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.