As I sat in the airport, in the city where I’d spent eighteen years of my life, the nerves and anxiety of starting a new life manifested themselves into a physical response. My head had begun to throb in my right temple, my belly felt full of the flutters of anticipation, and my muscles trembled with the unknown to come. I felt as if I was already in the air, hovering out of the door of a small plane before freefalling toward the Earth.

Sitting here, I am looking down at thousands of miles of moments and memories, and it is the most intense feeling of my life, somehow more extraordinary and exhilarating than a real freefall in my beloved skydiving journey.

Then I begin to wonder, who are all these people around me? Are they going home to a new place? Is it a work trip, a vacation, a quick visit? “A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other,” Charles Dickens, from A Tale of Two Cities. I believe this is a reference to human beings never fully revealing themselves to each other. But it reminds me of a word I came across on the internet before, “sonder.” It is not recognized by Merriam-Webster, but it’s supposed definition is “the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.” I think about this often, especially in airports. All the experiences we have, the pain we’ve felt, the beauty we’ve beheld, the love, misery, ecstasy, horror, and pure joy we’ve encountered in our lives can be mirrored with a stranger passing us on the street or sitting beside us in a waiting room. And by default, the connections we share with each other without even a remote recognition. I wonder if anybody else feels as thrilled and scared as I do at this moment, I wish we could discuss it together and reassure each other.

I sit here to board my first flight and I acknowledge that life will never be the same from this moment forward, and neither will I. I use the time to write this down, so I don’t forget my emotions and can revisit later to reflect.

“Boarding flight six twenty-seven to Charlotte, departing at seven thirty-eight,” a voice calls over the speakers, and my heart skips a beat or two or three. And before I know it, I’m walking into the first vessel that will transport me into the rest of my life.

As I watched the Indiana fields fall away beneath the canopy of sunrise-drenched clouds on my first plane to Paradise, my heart began to race in a way I could feel in my throat and ears. My mind urged me onward with comfort and relief, yes! Yes! This is it! This is the moment I’ve been waiting for since I was a child, this is the adventure of a lifetime! Yet, my body felt differently, No, back to safety. Back to Adam’s arms, back to Helios and Zed and a hot cup of tea. Back to the familiarity I know. This flight was rather short, only a couple of hours. I slept most of the time, I did not sleep the previous night.

When I landed in Charlotte, North Carolina, I only had a small amount of time before boarding the next flight. I spent the time writing some more, feeling euphoric and nervous. I people watched. I tried to download music for the next two, and much longer, flights ahead to unchartered adventure…

I’m on my second flight, heading to Los Angeles now. I am ecstatic with anticipation. I am truly quenching a thirst for newness and experience. Travel is where I belong, I believe I was born to see the world and tell stories about it, and it all begins with this first sojourn. My mind feels raw with welcoming depth for new information and experiences. In this moment, I cannot believe I’ve finally left the Midwest. Not just that, I’ll be living where I’ll have miles of bright blue ocean in front of me, and lush green mountains behind me.

I can already smell the salty breeze and the crisp, naturally purified air, the dense tropical jungle soil and the fresh, thriving plants after a rainstorm. My mouth waters at the imaginary taste and texture of fresh seafood, washed down with a juicy island coconut.

I can already feel freedom. Not financially, I’ll have to work two jobs to make ends meet for some time. But that’s my choice in this transition. I mean real freedom, in my mind. The inspiration I’ve been missing for years to create art and write. I can almost feel the sun kissing my skin and hair, the trade winds cooling me down, and the strangers to cross paths with. The freedom to live in peace and to learn what it means to live with aloha.

As I stare out of these plane windows at the dancing clouds, all different shapes and sizes above the changing terrain of land below, the fear has almost completely melted away and transformed into an elation of joy I’ve never felt before. I can feel it in my bones that I am walking the path I was meant to, that this is a good decision in the course of the rest of my life. This is what it means to truly live, I just know it.

I arrived at LAX, and the heat of the west coast suffocated the skin beneath my sweater and sweatpants. I rushed off the plane to use the restroom, call some people back, and eat some food to re-fuel. It was crowded and chaotic down below, a commotion of hurried echoes climbing up the whitewashed walls. As I made my way upstairs, things got darker, quieter, and the atmosphere was almost eerie. The sudden change of pace materialized as a moment of silence in this surreal journey of mine. The harsh reality of a set-in-stone decision made in our three-dimensional world creeped up my spine and closed its thin, bony knuckles around my throat. My heart began to race, pumping blood into my face with a heat I could no longer take. This was the point of no return. I finally took my sweater off.

I used the bathroom one last time before leaving this third airport and hid in my stall for a few moments. This would be the plane that took me away from the mainland and to the middle of the north Pacific Ocean. My eyes welled up with tears born from a mixture of solitude and thrill.

On my last flight out of California my feelings had all shifted. It could have been sleep deprivation from failing to fall into deep sleep on my previous flights but rather hovering in a state between awareness and unconsciousness while constantly attempting to find a comfortable position, but suddenly I felt extremely lonely and fiercely missed my family back in the Midwest. I knew I would not see them for a few months, and even then, it’s not enough. I thought about how I would be apart from my love for eight months.

