Letting Go

Yesterday, after having found an amazing little hidden beach and settling in for the afternoon, a curious thing happened.

After sitting in the sand and making sure my girls were playing in a safe section of water, and had adequate sunscreen, and we had enough water to stay hydrated, and we had taken photos to commemorate the event, and our stuff was secure so no one would steal it, I finally took a breath and went into the water and began playing with Xochitl, who had already made a couple of young friends (as she is wont to do).

Hanging out by the shore with them, I was immediately caught up in their game of waiting for one of the larger waves to come in and crash onto the beach, which we would ride in on our stomachs. Some might call this “bodyboarding,” but really it just felt like we were throwing ourselves into the water, which, by all accounts, we were.

And while I first felt a little embarrassed to be doing something so seemingly silly – after all, there were adults here doing adult things like scuba diving, and snorkeling, and jumping off of rocks into the water – I simply let go, and laughed out loud, and caught the next wave with my stomach. Xochitl was laughing with me, and we yelled with glee as each new wave came in and we floated like turtles to the sand. I think we even got some funny looks from the people around. But I truly felt like I had arrived.

You see, I think it’s easy to get lost in the gloss of a place like Honolulu or Waikiki. There are a lot of great shops, beautiful people, pristine settings. It’s a side of Hawaii that many people expect and what many adults come for, and in many ways it’s very nice. Often, though, I feel like it’s hard to just be myself in settings like that.

For me, my happiness was found at the end of a great wave, laughing with my family and acting like big kid. This was my fun; this was my Hawaii.