Because (It Takes a Village)

I woke up on Friday morning with a smile. Iʻd slept in, I felt refreshed, I was content. And then that smile, without preamble or ado, turned into crying. At the time, I couldnʻt have told you why, though it eventually became clear that, for whatever reason, I lacked emotional and mental defenses that day. I was raw and empty and every little challenge rubbed my heart and brain the wrong way.

Until I reached out and then my whole day changed. It wasnʻt even noticeable to me at first that Iʻd stopped crying and stopped feeling like something big and sweaty and disgusting was sitting on my chest. Not until hours later did it occur to me that Iʻd actually had a pretty fucking decent day. Iʻd had a great day! It was a surprisingly beautiful day.

Because Iʻd had the courage to reach out.

Found this in the trunk 2 weeks ago. The universe has spoken.

 
This was significant. Not a first, but certainly noteworthy. Certainly encouraging. Definitely meaningful. Of course I journaled.

While writing, I marveled at how amazing my friends are. How warm and reliable. At the beginning of the summer I thought I needed to make new friends who would adventure with me because this would be a season of surfing, creating, and playing. Then, as I began to reconnect with some of you and strengthen bonds with others of you, I realized Iʻd already had what I needed: friends who surf, create, and play; people who love me and whom I love.

The missing ingredient was trust. I didnʻt trust myself, which made (makes) trusting others even harder.

So, Iʻm journaling, right?  Iʻm writing about the incredible closeness I feel to the souls around me. The ones who allow me to rest when Iʻm weary. Who remind me, not so much with words but with companionship, that Iʻm capable and resilient. Who remind me Iʻm not alone. I wrote, "maybe the increased feeling of closeness is birthed from feeling/owning my authenticity. b/c i can interact more authentically, the connection i feel in turn also feels more authentic?"

And as Iʻm journaling-- more a freewrite than anything else-- it hits me like the fucking shore break at Sandys: is this what trusting myself feels like? Is this what confidence feels like? Self-love? "holy shit," I wrote, "thatʻs a new thought, new feeling, new concept!"

This summer was supposed to be about surfing, creating, and playing. And it was. I surfed and created and played. I also discovered so much about myself and rediscovered what it was to have friends again. Really have friends. And the more I opened up to them, the more I trusted them, I was surprised to learn that my friends? They support and love me, they donʻt judge me, and often were harboring similar feelings and experiences that they hadnʻt shared, either. We connected.

And the more that happened, I somehow started learning to trust myself. I was proving my own resiliency to myself. By trusting others, I demonstrate my strength and confidence, even if I donʻt always feel it in those moments. Itʻs a feedback loop that looks nothing like I expected.

My vulnerabilities may seem like weakness to you-- it felt that way to me for most (all?) of my life, and it sometimes (often?) still does. But every time I reach out to you, every time I confide in you, whether or not you give me the support or encouragement I seek, itʻs a win. Because each time you catch me, each time you listen, each time you sit in this space with me, you become more intricately woven into the tapestry of this journey, my life. You show me how good it feels to trust. And each time Iʻm dismissed, laughed at, or ignored, I still see how strong and resilient I am because, though it always feels good to feel seen, I donʻt need your permission or approval to feel what I feel. My vulnerabilities make me human, which means Iʻm sometimes really uncomfortable, but Iʻm okay with that. Dealing with my challenges as an imperfect human is something I can be proud of.

This summer was a success. I didnʻt quite accomplish everything I wanted to, but I learned a lot about myself, expanded my village, and deepened connections. I cried less, laughed more. I looked into your eyes. We sang to each other, walked together, shared pain and joy. I danced and wrote a bunch. We shared intimate moments that I never before thought possible. And I am eternally grateful for you. I am where I am today because I am flawed and amazing. Iʻm also here because of you and our friendship.

Never gonna grow up.

Things We Forget (So No Forget!)

Ultimate Hot Potato Footbee

Materials: Small, half-deflated football (the potato); larger less-deflated football (foot); frisbee (bee) = Hot Potato Footbee
Objective: Catch everything. Drop nothing. Say "fuck" a lot.
Directions: Get some friends, put space between you, toss the shit to each other. Not literal shit-- the materials (see above). Add a gazillion tiny, spiky pine cones to the ground before you start. Great for traction. Or pain.

Was I the only one barefoot? Itʻs possible I was the only one dedicated enough to eschew kalipa.

It might have been the best fun I had all weekend, playing with those girls. It doesnʻt have to be girls, though itʻs required that my playmates be committed to the game. I hate when people half-ass it. You no have to dive for the ball, right, but make a fucking effort. Run. Jump. Hustle.