Why was I so sure that this was a good idea when I have yet to arrive to the island and already want to curl up into a fetal position and cry? I will do that after a hot shower that I desperately need after more than eighteen hours of direct travel, of which I’ll have to buy a towel I cannot wash first and be careful not to splash water on the floor as I lack a shower liner and will inevitably forget to buy one.

Please Gods, let this be as smooth of a transition for all four of us as you can.

The views flying over O’ahu were breathtaking. It was the most majestic experience I’ve ever encountered up until that point in my life. The thrill of seeing my new home for the first time sparked a madness within me. An idea that if it truly was this doable to see this journey to its end, it will be more than doable to achieve the rest of the long list of dreams and aspirations that my brain has manifested into such discomfort and dissatisfaction over the last few years. Spiritual misty mountains touched the thick clouds below and rolled into the grand town of Honolulu with its umpteen skyscrapers that were no match for the elevation of natural land. Cobalt ocean sprayed with white, frothy waves crashed against the cliffy slopes of the island in some areas, and gently kissed the soft sand in others. There was even a rainbow in the sky to greet the arrival of our plane. I took it as a sign from the Gods that I would be safe and sound.

As I walked off the last passenger boarding bridge and into the Honolulu airport, the fear and loneliness dissipated into the purest form of ecstasy I’d ever encountered; the type of childlike happiness and wonder that a person will never find in any drug. I rushed to baggage claim, slowing down as I came to a long corridor open to the great outdoors. I drank in the smells around me as I gazed at the palm trees before me, and a warm feeling tingled across my skin and into my lungs.

I made it. I escaped the monotony of statistical life. I leapt into the unknown with fear and enthusiasm, I changed the course that generations before me had built for me, a life of mundane familiarity. I had always feared that I’d fall into the sameness our society intoxicates our minds into believing is just “how it is.” I had dreaded that I’d never accomplish my longest dream of traveling the world, solo and with a partner, on an almost full-time basis, and eventually, full-time. I had been afraid that I’d get sucked into the grasp of “normal” reality of finding a nine-to-five job to work until my mid-sixties, getting married young and having kids and being so busy following the crowd that my youth would be spent on working and raising a family— leaving myself behind to put the children first and abandoning my desires in the “someday” category, and risking never seeing that day come, for Death is the most unwelcome of unexpected guests. I escaped the potential, usual and increasingly daunting statistic of most high school dropouts. There is nothing wrong with walking a traditional life, but the idea that I very well may burned me at my core and left me listlessly staring at my ceiling for many nights, and it stared back at me with the ghostly and decrepit smile of sadism. I had been lost for some time, allowing my vision of seeing the world as a young person with my health intact slip into the land of dream purgatory. And now I stand on an island I’ve never been to before, where I know no one, approximately four thousand three hundred forty-seven miles away from our apartment in Greenwood, Indiana, all alone and with the whole world seemingly at my fingertips. There is no end to the possibilities of boundlessly migrating from one place to a new one after this first jump into the abyss of adventure. I have found myself on the road less traveled, and synapses in my brain have altered into new ways of communicating and transmitting signals, new ways of adapting to change, new thought processes, new physiological responses, new behaviors, new programming. I left everything I’ve ever known behind and stumbled upon a new era in my timeline.

Though as life has it, things… changed once I left the airport. Aside from the views of the mountains leaving the airport stealing my breath away, the first eighteen hours were brutal. I was picked up by the finance manager of the used car dealership I had bought my car from, a nice enough guy, but he was crass, and he tried to pick me up in a different way. For lack of better terms, the dude was kind of a douche bag. He drove me to pick up my new vehicle (which I had purchased remotely), a Toyota Corolla that I was so grateful to have found the deal I did for her. Mahina, I named her, the Hawaiian word for moonlight and the moon deity. He disappeared as soon as he handed me my keys, as the mood seemed to change the instant that I mentioned I had a loving boyfriend of almost seven years.

The sun sets early in Hawai’i, at least early for what summer in the Midwest brings for sunlight, especially at the end of August. My plane landed at six twenty-two in the evening. By the time I got into my new car (well, new to me) it was around seven twelve, the sun had set, and it was getting very dark fast. I hurriedly set the GPS on my phone to my new address and pulled out of the tiny lot. As I drove through the foreign city, darkness shrouding over me, dodging the numerous houseless people jaywalking the streets, the mopeds bobbing and weaving between the lanes, and a quickness in traffic flow that felt as though I was driving through a love-child city of Los Angeles and a European country of narrow roads, fear once again settled into the pit of my stomach and high alertness woke my nervous system like it’s never been awakened before. The streetlights were not hanging in front of the lanes but rather sat on poles on either side of the road, something to get used to. When I came to the next stoplight, not far from my new home, I changed directions to head straight for the Walmart nearby. There was no way I was going to go home and then walk in the dark, and I had to go, I needed some bare essentials for the night, including an air mattress so I could have a place to sleep.

