Hawaii, in retrospect

Targeted advertisements radiate outward these days from the state of Hawaii, begging tourists not to come. I'm reminded of the place, one that hasn't strayed far from my mind now comfortably in the rear view mirror. It was a wonderful foray, right on the cusp of the pandemic, just before you wouldn't take a such a trip. The ecological paradise, an island covered in flowers and green, peppered with a constant drizzling rain, was a reminder of the power of the sun on your skin, of daily sweats, and of a fresh breeze that whisks up thousands of miles of open ocean kissing softly your skin.

I'm struck by the story of Hawaii, one of the planet's great treasures. In its isolation, humans have only known it for a fraction of the time we've been here, and boarding a plane tells you why. Four and a half hours after noting San Francisco Bay below at 500mph and 30,000 feet, you finally see the heights of Mauna Kea out your window, realizing nothing but open ocean lies below. In the other direction, it's even farther to any real form of mainland. How does one begin to conceptualize that much water in every direction, and how far down it goes?

I think it is life's hard journey, its resiliency, that is most moving. It invites in me all kinds of questions. How long must seeds travel on open ocean, battered by waves, caught in currents, to eventually wash up on shore. What keeps them potent, still allows them to sprout? How far must birds fly to finally land exhausted on Hawaii's hardened lava flows? This is to say nothing of humans, cumbersome and awkward, out of our element on the open sea. Who were these men and women that set off from an island like Tahiti in small wooden outrigger canoes, not knowing where they were going, not knowing what they would find, and after more than a month at sea guided only by stars, unknowingly becoming the first inhabitants of these islands active and alive. It's another one of history's small mile-markers, spawned by those brave, foolish, desperate in exile, or a mixture of the three.

The place has evolved with time, of course. It exists now in the 21st century, joining the infinite ranks of places like Niagara Falls and the festivals of San Fermin. Popular, beautiful locations are just ruined by people, far too many of us desiring far too much. Waikiki, with its mixture of tourists from east and west, is unbearable, flanked by shopping malls and resorts and an aloha culture I'm not sure ever actually existed. The military footprint is ever-present, cargo planes taking off and F-16s breaking sound barriers high above. Virtually every light on the island is powered by sweet crude oil emitting somewhere their noxious gasses. To the north sits the great pacific garbage patch, absorbing and expanding by the day.

All that's true. But driving far out down some of the roads that hug the water, maybe with the convertible top down, you still cannot help but be moved by its beauty in isolation. Old waves crash against volcanic rock, watched over by lush cloud covered peaks. Coral reefs grow and die off. Islands millions of years in the making rise and sink. If you look hard, you'll see that connection with the passages of time, the countless difficult journeys, the few that succeeded and the many that did not. You'll appreciate the geological accident in the middle of the pacific that gave us the tallest volcano on earth. You'll appreciate the inclination of life to survive. The Michener dedication written decades ago by a now dead man I expect will always ring out true: to all the peoples who came to Hawaii.