Honolulu or San Francisco, can’t really decide. All I know is I’m stuck on the Big Island.
San Francisco represents the new frontier, the ultimate manifest destiny for the family. But like anything with a huge upside potential, it’s daunting and edgy. I could get fired again or some rug somewhere gets pulled. With a wife and numerous kids, that kind of recovery isn’t simple.
Honolulu represents a known balance, the old faithful. It’s got a little of everything we love, and we all can quantify and qualify the benefits. But yet we feel like we’re selling ourselves on a quater of a dream.
The Big Island represents WTF. It’s big, windy and barren. And we’re momentarily trapped here wondering when our ship sails. I’ve never felt so strange about a place as I have here. After all, it’s where we put down our roots and for some reason it feels like those roots are way too firmly rooted (i.e. we’re not getting water or fertilizer).
The only thing I have is what I’m doing here: writing.