Between Days

I’ve been a little depressed. Which is worth examining because life has been good: we live in a beautiful home with great neighbors; I have a car that I love driving; we’ve had the opportunity to make friends with a wide variety of lovely people; and the communities out here move me– a bubbling of ideas that make it seem like anything can happen, anything can change. The sun shines every day.

Despite this, for the past couple of weeks, I’ve been distractingly blue. Sometimes thinking about Ruth. Sometimes not being able to sleep…

We just booked our tickets to go home for the holidays. It hit me so suddenly how good it will feel to be home for a little while. I’ve hardly thought about New York. It feels farther than it is.

But as November whips by, I imagine running errands on the Upper East Side. It’s dark out but it feels early. Daylight Saving has just started and I’m thinking about Christmas gifts. But there’s time, so today I won’t feel bad buying stuff for myself. I’ll text KL and ask him what we’re going to have for dinner. Maybe he’ll text me back that we should meet at Setagaya for a big bowl of steaming ramen. We’ll walk home holding hands with gloves on and shed our thick layers when we get back to our small but well-lit studio.

I miss it. I miss the cold. I miss a book. The one that has the poem. I would put it here now. Mark Wallace’s Standard Time.


A Nan a plan.

As we were leaving the HIFF reception last week, my friend Sean joked that when we first met I still had alot of New York in me,  and now I have alot of Kailua in me. It was a remark in passing but I found it poignant.

It feels like eons ago that we stepped off the plane to make a home here.  I was still high off of my last event with MOCA. I had quit my job but believed that I could maintain my life in NY from thousands of miles away. I literally thought that if I woke up at 5AM PST to make my calls and write my emails that no one in NY would notice that I’d left. Which at the time was more important to me than figuring out how to make a life in Hawaii. When I think about myself back then I feel a little sorry for myself.

It’s been a slow process letting go…but I have. When this is over I will have lived here for a total of eighteen months over two years. It’s a funny combination of being settled, but not really.

On Way

A few years ago K and I spent four months living in a hotel in Vancouver for a project he was working on. When we got there we had no idea it would be as long as it was. Our time was a long frosty blanketed meditation.

We spent days and days doing who knows what… ordering room service breakfast, making sandwiches, crafting homemade Christmas cards, visiting the bookstore, figuring out how much to tip the various hotel services. Gray rainy days stretched out ahead of us. Paradoxically, dotted among these days were larger than life characters and a handful of unique experiences–like chillin with Don Rickles…

One day, months after we got back to Brooklyn, K was looking at pictures of our room at The Sutton Place Hotel. He muttered to me–we’ve gotten along in some pretty small places.

Which is very true.

Our time here in Hawaii couldn’t be more different and yet we’re left with long stretches of not having a routine even though we feel we should. There are moments in a day when everything stops and there’s nothing that I have to do. It’s jarring. Today we made the best of it and took a long walk and jumped into the ocean at the end to cool off. Now, what to do tomorrow….that’s tomorrow’s story…