I parked my car in the large parking garage and walked toward the entrance, doing my best to appear as a local and not as the terrified little girl I suddenly felt like. I made the trip in and out as quickly as possible and rushed back to my car into the safety of locked doors, and headed for home, getting lost and driving in a couple circles along the way. Once I arrived at my building, it was easy to find my door as I had religiously studied google maps before I arrived, though not enough to avoid taking a few wrong turns. I did my best to hurry, taking all of my new belongings into my new apartment as well as my luggage, not trying to appear frantic, though constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure nobody was watching the lonely woman clearly moving into an apartment from a different place in the world. What was more fearsome was the sound of clanking glass bottles nearby, the sounds sending intense apprehension along the back of my neck that raised my hair and gave me goosebumps.

I am now in my apartment, and the sound of silence is growing louder by the minute, except it’s not silent at all. It’s a Monday night, but it sounds more like a Friday night. I can hear every sound outside of my curtainless jalousie windows, the scuffle of the wind whipping the Ti plant on the back patio echoing to portray the ghostly sound of footsteps being taken in the kitchen. Drunken couples and groups walk through the neighborhood loudly and belligerently, and I turn my lights out for fear of being seen and potentially targeted. Sitting in the dark, I’m trying to ignore the unfamiliarity of the empty apartment as solitude seeps from the concrete walls and encloses me in an alien pod of vanishing enthusiasm that’s rapidly resulting in a sullen ego.

After multiple jump scares attempting to fall into sleep to awaken to the comforting sign of rising daylight, I hear what sounded like a woman saying, “We can see you,” while walking past. I believe it was my mind playing tricks on me. I curled up and cried for about a half hour. I did not take a shower that night. After a few more scares, I finally drifted off into the blissful ignorance of unconsciousness for a few bittersweet hours.

When I awoke in the morning, it was just before five. I finally took a shower, carefully guiding the wand across my hair and body to avoid spilling on the cheap tile outside of the tub. I got dressed in the bathroom, something I never do, and opened the door back up to the hot apartment. I chatted on the phone with Adam and felt much better than I did just a few hours prior. I put on a white romper with blue stripes, left my hair to air dry, and set out for a walk to the beach to catch my first sunrise and hopefully return to the euphoric emotions I had the night before things got dark.

On my lonely walk down the foreign streets of closed shops and traffic picking up for morning rush hour, I took in the new smells around me as I gazed up at the towering condominiums that rule the famous town. The cooing of zebra doves filled my ears and put me slightly at ease, it truly is a beautiful sound. I walked past an overwhelming atmosphere of newness and around forty or so houseless individuals, some hidden in makeshift tents of tarp, some huddled along the side of buildings in sleeping bags, and some lying on sidewalks without even a blanket. It made my heart break, and reminded me that even though I was afraid, I still had things to be grateful for, such as a roof, a car, and a job. I wandered around for a glimmer of peace to soothe the turmoil in my mind for what I had just done. The travel here was no dream, it really happened. Wow… I actually live here now.

As I neared the beach, the smells of tropical town, urine, and car exhaust drifted off behind me and were replaced by salt and sand. A smell I clung to since my last visit to the islands, in Kauai’i. My olfactory senses reclaimed my joy and in that moment I nearly forgot about the loneliness and trepidation. Seeing the blue ocean in front of me at last brought tears to my eyes and I felt as though I couldn’t observe enough at one time. I had to remind myself that I don’t need to drink it all in at once, I’m not on a vacation which will end in a grudging return to dreadful Indiana, I’m home. I’m finally home. The view isn’t going anywhere.

I’m finally home.

The sun peaked its morning glory rays through the fuchsia, and golden clouds and danced across the water in twinkles of glimmering peace. It rose from the horizon at its own pace and revealed the majesty of the nearby ancient and extinct volcanic crater, Diamond Head. I sat on a bench on Magic Island Lagoon and breathed in the scent of warm, salty sea and wet volcanic rock, sprinkled with wonder and exploit. Some moments passed and I chatted with a couple originally from Pittsburg. Breaking out of my fragile shell of being an introvert a few years ago truly opened my eyes to the magic of conversing with strangers, and how quickly it can soothe the sting of loneliness, even if just for a short time. I spent a bit longer gazing at the surreal natural beauty of Paradise, then stood and made my way back into town in search of a much-needed local coffee.

After going back home and crying some more while seriously contemplating whether I had made the right decision to come here, the next few days sort of blurred together. It was frenzied settling in dripping with desperation. I talked with people on the phone to find calmness, I shopped and made my miserably empty apartment survivable, and I hunted for a second job with haste. I had transferred my main job from the mainland, but I needed another to manage everything comfortably.

The gratitude for having the life-changing capabilities it took within me to take this leap into the infinity pool of wandering slowly began to chip away at the iron-clad loneliness that stole away the enjoyment of starting a new life in a far away place, and began to paint the walls of my thoughts the color of dim, blue light as the solitude sank away and transformed into a safe space of salvation. If I was going to be here all alone for some time, I was going to do so by keeping good company with myself… and so I did.

I got my second job within the first week I landed after increasingly becoming more and more anxious that I wouldn’t find something decent. I got hired for one I had interviewed for before leaving Indiana, a commercial and residential cleaning job, but I had already signed an offer for one the day before receiving notice of hire. I wanted that one badly, the pay was good and the scheduling worked with my other job. It turned out to be a blessing disguised in timing that I did not go there and ended up with the one I have now. I love my new job and my coworkers, and the skills I’ve gained will push me further into job security anywhere I go.

