Washing off the day

I crept through rush hour traffic.

It had been a long day. Client after client. Each one with a different story. Each one a testament of strength and overcoming.

I feel honored to work with these individuals, honored to connect with them to the depths that they allow me to, but it doesn't stop me from feeling tired. And today their stories weighed on me like layers of other people's lives.

And so I sat in traffic, contemplating a text from Laarni that promised clean sets.

I had sentenced myself to the Koko Head stairs in order to redeem myself from the bedridden disease that overcame me this past weekend. I blamed sickness but I can't lie. Laziness was tangled under the covers with me as well. I hate it when I waste a weekend and felt I needed some form of punishment and push.

But as I sat watching the clear blue skies and still leaves on trees, I decided to let myself off easy.

And so I rushed home, changed, grabbed by board and made my way quickly to Diamond Head. I flew down the goat trail as I raced the fading light of day, feeling almost giddy with anticipation for what was to come.

The water was warmer than I anticipated and I said a silent "thank you."

Paddle, paddle, paddled out to the line up. The cool, salty water on my skin immediately took me far far away from the day. From the office. From everything but the present moment.

I said a quick and cheerful hello to Nic and Laarni as I watched them catch waves I couldn't quite catch myself. It didn't matter. I sat in awe of the beauty of the sky doing yet another glorious finale to the passing of the day.

Sunsets never cease to amaze me. I hope they never ever will.

I waited.

And while I waited, I played with the clouds. They created shapes, not just for me, but I pretended so anyway. I saw a heart, a phoenix, a walrus. I didn't see a lion or an aligator, but both were pointed out to me. Perhaps the clouds made those shapes just for those particular surfers.

They turned into pinkish orange cotton candy but I found myself too mesmerized by the glowing ball of fire sinking into the horizon. Despite knowing better, I stared at anyways, turning away, only when everything started to get spotty.

I began a haiku in my head:

A beauty so pure...

I didn't finish it.

I caught my wave. And a couple more. Feeling alive as I glided up and down the smooth clean curls.

Feeling humbled and slightly embarrassed as I face planted gracelessly.

Feeling challenged and out of breath as I swam for my board.

Feeling grateful for Laarni as she grabbed it for me each time.

I watch fire turn to ash. Orange brilliance turn to a deep blue gray. I stayed in the water until the sun clocked out and the half moon clocked in.

And up the goat trail I went. Huffing and puffing and smiling.

Washing off the day and reminding myself that I must make time for this more often...

V-Day

Valentine's is fast approaching.


This morning as I drank my coffee, it dawned on me that in all of my almost 31 yrs, this will be the 2nd Valentines that I'm actually with someone for this romantic (okay, consumer driven) holiday. All of my other V-days I've been single.


Like Christmas and birthdays I think there's an inherent expectation to Valentine's day, even if I try to fight it. Call it social conditioning, aka: brainwashing, but despite all of the "nah, I don't care about it" sentiments I keep spouting, I know my feelings will be hurt if I don't get my romantic gesture. I don't want to be that girl, but sadly, I am.

And in truth, I love the idea behind the day. A day dedicated to love. A day demanding romance, gifts, chocolates, flowers, and delicious dinners. I mean, that's waaaay better than searching for stinky boiled eggs, now isn't it? ;) (Just kidding Jesus)


So, one should think I'd be excited for Valentine's now that I have a partner to share this joyous holiday with. But oddly, I'm not. Instead I find myself nostalgic for my single days.


Don't get me wrong, I love Erik and I love being with him.


Love curling up in his warm arms.


Love his sweet kisses.


Love the way he tells me something nice about myself everyday (what girl doesn't love a good ego stroke?).



I love how I think about him throughout the day and find my heart filling with appreciation, find a smile breaking on my face without fail.



I love how we work together as a team. (I make messes, he cleans them up. I break things, he fixes them. He cooks, I eat- it's perfect).



I truly love being with him.



But again, that being said. I miss certain things from singledom.



I miss the excitement. I miss the level of intimacy at which I connected with other fellow singletons. I miss writing about all of the emotions that went with singleness, and the community that I found in it.



As a couple, Erik and I are our own community. We are our gas station, grocery story and public park. Essentially everything I need is within us. He is my home. "Us" is my safe haven.



But it wasn't always like that. Once upon a time I was a nomad without a home. My community was everywhere and nowhere.

Once upon a time, Laarni and I raided each other's fridges on a weekly basis because stores don't sell to single people, and we'd have too much lettuce, tomatoes, etc, to eat on our own.

Malia and I sent messages to each other about the pains and perils, as well as the excitement of our forever single statuses.

Going out was the band aid for loneliness and my phone rang frequently to come to the call of duty for a fellow single girlfriend.

I found a certain camaraderie in those days, and I had a great love for my fellow battle buddies- the ones that could commiserate about attending weddings alone, being asked "why are you still single?" far too many times, subjected to co-workers trying to set us up with someone they knew would be so perfect, but so wasn't. We felt each other's pains and celebrated each other's small joys better than anyone else.

A conversation with a coupled friend might involve me sharing some juicy tid bits and them feigning as much interest as they could muster. (Though I can't blame them, for it was always the same story, different guy).

A conversation with a fellow single girlfriend would lead to OMG! Do tell! Secretive smiles and collaboration. Because when you're single, each person is new, each person is a possible maybe, even if you know deep down they really aren't.

And so, as Valentine's day approaches, I think of how things used to be. I remember both the pending doom, and the silver linings and I smile at days not so long lost. Because back then the only goal for V-day was to survive; to get through the painful awareness that I wouldn't be getting roses, wouldn't be having a dinner, wouldn't be picking a fight because it wasn't quite romantic enough, and that even if I told myself I didn't care. I did. And others did too. And so we did together. Strangely enough, there was something fun about surviving those days. A certain badge of honor.

However, that being said, I am happy to have my man. And on some small level happy for the way my V-day plans are panning out. We actually won't be spending the day together, as I'll be off island and when I return, he'll be at work. But I am looking forward to making up for the missed day, and I'm also looking forward to being awoken by his sweet kisses when he comes home in the wee hours, and I'm tucked in fast asleep, hopefully not snoring or drooling, as I so often do.

Happy Valentine's Day all!