My motto this year is to do all the things I've said I want to. Partially because yolo, but more-so because as I get older my mortality is racing towards me faster than a hyperactive puppy. This is the philosophy that led me to New York, and the same one that led me to Hawaii for my sister's birthday trip. I initially wasn't going to go because let's face it, ya girl broke. But when there's a will there's a way, and so I scrounged and made it happen. I'd be lying if I said there were no regrets (I can still hear the audible cries of my bank account), but Hawaii's been on my list since I moved to this country so I'm happy I could make it there.
The islands are obviously stunning, the air humid and warm (my hair and skin thank you), the sun bestowing me with a glow to rival Mac and Sephora, and the waters clear, warm and healing. All beauties aside, Hawaii kicked. my. ass. A whopping K.O. I was no match. It started off with the tide-pools which we scaled a treacherous, steep, rocky mountain down to. The pools themselves were beautiful, with a backdrop of splashing ocean waves. I ate, I swam, I selfied, I stubbed my toe on a sea urchin and sliced my knee on a piece of coral. That thing went through me like a knife into soft butter leaving me to trek back up the mountain with a bloody knee,
Next up on the list, surfing! We drove to an area called North Shore which is ridiculously picturesque and I can't believe people get to live there. I've surfed before and I've loved it each time, so I was ecstatic to get back out on the water. What I didn't mentally budget for were the reefs that lurked beneath. Our instructors prepped us for them though and we were taught to fall off the boards like a starfish to avoid hard contact with the rocky bottoms. And yet, even with my best Patrick Star impression, I managed two cuts to the top of my foot on my first dismount.
But foot cuts be damned! I was going to enjoy this trip no matter the injuries sustained. And so we walked back to our car, tossed our wet belongings in the trunk and as I held on to the open trunk for balance to take off my shoes, a resounding thud. Yes, the sound of the trunk door slamming on and trapping my finger in it. Please open the door now! please please please! I tried not to cry, I really did, I hate crying in public but this one hurt. The actual physical pain, the mental image of having part of your limb forcefully stuck between something, plus the adrenaline triggered by my fight or flight response- it was the perfect martini glass cocktail of tears. Fortunately nothing was broken, and we very conveniently had a fully frozen bottle of ice in the trunk which I used against the swelling.
That night in bed, I gave myself a hug. For this body which had endured so much but still kept my soul secure and allowed me to enjoy the rest of the trip. For how bad everything could have been, but how perfectly safe I was able to come out of it. Behind that mortality puppy running my way, is a band of fragility kittens. I've never felt so fragile as I did on this trip. New York concrete jungle aint got nothing on mother nature (...and car nature) of Hawaii! We're truly just a bunch of soft vulnerable blood bags.
And yet despite this fragility, we are resilient. It is truly by the grace of God that I made it back to LA in one piece, and as much as I loved my vacation, boy am I happy to be back home.