I started exploring the island around me, my new home. I visited beautiful beaches, hiked the most glorious mountains, swam in the warmest waters, ate the best food of my life thus far, and met incredible people along the way. I slowly accumulated furniture to make the space my own and create an inviting and cozy atmosphere to come home to, and it made a world of difference. I bought things for my pets well before their arrival to get things comfortable and as familiar as I could for them. I finally bought an electric tea kettle and could have my tea in the nighttime while I read and wrote, and it helped a lot, since I used this new chapter in life to finally quit drinking alcohol. I spent one day a week going to the laundromat to get my minimal amount of clothes washed and spent my free time in the evenings writing and creating, and falling asleep pleased with how my day went each night. Back in 2019, I bought my very first Samsung smart washer and dryer set, I loved them so much and hated to sell them for this new beginning, I used to say, “I’ll never go to a laundromat again in my life.” How materialistic and sad that was, for if I stuck to those high maintenance standards I truly could have kissed my aspirations goodbye.

After some months, we finally reached a point where Adam could fly down with both our dog and cat to bring them to the island and so we could have a break and see each other, and even celebrate our seven year anniversary while he was here. It was surreal, having my family all together again in the place I had cried over moving to for so long. I enjoyed showing him around the island for the measly thirty-six hours he was with me, our finances forced him to only stay a short time, to drop the pets off to me and go basically. But it was a short time neither one of us will ever forget, seeing each other again after so long and picking up where we left off and exploring together and making love as if we were never apart to begin with. That’s love.

I finally reached a point where I could set time and money aside to get a U.S. passport, so one day I walked into the Walmart nearby to purchase a money order for my application. I innocently wandered into the seasonal department expecting to still find gardening equipment, this one did not have a garden center. Instead, I found myself in the midst of beautiful Christmas decorations, one of my favorite times of year. I love the smells, the decorations, the joy, the practice of giving, and the twinkling lights around every corner. I used to work for Walmart, for almost six years, the majority of that time spent in the graveyard shift. The memory of a silent, eerie-beneath-fluorescent-lighting-yet-somehow-dim Walmart with low holiday music weaving throughout the empty aisles crept up into the present moment; a memory of window shopping the Christmas décor and imagining how beautiful our three bedroom home would look with the added cheer, how marvelous our trees would be with some new burlap bows, how welcoming the front door would be with an Earth-toned wreath. The nostalgia momentarily wiped my mind clean of everything I had just done the last several months, until walking back outside in the mid-November seventy-six degree weather and receiving a gentle humid smack to the face of the changes constituted in my life, and recognizing how drastically different things can be after a handful of years and a series of irrevocable decisions, as I looked down the telescope of time. This made me slightly sad, until I remembered that everything in this life is temporary, and someday I’ll enjoy Christmas by a roaring fire in the snowy Alps of Switzerland. So for now, I must enjoy what I came here for.

As the time passed I became more and more relaxed in this new place, and surer of myself and who I am in my own skin. It’s strange, really. I’ve spent my entire life tending to myself, learning things the hard way and on my own, and I’ve never felt more confident in my ability to take care of myself no matter where I am in this world than I do in this moment, after making this decision and following through. It is absolutely true what they say about comfort, it’s the killer of dreams, the ultimate enemy. In order to pursue the life you envision for yourself, you must get uncomfortable.

The Hawaiian Aloha culture is truly everything I had researched it to be, everything I had experience previously in Kaua’i. The people are some of the most wonderful creatures I’ve crossed paths with, and I’ve made friends I never would have met had I not taken this scary chance. “The only thing more beautiful about Hawai’i than the land itself is the people,” Bambi told me this one day and it stuck.

This leap into my first sojourn has taught me many valuable lessons and filled my life with experiences I’ll be grateful to have had in my youth by the time I’m aged and wise. It has breached a threshold in the realm of opportunities with doors opening by the minutes I never would have turned the knobs on had I stayed put in Indiana. It’s the first stay of many in a new place, to learn more about the world around me and see how other people live. Already the next two years of my life are booked with trips to see more and learn more.

For the very first time in my life, I am no longer worried about the future. I am living in the present moment, I am stopping to smell the flowers, I am at peace in my mind, and I have achieved the ultimate goal of realizing happiness in its purest form. I have finally met myself. What it took was not just bravery and discipline, it took sacrifice, discomfort, fear, and faith. It wasn’t until I learned how to want less that I had begun to experience my dreams coming to fruition.

I hope someday you, Reader, can experience the magnitude of chasing your dreams as well. When you awake tomorrow, remind yourself that it is a beautiful day to be alive. ©

It was a random day in April of 2022 when my auntie asked me a question that would ultimately change my life. I’ve always wanted to travel the world, even as a young child, I dreamed of spending my time hopping from country to country on a full-time basis, but soon found myself sucked into the void of building a career above all else. So, when she asked me if I wanted to go to Hawai’i with her—already paid for nonetheless—I couldn’t say no. I was twenty-five years old and still had not traveled further than road-tripping to other states. It was becoming sad, like my dreams were slipping away to appease an idea of life I did not create for myself.

