Nine days ago, I stepped off a plane in Lihue, Kauai
That’s the nicest of the Hawaiian Islands, in my never-humble opinion. Unless you count Lanai, where since Larry Ellison bought 98% of it, the hotels are now out of reach for anyone not in the billionaire class. Or Niihau, which you can’t go to unless you’re a guest of the Robinson family, who has weird rules for the native residents (no alcohol or tobacco and no talking to the press about Niihau).
My point is, Kauai with its population of just under 74,000 is an accessible, if not cheap, refuge. It has a refreshingly low-key, low-pose vibe. At this time of year, with the kids in school, the tourists are mostly unself-conscious elders, happily flip-flopping along with their mai-tais in hand and smiling at the landscaping.
Kaui has no high rises, no jam-packed Waikiki-type beaches. It’s a world apart from the mainland, a true escape.
Especially in January, and most especially in January 2025.
Before you leave the Lihue airport, even as you emerge from the jetway, you’re surrounded by warm, fragrant breezes. Chlorophyll-enriched oxygen envelopes you, humidity gently plumping your scaly winter hide.
Caressed by the air, you forget the winter holiday bustle of only a few weeks ago. You forget about bustling at all, in fact, and about winter itself. Even with the few drenching rain showers that come and go, leaving jewel-like droplets clinging to the uber-lush flowers and greenery, the island temperature is ideal. All the time.
Blissfully, you sink into relaxation, and soon enough you forget what awaits you when you return home.
But yesterday, I stepped off a plane in Boise, Idaho
Back home, winter is in full swing. Instead of a caress, the wind offers a bracing slap in the face. No “aloha” here; Idaho’s January air whips around your head, taunting you to see if you’re tough enough to take it.
And right away, you understand that the island refuge thing is over. You’re back in the deep red heartland now, with the Polar Express barreling towards you while an obsequious oligarchy, a batshit billionaire brigade, the Dark Sith Lords of the Cloud, assumes command of the nation.
Meanwhile, you still haven’t heard from your friends and former neighbors in L.A., and you’re worried. But you don’t want to pester them with anxious texts because maybe they’re busy dealing with the loss of their homes to the wind-driven infernos of the past week.
Sending them vacay pics from Hawaii seems in wretched taste under the circumstances.
The world is a hot mess, even the parts of it that are freezing, and here you’ve been playing la-la-la in paradise.
Still, the sense of peace lingers
I’m grateful for my vacation and for its timing. There is much to be said, as the days seem to darken, for a tactile experience that the world also contains beautiful, healing places.
And that the human mind is also capable of kindness, generosity, heroism (check Jimmy Kimmel’s monologue about the volunteer responders in L.A.), and yes, serenity.
We don’t get to choose the state of the world, but we do have a say about the state of our own minds. And that, as we plunge into whatever comes next, is what I’m hanging onto like a life raft.
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