Reflections on a year

A year, wow.

On the shuttle in LA on the way to the airport on October 8, 2020

It certainly doesn’t feel like we’ve lived in Hawaii for a year. Or should I say Hawaiʻi. (I’ve been here a year - I know better.) This year has flown by, a kind of blur of time smashed together. Blame COVID, or more likely, that we’re really enjoying ourselves. I think it’s the latter, despite it currently being March-the-five-hundred-and-somethingth-twenty-twenty.

This year has surprised me in some ways. Family and friends are a long way away, and further than I really realized. I knew moving out here that we’d be five thousand miles from the folks we love. I’d learned how to deal with that as a military brat. I didn’t quite internalize that we’d also be six hours from them and the lives they lead, as well. That wasn’t as big a thing, back when I was a kid and the internet hadn’t been invented. Now, it’s a blessing and a curse: I can communicate instantly with all my friends and family back home, but can only do so from six hours in the past. When I’m getting up and having breakfast, they are all riding out the last part of their workday. By the time I’m done with work, they’re all in bed. I speak every day with friends, a sentence at a time, broken up as time allows during the day. It’s hard to escape the feeling that we’re living in your past, in both senses.

Other than that, though, this place is amazing. UH-MAZE-ING. (Say it like that, all deep and ridiculous: UH-MAZE-ING). Amazing, full stop.

I’ve never lived anywhere that’s beautiful all the time. You can either see the water, the mountains, the beautiful blue sky and rainbows, or lush greenery, one hundred percent of the time. Most times you can see all of them at once. This place is beautiful even when it’s raining. I catch myself standing in the parking lot of the grocery store, holding some eggs and a loaf of bread, and thinking to myself, “Holy crap, this place is gorgeous”.  

Ok, yes, also holding a beer - we didn’t change everything about our lives.

Seeing our new home for the first time from the airplane

The island is a different kind of pace. Everything is chill here. Everyone is generally in a pretty good mood, friendly, and happy to see you. It’s not all “island time” either. It’s ended up extending to my work. I’m literally the last person on shift. At noon on Friday, all the Australians have started on their weekend, all the Californians are ending their workday, and I have four hours to myself as “The SRE at the End of the World”. Sunday night, the Australians and Europeans are all up working, starting their Mondays, and I’m drinking a beer on my lanai. It’s somehow calming, and makes work...better.

This whole move was, not a culture shock, really - we do still live in the United States - but maybe a shock to our culture. A change in how we do things and the things we do. It’s a shock to our inertia, and the slow comfort of putting down roots somewhere. It’s a shock to our experience, being away, seeing sights unseen.

Our first photo together after we landed in Honolulu

We take the dog to the point and he swims in Pearl Harbor.  For his afternoon walk.  Or we go to the beach for his daily game of fetch. We go to the beach two or three times a week, actually, and sit and look out at - I dunno, what’s out there? Taiwan? Philippines? - the other side of the world, four thousand miles away across the wide Pacific Ocean, as we bake in the sun, soft sand in our toes and honu (turtles, in Hawaiian) in the surf. It’s a life I never thought I’d have, and it amazes me every single day.

...but there’s also a weird problem.

Our first night in Hawaiʻi, after meeting our landlords/new friends, Shannon & Bob

We also settled faster than I thought we would. We found a house we love and bought it, so, so quickly. It turned out to be a great decision. We love the size, the layout, and the location. It’s such a change from before, in the best of ways, and it’s not laden with memories (or so far, expensive maintenance, haha)! 

I bought a lawn mower. That’s my definition of settled in one sentence.  It's an expensive purchase for the sole purpose of cutting the grass on a plot of land you own, are responsible for maintaining and will be at for a while. I started gardening, buying potted plants, that kind of thing. Settled.

I kind of feel too settled, is that weird? We were looking for a change. I, in particular, needed a big change. A jolt to the system and a lever out of our rut. That being said, I wasn’t looking to be totally unbalanced, and I’m really not. Moving here was a minor culture shock and a big life change and...I’m kinda addicted to it. I want more change. Maybe I want to be unbalanced.

First sunset over the Pacific

Maybe I’m getting used to change again. I grew up moving all over the world, every two to three years, experiencing all kinds of cultures and environments. Then we moved to Durham, and I settled down, and loved it, with just that minor itch for change scratching at the base of my brain. Now, we’ve done a big thing, big for us, and I want to do more.

I’ve caught myself starting to purge my stuff again. We necessarily re-bought some items we decided not to take with us when we sold almost everything we owned and moved here. I will admit to having over-bought some things, out of habit. Those things have got to go. Even the things I didn’t over-buy have to go.  I’m getting all claustrophobic over a single bucket of screws and tape and whatnot after having left a house with a full-on workshop full of tools.

I brought stuff with me from North Carolina that I haven’t looked at in a year. It needs to go. Part of me yearns to own so few items that we could move with a suitcase. A coworker posted a real estate listing with a “ridiculously tiny home for too much money why-would-anyone-ever-buy-this-unless-they’re-off-their-nut-anyway” house, and my first thought was “dude, GREAT house!”

This place is incredible

We’ve been here a year. I love it. WE love it. We’re going to be here for four or five more years, and then, fate willing, we’re going to do something else. Experience something else. Maybe we pour all our money into savings and buy that sweet small house right on the beach. Maybe we move to Thailand (I’m practically shaking with excitement thinking about it) or Portugal, or Malta.

Whatever happens, I’m loving the experience, and can’t wait for more. I want to experience all the things with Caroline and Rigsbee, and see how they experience them as well.

I’m ready to go!