I scheduled a week away from the job I was working at the time (of which I soon quit shortly after), booked a round-trip ticket to Denver, and packed a duffel bag. I couldn’t remember any other time in my life up until that point that I felt so much excitement. Imagine living the majority of your life in the Midwest, daydreaming endlessly of wandering around beautiful places, and suddenly finding a trip to Hawai’i sitting in your lap. It was almost as if… it was fate. I was born in Italy, I spent most of my younger childhood going back and forth between there and Germany, where my father was stationed. I moved to the U.S. when I was eight years old, and aside from small trips around the mainland, I’d spent my whole life since in Indiana.

I remember departure day well, I took a half day from my miserable work-from-home job, and had Adam take me to the airport. I went through TSA very quickly, and then proceeded to have a drink while I sat and waited for boarding to begin. I spoke on the phone with my parents about my trip, one of the last times I ever talked with them. Then I waited patiently, as I let my mind wander about the views and feelings I’d experience in this incredible journey.

My first flight was a handful of hours to Las Vegas. I sat next to a couple that coincidentally happened to live in the same area Adam and myself did, and we frequented the same Kroger for groceries, the one off Kentucky Ave. They were going to elope in one of those chapels with an Elvis impersonator as their officiant; something we had often talked about doing ourselves. They were nice people, but not the crowd I would surround myself with, personally.

My layover in Vegas only lasted about an hour. I used the time to use the restroom and then sit by the gate and reflect on my life. As happy and thrilled as I was that I was finally going on this astonishing adventure, there was a part of me that was very upset with myself that this would be my first one. I had promised myself when I was young that I would move far away from Indiana to a new place by the time I was twenty-two, and then start traveling to new countries on a regular basis. But there I was, three years later and just now going to explore a remote island, and it was not even my idea. I had begun to question many of my decisions leading up to this age, even the good ones. I shrugged off the negativity and enjoyed the present and fleeting moment I had in The City That Never Sleeps.

I boarded my next flight and headed to Colorado. Flying out of Vegas in the nighttime was mesmerizing, city lights rose from the desert in a way no photograph would ever do justice, at least none that I could attempt to take with just an iPhone and no skills. The town dimmed and faded away as the stars in the sky took over the scene in a display of nocturne magic. Before I knew it, I was flying into Denver.

Two cities I’d never been to before, just within a couple hours of each other. It was the beginning of a new addiction. I made my way off the plane and into the airport, and immediately got lost and confused. It did not help that my duffel bag was cumbersome and heavy because I had packed books I did not need. I always take a couple books with me, even though I own a Kindle. I’ve never had to take a shuttle to ground transport before and had no idea where I was going. Auntie had to guide me through on the phone as she pulled her Suburban up to the arrivals area.

I finally found my way to the exit, greeted her after not seeing each other for about a decade, and then headed to a nearby hotel for the night. She lives in Castle Rock, and it was too far of a drive to do in the dark in the middle of a snowstorm, especially since we were leaving for LAX the next morning as a short stop on our way to the island.

I’ve always loved the feel of hotel rooms, hotels in general. Somebody phrased it perfectly, “I really enjoy just existing in hotels. The long identical hallways. The soulless abstract art. The weird noises the air conditioner makes. Strange city lights in the window. Six stories off the ground. Strangers chatting in the hall. Nothing in the dresser. No past, but an infinite present.” I found that posted to the internet. I saved the picture because it touched me, but I have no way of finding out who the anonymous person was, or where it came from. It makes it even more delightful. If you ever happen to read this, OP, I see you.

The stay was short, and then we were back in the large and confusing Denver airport. We had some drinks to warm up, let the anticipation build through excited chatter, and then boarded our first flight for the day. Flying over the Rockies gave me a sensation of wonder that I had previously only dreamt of in my sleep, the views below awakened a wanderlust within me that reinforced my previous feelings of disappointment in the lack of adventure my life had sustained. I knew I was still very young, but I had hardly done anything I saw myself doing when I looked into the future previously, and it made me feel ashamed, and I believe I experience the passing of time differently than most; I can feel the minutes slip away from me every passing hour, the days blend together seamlessly as yet another month passes me by with no accomplishments to smile about, no books published, no art sold, no travels to gather stories from. That’s how it was, until this trip, and the next year that followed. [SEE BLOG POST: A Leap into My First Sojourn.]

The wintery, snow-capped mountains fell away into a terrain that shifted into the dry and treacherous deserts of Utah. The scenes were captivating, and I could not get enough of the sights. This was the start of an obsession to always obtain a window seat, the journey is part of the adventure after all.

When we arrived at LAX, we spent a few hours there. We drank some more alcohol, we ate food to refuel, and we people watched. I still enjoy to people watch to this day, though I have grown out of making rude comments about strangers I know nothing about. It’s an ugly part of human existence, and I now do my best to catch myself and put a stop to it and allow my mind to occupy itself with greater ideas.

