I have lived in Hawaii a damn long time. I have never felt like some folks do when they move here. Like an outsider. I also wasn’t on the other end of the spectrum. I had never wanted to move here. I never dreamed about paradise. Swaying breezes. Coconuts. Hula dancers. None of it. It was the place that I was moving to. The place that was just another place. It was far from my family. But I’d been far from my family before. Problem is, the thing is, once there is more in the family. Once you’ve got the one and only grandchild. Ostensibly the only grandchild that there ever will be. How do you keep them apart? You can’t.
And then it is all so difficult. So far and so difficult. You try to find a way. A band aid. A temporary situation. But that is not working. Lethargy. Apathy. Languor. Hebetude. Like chasing your own tail.
I have never been a planner. That is not good sometimes. When I joined the Peace Corps, it was a spur of the moment thing. No consideration. Just done. Same thing when I moved to Hawaii. When I decided it was time to have a baby. Just do it. Today, someone I was talking to was describing taking an inventory prior to making major decisions. She was saying, “you know, you make list of the good things and the bad things. Like when you are considering life changes. Like marriage or divorce.” I have no lists. I’ve never had a list. Today I am feeling like I need more than one list. One hundred. One thousand. One million. See, this is what leads back to the apathy. It is a vicious cycle.
And as I twist in the wind, trying to find the way to wrap up this blog, it comes, in the form of a quote which just showed up in my Twitter feed: “Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.” — Henry David Thoreau.