Good-looking, nicely dressed guy approaches the boarding line. Tailored jeans, gray sport coat, shiny black shoes. Dark hair, graying at the temples, short beard.
His fly is down. Nice.
Tag: Travel
Snapshot: At lunch
How to find God in Hawaii
1. Decide that you want to find God in Hawaii, especially if you think you can’t or won’t.
2. Pack light. Trust that Hawaii will provide what you need. DO bring lots of snacks and water.
3. Buy a good travel guide. I trust that you can find the one that’s right for you.
4. Fly to Hawaii. All the while, hope that this trip is as good as you think it’s going to be.
5. When you arrive, look around. You are here! Isn’t it beautiful, even at the airport? Take a deep breath. Hawaii smells so good.
6. Get a rental car that can do all you want to do on your island.
7. Start driving, and look for a place to eat along the way. If you need groceries, stop along the way to get what you need.
8. Drive to your resting place, trusting that you will find your destination without getting too lost.
9. Sleep, and try not to let the roosters keep you awake.
10. Set out on your day in Hawaii, ready for anything that the island has in store for you. Maybe let the kids decide what they want to do, since they are usually very good at finding God. And if you are not sure what to do, follow the locals. They know.
A lovely scene for a grisly murder
I once loved a boy from Cuyahoga. It ended badly, but that was very long ago.
Several years ago, Geoff and I went camping near Cleveland. We met his parents halfway between our homes. We visited Cuyahoga National Park, hiking with our two dogs. We were kidless at the time. We found the park amazing, and we hiked ten miles that day. We brought no food, but we stopped for ice cream along the way.
Near the end of the hike, I found myself getting tired, I found myself a little bit scared. Not knowing why, I looked around, and saw the sunlight slanting through the trees, the light glinting off of branches and leaves in that almost magical way that it does. I was captivated by it, and I was terrified at the same time. Why? I wondered. I’ll never know for sure. It was a sliver of doubt shooting through my certain heart. Would I make it out alive?
We did. We returned to our campsite and Geoff’s parents made us steak for dinner. The dogs slept for two days.
Looking back, I realize, that peaceful park would be a great place for a grisly murder. It would be a peaceful place to die. Figuratively.
Our trip to New York
Around New Year’s, I suddenly had an urge to visit New York City. Significantly, before my foray into sex blog land. I had been feeling depleted, and I needed an energy infusion. We debated going somewhere a little more child-friendly, but in the end, Geoff knew that I wanted it, and he let me have it.
We spent two days, walking everywhere, seeing and feeling the city. We ate empanadas, pizza, waffles, corned beef sandwiches. We did the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, FAO Schwartz, Central Park. We definitely had to gear our trip towards the kids, and that’s too bad. But still, I got the energy that I craved. It was cold, it was gritty, and it was hot. Energy is just up for grabs in New York. I’d like to spend more time there in the future, exploring on my own or with Geoff.
Now, could I experience New York from afar? Might I read the New York Times online here in my home, far, far from New York City? Could I watch movies that were filmed there? Should I read novels that are set there? Perhaps. Maybe those things will tide me over, letting me get the energy vicariously for a bit. But really, what I need, what sustains me, is feeling a place in reality. Being somewhere opens my receptors in a way that mere representation cannot. I need to submerge myself in a place to really sense it. Also, the quality of the energy available is exponentially higher in reality. Don’t get me wrong. I love art. Movies are awesome. I think it’s obvious how I feel about reading. Yet nothing comes close to the real thing.
An old Mustang
I want to take a drive in an old Mustang. Its paint is chipped, fenders dented. It has rust in the wheel wells, and the left side mirror is cracked. It is confident in its imperfection.
I’ll sit in the bucket seat, leather upholstery worn down, and relax with you at the wheel. I will smell that moldy old car smell with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation.
We’ll drive in silence, even our thoughts drowned out by the thundering engine. We’ll take the back roads like we used to, too fast, losing our stomachs just for the joy of it.
Maybe we’ll even break down along the way. As we wait for a tow, we will sit on the grass alongside the road and admire the view.
Why I will never move to Hawaii
Hawaii makes me believe in God. Something intangible about those islands, their coarse black lava juxtaposed against glorious green grass, towering palm trees, and the ever moving ocean, makes me feel free. There, I feel beautiful. I see that Geoff is truly perfect, and so are my kids. Everything I want, Hawaii provides.
A few years ago, we had the chance to move there. We did not take it. We did want to, and part of me will always regret not doing it. But in the end, I needed to keep Hawaii special. When I go there, I always want to see it with fresh eyes. I never want to get used to the feel of the breeze against my skin. I never want to stop being able to smell its sweet, earthy scent. I always want to feel the strain and the challenges its terrain presents. In those elements, the islands renew me, fuel me, help me grow.
When we return home, I can take up the daily tasks of living again, knowing that I have not left my perfect self behind, but given it air and water and all the elements that keep it whole. I have preserved it within my everyday self. At home, I can do what life calls on me to do, I can witness Geoff doing the same, push my kids to learn, struggle, and grow, without a doubt of why it is worthwhile. Our lives always remain rooted in imperfection, with the promise of an occasional green flash.