An Open Afternoon

A small dispatch from Waikiki

I’m in Waikiki, sitting on the second floor of an open-air restaurant on my own. A breeze ruffles the ginger and palms, flutters over my bare arms, and runs through my hair, making me feel like I’m in a commercial. The server has just brought me a southwestern-style salad with spicy chicken, and I’m enjoying an Athletic beer, NA—the best brand of NA beer. So happy there are finally really good NA beers.

The salad has fresh corn and goat cheese and dates and avocado, which wouldn’t seem to go together, but it is delicious.

I am utterly calm inside, all the usual fretting and planning and worrying about the state of the world just…gone. That is what a vacation is meant to do, of course, but I sometimes am so focused on what I might learn that I don’t let go so completely.

But it fills the well. Looking at things—the ginger leaves, the chubby older man in a plaid shirt across the aisle, the shape of the gray stoneware plate, the sounds of voices and music—all of it sinks into the soil of my imagination, fertilizing it for future growth.

It is impossible to write novels year after year without taking this time to layer in new things. I visited the Honolulu Museum of Art and the Bishop Museum. We have walked the industrial-grade tourist routes along Waikiki and driven to the North Shore. I don’t know what the girls in the basement want or what will be used. I do know all of it is compost.

I also know that the current world is hard on our nervous systems. Take some time to fill the well; let go of everything for a regular date with yourself. It’s nourishing and fortifying.

Now I’m going to pay my bill and walk on the beach. Maybe I’ll take a nap. The afternoon is wide open, and I don’t need to decide anything yet.

Be well.