The flight to Hawai’i was about six hours, and it was getting dark, even with the three-hour time difference. Eventually I could see nothing outside of the window, and reading on my Kindle made me so tired I had to doze off for a time. I dreamt of knights and dragons and island torches. I was reading A Song of Ice and Fire: A Dance with Dragons, otherwise known as the fifth Game of Thrones book. When I awoke again, we were about forty minutes away from landing in Lihu’e, Kaua’i.

We got off the plane and strolled into the small, wooden, dreamy island airport. As I’m writing this article, it’s been almost exactly one year and six months since I took this trip, but I remember this moment with such clarity that it may as well have just occurred last month. I stepped outside of the fairytale port, and it was dark beyond the lights overseeing ground transportation. I could not see the island, I could not see the beauty surrounding me, I could not see the wonder of the most beautiful of the Hawaiian Islands, the Garden Isle. But in that moment, a strange sensation drifted through the naturally purified air and entered my nose, traveled into my bloodstream with no prior filtration and sank into the pit of my heart. It clutched its warm grasp around my soul and sent a transmission through my brain that gave the skin on my body a tingle, rousing goosebumps, and made my eyes water. It was as if the Earth momentarily dissipated beneath my feet and left me standing at the edge of a fabled and otherworldly fork in the road, and I had to choose whether I would turn right or left. A soft breeze whispered in my ear, “Home.”

I looked to my auntie, “Katie… I don’t know how to describe this right now… but I think I’m supposed to be here. I think I’m supposed to live here.” I couldn’t make much sense of the words coming out of my mouth, I felt shaken to my core and honestly, rather silly. She laughed and proceeded to figure out where our shuttle was, and I did my best to shake off the energetic presence that lingered on my shoulders as I helped her. I would’ve laughed too, who would’ve thought I was being so serious?

We finally found it and were taken to the resort we were going to be staying in. When we reached the information office, it was closed and all that was posted to the door was a phone number. We had to call it to find out how to get into our room but had to wander around the outside of the quaint condo buildings to find it. I enjoyed this experience; it was part of the adventure. Foliage lined the outdoor paths leading to each structure, dimly lit by small mushroom lamps lining the pathway, truly a storybook setting. It took about a half hour for the whole ordeal to unfold by the time we were able to enter our condo, where sleep took hold and we rose to the sounds of roosters at four o’clock in the morning.

I dressed in my bikini and coverup, and we headed out in the still dark atmosphere to walk across the way to some shops, the sky slowly lightening as the minutes passed. We picked up some coffee and headed back for a quick stop at the condo before going to catch the sunrise on the beach. On the walk back, I was engulfed by dense, lush foliage twice, three times taller than I, banyan trees I’d never seen before, palm trees different than what I’d seen in California, and a welcoming spiritual presence that hugged me. I saw feral chickens convening in flocks as if they were pigeons. I noticed the lively geckos all over and the giant snails in the grass. I looked ahead at the beautiful green mountain in the distance, misty clouds covering its peak; I watched it, admiring the imagination of what lurks in its forests. I drank in new smells I’d never encountered before, the cleanest dirt, the crispest air, the color green. I felt as if I’d been transported into a different world. I felt like I was in a different country, how could this possibly be part of the United States? I would learn later in my own research how unfortunate and detrimental the U.S.’s illegal occupation of Hawai’i truly was, and why even I consider Hawai’i to be its very own special place, not just another state. When we entered back into our condo, I sat on the back porch and sipped on my coffee, looking out into the fantasy garden and the ocean beyond.

Sunrise climbed above the horizon, giving way to an enchanting scene below. The greens were greener than I’d ever seen, the native plants more exotic than I imagined. I became engulfed by wild magic both old and new, and felt once again that sting in my heart, like I’d found what I’d been searching for, held it in my hands, but had to let it go soon. I fell in love, deeply and hopelessly with the ‘a ̅ina, enamored in such a way I’d never felt before for anything, or anyone. It felt how I imagine a reunion must feel with family and an individual that had been missing for some time. I felt like I finally found the missing piece in my life, home. I looked around, imprinting the sights into my memory because the pictures weren’t going to be enough to revisit, I let the wonderful natural smells intoxicate me, and I listened to the birds and the roosters and the waves, and I did all to hold back tears.

We took the rest of our coffees with us as we made our way down the wooden steps from our upstairs condo and headed for the beach. As we approached, I began to smell the salt in the air, and my olfactory sense triggered childhood memories of Italy, specifically the beach house owned by my auntie and uncle from my mother’s side. The ocean in the morning became my new favorite color, the slate blue of water reflecting the color of the lightening sky above, calm ripples hurdling toward the shore after the night’s chaotic waves rushing the sand. I slipped out of my footwear and practically ran to it, sinking my toes in the wet sand and letting the sea wash over my feet. The sand was a soft, ultra-light khaki I had seen in photographs, the water was room temperature. I closed my eyes and remained like that for a few minutes, before opening them and watching the waves crash against a nearby bed of black coral. Beyond, on the opposing side, lay a series of condos embedded between palms and a stretch of beach that just continued endlessly. The scene could have easily been turned into a postcard.

