Nostalgia

I have sand in my backpack.  I refuse to clean it out.  Every time I see that sand I remember Maui and dragging that same backpack filled with my journal, a book and snacks to the beach.  I remember relaxing in the unrelenting Hawaiian sun.  I remember the smell of the ocean water and the heavy air.  Sometimes the sand was too hot to walk on and would burn the bottom of my feet.  Looking back, it was a small price to pay for the spirit and beauty of such a place.  

The sand in my backpack is a portable piece of Maui and it would almost kill me to get rid of it.  It's so nice to have something to remember it by.  I took no pictures while I was there, at the time I didn't have a camera.  The sand is my personal photo album, a sort of time travel machine that transports me back there as I remove a formidable science textbook from my backpack these days.  Even though I had two jobs when I was there and worked my little fingers off, I made time every week to go to the beach.  I mean, why live on Maui and not go to the beach?  That's just plain sacrilege.  Going to the beach was peaceful and renewing.

The funny thing is that I cannot articulate what I miss most.  I think it's a combination of the island aura, history and people that created the magic I felt there.  Before I went to Maui I heard someone refer to it as their "happy place" and I would have to agree with her.  I think Maui is my happy place despite my being worn out and tired when I was there, despite arriving there without a home and without friends (although I left with some) and despite my having only a single item of baggage filled with my possessions.  Plus my backpack.  I think a person can still be happy under those circumstances, and I was.  

I know without a doubt I am in the right place now but sometimes I miss the smell of the ocean and hearing its waves.  At least I have some sand.

Amazing

You know what I think is truly amazing?

Fireflies.