More reef scars

Last week I went to Hanauma Bay with a friend. I keep telling myself I should do that more often, but like so many things I tell myself I should do, it’s rare that I actually make it happen.

After Hanauma, I’m especially hoping this will change, and here’s why. As I was standing in the sand and surf after snorkeling, and watching the waves crash over the rocks in the distance, I initially felt so attached to my surroundings, and then all of a sudden, unattached.

Attached because this is Hawai’i. This is my home. I know my way around so much better than when we first moved here, and I understand so much more about the history, culture, horticulture, language, etc. I have friends here. This is my calm and beautiful haven in this crazy universe.

Then this sudden feeling of detachment hit me — that I’m still missing something. Of course, I could be spending lots more time in and around the water. Although I’m not a great swimmer, that’s no reason to avoid the ocean. Or even our backyard pool.

No, something much more basic was beckoning me, as I rinsed my bloody fingers in the shallows. You see, the tide was low that morning, and while snorkeling, I had scraped my knuckles across the coral, causing a nice cut on my finger that may leave a bit of a scar.

But was that a bad thing? It occurred to me that maybe that’s what I’m missing — getting even closer to what makes this place so unique and exotic and beautiful and different. Venturing behind and beyond the language and places and people (all of which are wonderful, of course), and closer to the ocean, the land, the clouds, the sunshine and all the magic that has been here for thousands of years. Shifting close enough to have more of this place rub off on me, even if that means rubbing hard enough for painful cuts and permanent scars.

In other words, getting close enough to permit Hawai’i to change ME.

Odd as it may sound, that’s what I concluded I was feeling that day, and still feel right now: I need more reef scars. More sand in my clothes. Let the sun darken my skin more. Be more deeply a part of this place. To be not the me who came to live here five years ago, but more the me who lives here now, and an ever-changing me who will live here for as long as he possibly can — scars and all.