I love hearing "Kanani!" "Aunty Kanani!" "ʻAnakē Kanani!" I love hearing laughter and cheering and encouraging words. I even like smack talk if it isnʻt asshole-ish (but sometimes a little asshole-ish can be fun, too).

I love the physicality. The running, jumping, hustling, diving (ever seen me dive AND fucking catch the ball? I DO. I HAVE. Itʻs beautiful.), and keeping track of multiple objects and people at the same time. So. Much. Fun. I love the aching muscles, the rapid breathing, the feeling of a well-thrown ball thumping against my chest. Itʻs fucking exhilarating! A rush! So many good feels.

I love the camaraderie. These girls. These strong, funny girls who would rather be throwing a ball or body surfing than sitting in a chair, staring at a phone.

I love the immediacy. Only right now exists when you hear your name being yelled by two people and a football and frisbee come flying at you from two different directions. All there is is this moment. and we are connected in that moment. There is a relationship between thrower and catcher, and it happens over and over again each time an object is thrown (see camaraderie above).

I love the skill involved. It was windy and to get an object to Poli or Hiʻi or Noe, I had to throw against the wind. How hard to throw the ball? How should I toss the frisbee? In which direction? Should I just chuck the potato underhanded? Where will I intersect with the frisbee? How high do I need to jump to catch the ball? Holy shit, the ballʻs gonna hit that stranger in the back! Knock it down, no even bother trying to catch it!

How could I have forgotten just how much I love to move?

I love to read and write. I love doing crossword puzzles. 

But Iʻve also been walking for transportation, exercise, and fun for all my life. Iʻve loved dancing since I can remember (I donʻt know how many times Iʻve heard Kafrinʻs embarrassing retelling of how I would bossily choreograph songs in our carport). I grew up throwing, catching, whacking and bouncing balls. I broke my wrist in the fifth grade roller skating. I taught myself how to ride a two-wheel bike. I took swimming lessons for most of my childhood.

Yes, I was never much of an athlete. I didnʻt do organized sportsing like my siblings. I was mediocre at best at a lot of shit. Itʻs horrible what shame can do.

How could I have ever forgotten that I love being active? Dirty feet tell me Iʻve been playing well, and right now, my feet are all buss from walking, from my fins, from the pole. My skin is super dry and itchy from being out in the sun, despite all the sunscreen and lotions. I have new old problems, like how to keep my hair out of my face when Iʻm catching waves, and new old-lady problems like how to protect my eyeballs from the sun while Iʻm catching waves.

 
No get me wrong. I love being lazy. I love loafing and watching TV and eating. I enjoy sitting on the beach, reading a book. But Iʻm not going to forget how my body loves to move. I can be lazy and adventurous! Kanani can be many things even if they seem contradictory. Iʻm contradictory, after all. Donʻt you know me? Iʻm complicated. Iʻm complex. I am intricate.

Besides, you donʻt have to be good at something to do it. Iʻm just gonna do what I love and hope it works out in the end.

A Love Letter

My therapy homework assignment for the past 2 weeks: write a love letter to myself.

Have I ever written you a love letter? I write beautiful love letters, I think. Having never received one that Iʻve composed, Iʻm only guessing, but I think Iʻd love to get one from me. Why had I never thought to do this before?

Iʻll tell you why. Because itʻs fucking HARD.

You see that image at the top? Thatʻs how far I made it before I sobbed one big sob, no tears. The sound just escaped my throat, like my stomach barfed it up involuntarily.

And not because I donʻt know what to write. Iʻve had enough time to start mentally composing, and it helps that I do actually like myself more than I think I ever have in my life. Itʻs just hard to write the words Iʻve only ever thought. I typed those words, "you are a treasure," with my eyes closed.

I buy into this exercise. Iʻve poured so much love into other people, but Iʻve never turned that focus on myself. "Kanani, I love you because . . . " How powerful is that? When Iʻve written a love letter to someone else, I filled it with my heart. My goal is to have you feel as close to what I feel about you. I try to make my love tangible through words. Do you see how much you mean to me? Do you feel my love surrounding you?

Whatʻs it like to feel my own love wrapped around me? 

I love getting love letters-- itʻs probably one of my favorite gifts to receive. Those words, just for me? I love words, right? And those words that youʻve written were chosen for me? For little me? You chose those words for me? Each one is a gift! Thatʻs so fucking special!

Which words will I choose for myself? Which words are worthy of me? Iʻm not sure yet. That will come as my fingers fly across the keyboard. Maybe Iʻll even share it with you as a public testament, I donʻt know. I donʻt know anything. But Iʻm learning.