To Live in a Rainbow

I was born and raised in the Midwest, but my heart and soul have always belonged to the sea. Maybe it's because I am a Pisces; I was twelve years old when I told my dad out of the blue one day, "When I turn eighteen, I'm moving to California and I'm never coming back."

I did just that, but not exactly. I graduated high school early and first flew to Hawaii for a summer internship working with marine animals before moving to California that fall for college. It was the best summer of my life. On my last day before my landlord drove me to the airport, she picked a yellow bell flower from a tree in her yard and walked me to the beach.

She said it was a tradition to throw the flower into the ocean, and if it floated away it meant you would never come back, but if the waves brought the flower back to shore it meant you would one day return to Hawaii. I knew right then and there even before throwing the flower that I would be coming back. I had to be. I threw the flower as if my life depended on it. Thankfully, the ocean granted me my wish.

I flew to California to start university, lucky enough to have received a scholarship to attend my dream school that was right on the coastline. I felt at home since I could still see the ocean every day from campus. I took surfing class as my credit for PE and for fun my friends and I camped on the beach. My heart and soul were content on this side of the Pacific, and I continued living in Los Angeles for over ten years until a little voice awoke from within me and started to speak of the promise that was made all those years ago between me, the yellow flower, the island and the sea.

The message came at me strong and clear, as if someone was literally whispering, no, shouting in my ear: Go to Hawaii. It persisted for weeks, then months. One day when I heard the voice and tried to ignore it, a car drove by me with a Hawaii license plate. It's not something you see every day in California. I couldn't escape the calling. So I let my landlord know I wouldn't be renewing my lease, sent in the paperwork I needed for my dog to enter the state, shipped my car across the ocean, sold all of my belongings less what I could fit into two suitcases, and I flew back to Hawaii.

The island of Hawaii is raw—and powerful. Home to Kilauea, the world's most active volcano, there is deep reverence of living mythology weaved into everyday existence. It comes with the territory of living on an active volcano—you understand more so than ever the cyclic nature of Nature herself, that destruction and creation are two sides of the same coin. Out of the lava, new land and life spring forth again.

In addition to the world’s most active volcano, Hawaii is also home to Mauna Kea, the world's highest peak (from the bottom of the sea). There is something otherworldly about visiting its summit, which indigenous Hawaiians and the local culture honor as sacred. The first time I visited Mauna Kea was at nighttime. At its summit, you stand so high up that the skyline is miles below you, and so are the stars scattered along the horizon. When you are standing amongst the stars, rather than gazing up at them from afar, it's like you start to remember you are one of them. It's a level of cosmic intimacy I've never felt elsewhere. We are, after all, all made of stardust.

To highlight the vastness of its diversity, the island of Hawaii alone contains eleven out of the thirteen climate zones found on this planet. From fields of lava to tropical rain forests, to snowy mountaintops, endless waterfalls, and black, white and even green sand beaches, it's really the entire island that is imbued with magic; otherworldly.

Making Hawaii my home has allowed me to simplify my life, and reconnect with a more primal and natural aspect of my being. This is what I sought out in leaving the city, and this is what I received. Living more harmoniously with my natural surroundings, I've reset my circadian rhythm to wake and sleep with the rising and setting of the sun. I pick papayas off of trees for breakfast and forage coconuts when I need a drink. I don't need to spend money on the many clothes and shoes that cluttered my life in the city because I'm always barefoot at the beach. I've become less distracted by the bustles of society and more inspired by the abundance and adventure that nature inherently offers me.

To live in a rainbow, you need both sun and rain—lots and lots of rain. To me, that is the most beautiful and profound aspect of this paradoxical life: to experience and embrace the full spectrums of light and dark, wet and dry, cold and hot, and all of the colors in between. Hawaii is a land of extremes, but I wouldn't want it any other way. Navigating its intensity has taught me how to find the balance I need within myself to stay grounded on my own two feet.

I think Helen Keller said it best when she said that "life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all." This land and the sea offer me the life of daring adventure that my soul needs to truly feel alive and free.