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)

Prelude

Today I attempted to apply for a Hawai‘i driver’s license—no dice—and successfully registered my firearm. It turns out one is more difficult than the other, and although Hawai‘i is widely (and legitimately) considered to be unfriendly territory with respect to Second Amendment issues, firearm registration was not the difficult one.

There’s been a change in state law with respect to driver’s licenses, recently: individuals must present an original (or a copy certified by the agency that issued the original) birth certificate and a Social Security card. Based on the cited law, I think it’s intended to ensure that a Hawai‘i driver’s license is only issued to individuals whose immigration status is “legal,” but I don’t really know. I only know that I do not currently have in my possession either a birth certificate or a Social Security card.

In order to register my firearm—a Kimber Compact Pro Carry 2 chambered in .45 ACP—all I had to do was fill out an application, show my California driver’s license, be fingerprinted, and have my background checked. They didn’t even charge a fee! Granted, it was easier for me because I brought the pistol into the state rather than acquiring it in-state, but still I find it ironic; I can register a firearm more easily than I can acquire a driver’s license.

I’ve requested a new Social Security card and Mom’s sending me a hopefully-adequate certified copy of my birth certificate, so with any luck I’ll be able to take care of the driver’s license on Maui. The firearms registration was the most urgent of the tasks attempted; the law requires a firearm brought into the state be presented and registered within 72 hours of its arrival; I only had one more day to get ’er done.
I also visited the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific:

The words carved under this figure read, “The solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.” A sober reminder both of how sacred is true liberty, and how costly. This figure looks out at Diamondhead:

I couldn’t frame Diamondhead any better; the iPhone camera is good, but limited. I would very much have appreciated a choice of lenses. Still, beautiful...

Behind the figure is a chapel:

The altar

The rear wall, engraved with “In proud remembrance of the achievements of her sons and in humble tribute to their sacrifices this memorial has been erected by the United States of America: 1941-1945 • 1950-1953 • 1961-1973.”
I found this monument incredibly moving. The cemetery, wonderfully situated in the “Punchbowl” overlooking Diamondhead, is beautifully kept and serene, and a spirit of solemn gravity pervades the place.

This visit is an appropriate prelude to tomorrow’s trip to the Arizona Memorial.

It's a Little Thing, Really...

...only not really.

(I meant to write last night, but instead spent the evening getting my checked bags under 50 pounds each. It would seem I should also have paid attention to the weight of my carry-on—it was 3 pounds heavier than allowed—luckily, the ticket agent let me slide.)

I’m aboard Hawai‘ian Airlines flight HA 3. At the moment I wrote this sentence, we’re about 300 miles out of Los Angeles and 2,300 miles from Honolulu. I feel like an actor offstage between scenes; “...what’s past is prologue,” as Antonio said in The Tempest, and what’s to come is in my discharge.

What’s past is much on my mind, today. My best friend Wayne and his wife (a great good friend) accompanied Mom and me to the airport this morning to see me off. After 12 years treading one path together, Wayne’s path and mine diverge today, and that is a poignant, melancholy truth. Not that we’ll never see one another again—not that we won’t always be friends and collaborators—still, it cannot be denied that this changes things.

Strangely, parting with Mom was easier. I don’t really know why—I love Mom and will certainly miss her—yet somehow it was less difficult to say &ledquo;Aloha” to her.

The last time I looked back before turning my gaze forward (to the TSA check station, and not, alas, toward some “trackless horizon”), all three—Wayne, Margaret, and Mom—had their “game faces” on, and I was wearing mine, too. I didn’t look back after that, though; I thought that a blubbering grown man might look a bit suspicious to the TSA agent, and I knew that one more glance and that would be all she wrote.

Now I am on my way. What’s past is prologue—important and meaningful and never to be dismissed or diminished—my task is to build on it; to build a life worthy of who and what has gone before.

I am, in fact, looking forward toward a metaphorical “trackless horizon”—I am, in fact, facing the most exciting adventure of my life—and I am well aware of how lucky I am to have the family and friends I have; people who have my back and who sometimes heroically support me on my journey, though it cost them dearly.

I can never say mahalo (“Thank you”) enough.

Once I arrive, I’ll immediately apply for my Hawai‘i driver’s license. I’ll get better acquainted with my gracious hosts. I’ll explore O‘ahu for a few days with them as my guides. I’ll take plenty of pictures. I’ll begin the process of making a new life in a new place with new friends and new possibilities...but I will never forget those whose friendships will always be a part of me. This is a change, not an ending.

Aloha is not merely “hello” and “goodbye”—it is love and affection and esteem and compassion and caring. It is a spirit that reminds me of a Hindi greeting: Namasté. Namasté can be understood as, “The Divine in me recognizes and greets the Divine in you.” When The Divine greets the Divine, goodness flows. That is what the Aloha Spirit has always been to me; goodness and good will flowing from person to person. That is why the Islands have been calling me. It is that about Island culture that beguiled me long since.