We spent all day on the beach swimming, sun-bathing, and gazing out at the vastness of the Pacific Ocean. I watched the palms sway in the soft breeze and allowed my mind to wander far away in the idealism of refunding my ticket back home and just staying. I watched children brave the waters quicker than I did, wondering if they were locals. There is a saying Hawaiians have for the sea, “Never turn your back on the ocean.” It carries the same warning as what I was always told as a child when I still lived in Italy, “The ocean is not your friend.” I was careful in the water, ensuring I did not go farther than I could touch, it had been almost twenty years since I’d stepped foot in the sea. I’m not even sure the Pacific can be compared to the Mediterranean Sea, in all fairness—the water is so different, and still so beautiful.

The first sunset was a painting in the sky created in real time by the Old Gods. I watched it with intent, I wanted to capture it in my mind and never let it go. The way the sun left brush strokes of crimson and gold leaf in the tinted clouds above the blue water left me gazing across the miles of dusty blues as if I’d just experienced love at first sight. I became infatuated with the charm of the picturesque landscape before me. I could feel a spiritual enchantment emitting from the ground beneath my feet, a presence so powerful that I wondered if I was light-headed from possible jetlag. I did not question it, I let it overwhelm me until I couldn’t bear the idea of only staying for one week. The resolution to that problem came one year and three months later.

I had walked back and forth between the beach and condos a few times that day, each time finding myself more and more perplexed with a growing obsession as each species of plant in the gardens captivated my attention and held it through the entirety of my strolls… the Garden Isle, indeed. The oldest of the inhabited islands, Kaua’i is the third eye chakra of the world, a place where souls enter and exit the Earth plane. It is believed by the ancient legends that when we’re given life we first enter the island, and then we return to it once we’ve used the energy we’ve borrowed—a beautiful garden of life and passage. I have never been an individual of religion, preferring to walk the path of agnostic secular humanism, but I have never felt so connected to an idea as I did when I found that research after a conversation with my other half’s late cousin, George. The magic I felt was not in my head. It is known that Kaua’i is a place of healing and inspiration, that when visitors leave they feel a cathartic weight lifted and have a new outlook on accomplishing their goals in life.

As dusk gave way to twilight, the little mushroom lamps lighting the pathway came to life in a show of fairytale wonder. Plants towering over me turned dark and became silhouettes against a darkening sky. Away from the light pollution I’d experienced for the majority of my life, I could finally see the beautiful night sky above. Stars dotted the black in a show of millions of twinkling lights, and above a black sea where the waves fearlessly hit the shore in a natural Earth phonetic rhythm, I felt that Heaven must be real, for I couldn’t possibly be alive in that moment, I must have passed away unbeknownst to myself, and ended up in the most serene environment the Gods could place me in. For the first time in my life, I was briefly at peace. I could feel radical changes being planted into the core of my being. I listened to the sounds of the night: rustling in the brush, rushing water, distant chatter, and the low croak of some sort of reptile.

A couple days had passed, and the enchantment did not dim. Even when I stayed out in the sun too long and felt my body suffer the consequences. I have never been sunburned in my life. As an Italian woman, my olive-toned skin darkens in the sun rather than reddening. This time was different, this sun was different. It was not diagnosed, but I believe I became sick with sun poisoning. My right calf and ankle had swelled to twice their normal size, I became faint, and before I knew what was happening, I had been thrown into the first and only panic attack I’ve ever had. I did not know how to handle it; I thought I was having a heart attack. I hope to never experience that again, losing total control over your body and sobbing hysterically with no way to stop it is terrifying. The tightness in my throat spread to my chest and it was so painful I thought I was experiencing the last few minutes of my life in a flash of white-hot misery. I was sweating profusely, and my back was so hot I could have sworn I just pulled it away from a scorching furnace. My nervous system experienced an imaginary eight ball of adrenaline and suppression. Fire coursed through my veins as my head pulsed with a dizziness that almost knocked me off my feet.

I had to cancel my booking for the zipline tour in Koloa, something I really looked forward to, I couldn’t wait to see the amazing forest zipping past, wind whistling between my ears and the trees, the beauty of the island held still in a video flying through the air. After a nap for a few hours, everything including my leg was much better. My skin peeled for almost a week later, and then ended up with a golden tone stronger than I’ve ever had, sun-kissed freckles flecked across my face and all. I left my heart in Hawai’i, but some of Hawai’i came home with me.

Though I did not get to go on ziplining, I was no less enchanted with this mystical place than I was before the sickness took me. By the next day, it was as if nothing had happened to me at all. Part of me wondered if the attack was a mixture of the sun exposure and an increasing anxiety over leaving this place that felt like home to go back to Indiana, the place that felt like prison. I did not linger on the reasoning for it long, I did not want that memory to corrupt the rest of the experience for me. We went horseback riding at CJM Country Stables and it was a wonderful adventure I will never forget. It was the first time I had ever been on a horse, and I absolutely loved it. I played in my mind like I was Daenerys Targaryen riding through the Red Waste to take back Westeros. For that moment, I got to be a child again, pretending and imagining and being encompassed in a bewitching new environment. We rode by the beautiful mountains, the majestic cave where the filming of Pirates of the Caribbean: The Fountain of Youth was filmed, and a wonderful, secluded beach in the crescent of the mountains that also happened to be a nude beach. The freedom of the few people below enjoying it was powerful.

