful.

I also like the simplicity of my life here (granted, enforced by budgetary necessity, but still...); living small and within much-reduced means requires a discipline that, surprisingly, is very satisfying, and the ways one lives a fulfilling life with reduced means are themselves quite delightful.

And I absolutely love the “spirit” and personality of this place and it’s indigenous culture, not to mention the routine “eye-popping, jaw-dropping, heart-stopping” beauty of the place itself.

Last Saturday I left my apartment at 3:15 AM to ride up Haleakala to catch the sunrise. I was underdressed (the temperature at the 10,000 foot summit was 45° Fahrenheit) and the ride up included mist and drizzle), but the spectacle was worth freezing for.

The weekend before school started, I caught the final performance of a Maui on Stage production of The Producers, and it was wonderful. Most Sundays I attend a little house church congregation of my denomination, Community of Christ, and the members are precious and dear. Last Sunday I saw a community-based performance of Haydn’s Creation (my pastor sang in the chorus), and it was beautiful.

Among the myriad coolnesses is the rediscovery and reinvention of myself as a teacher. This massive upheaval has sparked something, I know not what, in me. I’m excited again, ambitious again, idealistic again. And I like feeling this way about my job. I’m proud of some of the changes I’ve made in grading, in assessment, in practice. And I feel appreciated, not just by one or two or a few colleagues, but by the majority of the staff. Better than gold, let me tell you (although gold would be nice, too!).

There is a profound, positive power in reaching for the brass ring. There is always the possibility that you’ll miss, maybe fall. But if you won’t reach for it, there is no possibility that it will end up in your hand.

There is a profound, positive power in disruption. Nothing stirs my creative juices like absolute uncertainty, and I think that, for the many who feel trapped in their circumstances (I’m looking at you, unnamed Eastside colleague!), the terrifying act of breaking out yields powerful dividends and amazing discoveries.

In three days, I turn 53. But in another way—maybe the most important way—I’m only two months old; a newborn, brimming with unformed, endless potential.

Lovin’ Life

First, an apology. I’ve been away for a long time. Sometimes living the adventure interferes with writing about it (and sometimes I’m just lazy).

The last time I posted, I was still on Oʻahu. I didn’t have a home, I hadn’t seen my school, my motorcycle was still in transit... The last time I posted was a lifetime ago. So much to share!

I flew from Oʻahu to Maui on July 9, 2012, to pick up my Harley and look for a place to live. Getting the Harley was pretty painless (and what a delight to ride on Maui!), finding a place was...well, let’s just say it wasn’t quite painless. It isn’t that it was necessarily difficult to find a place; rather, it was difficult to imagine paying what was asked for a place. Nothing too surprising, except that it’s surprising even when you think you’re prepared.

I did find a place, just 10 miles north of the school in Napili; a 380 square foot fully-furnished second-story studio with a view of Molokaʻi for roughly 90% of what my mortgage in Lancaster was. It’s up the hill, half a mile walk to Napili Bay and beach, and it’s lovely. Every morning as I sit eating breakfast, the sun rises behind the building and lights up Molokaʻi (past the trees and under the clouds):

After applying to rent the condo, on July 10, 2012, I parked the Harley in the Lahaina Intermediate School wood shop, took the bus from Lahaina back to Kahului, and flew back to Oʻahu enjoy the remainder of my vacation, graciously hosted by Joyce and Holly. Good food, good views, good times...

On July 17, 2012, I again flew from Oʻahu to Maui, this time to stay. Church friends met me at the airport and took me to the school to get the Harley, then took my luggage to the condo. With 7 days until the first teacher in-service day and just 13 days before students arrived on-campus, I keenly felt the pressure of passing time and tried to make the most of the freedom I knew would be fleeting.

I went snorkeling:

I looked at rainbows:

I watched the sun set over Molokaʻi:

I visited the school:

And all too soon (and not soon enough) school started; July 30, 2012.

(to be continued)