I don’t know very much about what’s going to happen. I know what island I will live and work on, at least this year. I know at least generally what my job will be. I know the climate will be mild and the scenery beautiful. I know the ocean, my mistress, will be always near. And that’s about it. I don’t know more specifically where I’ll be living or who I’ll meet or just how I’ll spend my free time. I don’t know much of anything at all; don’t even know who I’ll become.

Not knowing is the best part. I’ve challenged the universe: “Surprise me!”

I just filled out the standard form everyone flying into Hawai’i must complete before landing. Always before, I’ve marked “I am a Visitor to Hawai‘i” but this time is different. This time I marked “I am a Intended resident moving to Hawai’i for at least one year.”

It’s a little thing, really...only not really.

Illusions

The universe is a funny place, and even funnier since the advent of social media. For example, I have 868 “friends” on my Facebook “friends list” (don’t look at me that way! I know almost all of them “in real life”). Granted, not all of them appear in my feed, but quite a number of them do, and therefore many silly, sentimental, faux-inspirational, sometimes inauthentic quotes, aphorisms, and sayings cross before my eyes on a daily basis.

The same is true of my Twitter feed (and less true of Google+ just because I’ve encircled different people who use the service differently), but everywhere I turn I’m inundated with “sayings,” most of dubious provenance. And yet...

And yet, I frequently find gems among the dross, and sometimes the inauthentic or misattributed quotes are as bright and beautiful as the authentic and accurate ones.

What’s more (and what prompted this blog entry), a surprising number of those gems are absolutely apropos to what I’m going through right now.

This journey, as previously discussed, has been a voyage of discovery and development and growth. I’ve been stretched and exercised and challenged, and the lessons just keep coming. That’s a good thing—in fact, it’s a great thing—and I think what’s happening is that I’m unconsciously attuned to the lessons I’m learning, so when a quote or aphorism addresses those lessons, it grabs my attention. Take two items that crossed my view just this morning:

• “I have no idea what’s going to happen, and I love it.” Unattributed
• “Life is a series of surprises, and would not be worth taking or keeping if it were not.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

Both of these (and many others) go directly to the area where I am growing the most: finally relinquishing the illusion of control.

None of us really has much control at all. None of us has much influence on the future. We are responsible for our choices, and our choices have some effect, but much of what we experience is completely beyond our control.

That isn’t a very comfortable reality, so most of us, for most of our lives, reject it. We create a fantasy in which we are masters of our destiny, and that fantasy has value; because we believe it, we work hard to make things turn out the way we want them to. Without it, many would be tempted to lives of passivity, being acted upon but never acting.

I think it’s good to act on our own behalf—to do what we can to create the outcome we want—but I am learning to accept that what I can do is only part of how things turn out. I’m learning to embrace uncertainty and surprise as inevitable, unavoidable, and even desirable.

I won’t stop striving for outcomes I value—I deserve a good outcome, and those I touch deserve my best efforts on their behalf—but at the same time I must accept that many things are beyond my control. I must learn to play the hand I’m dealt, eat the meal I’m served, adapt to circumstances as they are.

There’s real value in the Serenity Prayer, and not just in the familiar first stanza:

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

—Reinhold Niebuhr

The first idea is perhaps the most difficult for those of us raised in Western culture. We have come to believe the myth that there is nothing we cannot change, but reality is not affected by what we believe. If we can learn to accept the things we cannot change (without abdicating responsibility for the things we can), we will find serenity; often that which frustrates us is the belief that we can control something we really can’t.

And if we continue through the Serenity Prayer, and not just the familiar first stanza, what do we find? A challenge to take “this sinful world as it is” (emphasis mine), and not as we would have it.

As so many of us like to say, “It is what it is,” which is to say it accomplishes nothing to bust our heads against an immovable rock. Yes, we should have courage to change the things we can (and should), but we need wisdom to know and accept the things we cannot change.

To give up the illusion of control is not the same as: “Since I gave up hope, I feel a lot better.” Hope is not superfluous. Hope counterbalances cynicism, and without hope wisdom fails. For me a better phrase—one more in keeping with the lessons I’m learning— would be:

“Since I gave up (the illusion of) control, I feel a lot happier.”

Crunch Time

Won’t be posting anything too deep this morning; it’s down to crunch time. I have two rooms to finish clearing and five rooms to start cleaning. I think it’s going to go pretty fast today...but I’ve been wrong before.

I’ve got a few appointments left: chiropractor this morning and doctor Monday.

I have important social engagements, too: dinner at the Hess residence tonight, Spamalot tomorrow night, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Saturday night, and Berry Bunch time Sunday.

Tuesday at 6:00 AM, I leave for the airport, accompanied by Mom and the Berrys.

Where’d the time go?