The rest of the week was spent strolling through the resorts, eating at restaurants and making sandwiches at the condo, swimming some more, and drinking too much alcohol and smoking too many cigarettes. It was the most fun I’d had in a long time, but I could not shake the feeling that I was missing the point of being there. See, I was not meant to be there. My auntie originally booked the trip as a birthday gift to herself and had my cousin as her second person. My cousin dropped out of the trip, and that left an open and already-paid-for spot up for grabs. So when she asked me to join her, of course I jumped on it. Things like this do not just happen, and they certainly don’t happen to people like me. This all happened for a reason, and it was driving me insane trying to figure out why. But one thing I did know for sure was that this would not be my last time in Kaua’i, and certainly not Hawai’i as a whole.

We met up with my auntie’s friends, Bill and Ginger. Ginger had sold everything and moved to O’ahu where her son lived, and Bill had made the move in his early twenties. Oh, what a marvelous adventure it would be to make a drastic one-eighty in life and move to Hawai’i while I’m still young, I thought to myself as I spoke with them and learned more about the culture and what it’s like to live there. At the time, I was studying for a real state license in Indiana to become a broker and secure a healthy financial future for us, my auntie is a broker in Colorado, and Bill is a broker in Hawai’i, and at one point he had mentioned if I ever did move down there and got the appropriate license we may be able to work together. I wouldn’t know until much later, after becoming licensed that I would find myself bored and uninspired as a realtor and would set the idea away in pursuit of a career in writing and creating. Still, the happenstance of potentially having some sort of work set up through a connection was impossible to ignore as nothing less than a sign that I was meant to go on that trip, and I was meant to have these experiences which would later lead to dropping everything I thought I wanted in favor of becoming a life-chaser.

My suspicions continued to grow as the days and nights passed and I had begun to scheme on how to move to the islands someday. On the last night of the trip, we went out to eat at a restaurant where a local band was playing nearby. The strangest part of the trip occurred at that point in time. The band played my all-time favorite song, Nights in White Satin by the Moody Blues. I had first heard the song in Tim Burton’s Dark Shadows as a teenager and my soul wrapped around the music and danced with it. I couldn’t believe my ears. Of all the songs they could have played, I believe that was a very random one. And for me to have just happened to be there while they decided to play it left me speechless, staring at the sushi I’d just ordered with a dumbfounded expression on my face and a puzzle I needed to solve quickly. I did not solve it quickly, I laid in bed for many moons crying and figuring out how to return in the form of a sojourn rather than a vacation. I did not want to stay in a resort the next time I came, I wanted to get to know the locals, learn more about the culture, find my reason for coming back. Hawai’i did something to me that I had a hard time explaining to folks back home. It took me awhile to realize there was no need to explain anything to anyone, there hardly ever is.

Our last morning was a bittersweet one. On the one hand, I clearly wanted nothing more than to stay in Paradise. On the other, I was ready to be with my partner and pets again. I was ready to dive into the research it was going to take to make moving to the islands a reality. We spent the morning walking to Poipu beach for the sunrise and to see the famed sea turtles, or Honu. They were magnificent, so large, so wise, so tired of seeing humans crowd them, I imagine. We did take a photo near one, and now looking back I think we were closer than what’s respectful… only about three feet away rather than eight, and that I feel shameful for. As the dawn broke over the horizon and the sun rose higher in the skies, the Honu began to turn and make their way back into the water. Knowing that was my last sunset before returning home made me feel gloomy and had me seriously questioning every decision I’d made up until that point. Just the night prior I lay awake in bed and thought to myself how possible it would truly be to live the life of adventure I’d always wanted. That idea opened doors that I did not know I held the keys for until about six months later.

Leaving the island was heartbreak. I watched it fall below on a rainy day, as the waves sprayed the shores, and eventually the green mountains were no longer in sight, and I was left with limitless blue and white. I gazed out of the window awhile, and then closed it and fell into a sleep I can only describe as subpar half-napping. I told myself there was no reason to be sad, I’ll be back again someday soon.

I left my heart in Hawai’i, when I came back home I had changed. There were some pieces missing and some pieces gained. It was the beginning of a turning point in my life. The trip that changed everything. I was not the same person when I returned, I had awakened to possibilities only a lunatic would attempt. Kaua’i was the first stop in a tumultuous development that would set the tone for the very rest of my life, and visiting the island sent me into an upward spiral of accomplishments I’d dreamed of since I was a young child.

Ua Mau ke Ea o ka ‘A ̅ina i ka Pono. “The life of the land is perpetuated in righteousness.” Hawai’i is a very special and sacred place in this world, Kaua’i being the island I hold dearest in my heart. It has been a pleasure and an honor to have been fortunate enough to experience the beauty and majesty and supernatural characteristics of the land. It was a journey I will never take for granted, and I will be grateful for the rest of my life to have had the blessing of being touched by Kaua’i, and letting the island shift the rest of the plans in my timeline to safeguard the ultimate goal of spending all my trips around the sun in the joyous state of eternal and genuine happiness and serenity. ©