Haole
Pipe to Sunset, pre-winter serenity.
I’m haole which means a white person and literally means, “without breath” or “without life.” They believed life was in the sun, so when Captain Cook came over looking like Casper, they thought he was a vampire or something, the walking dead. They might have been right.
The traditional Hawaiian greeting was to place forehead to forehead and "share breath." So when Captain Cook stuck out his hand, their suspicions were confirmed. Guy's dead!
I’ve felt only the slightest bits of my haole-ness. Most times, when I smile and throw shaka, everyone nods and throws it back. A few times locals have just stared at me, but that’s okay, I’m new. I know I can only control how I treat people, not how they respond. Hawaii is all about respect. And if there's any hatred towards haoles, it's for good reason based on lack of respect.
If North Shore had a mission statement it would be: “to play in the ocean.” And I might add on, “and try not to die.” The place was hand designed by God to be a Surfer’s Paradise. It’s no wonder the locals are so protective. Trust me, you would be too.
A two-lane highway runs along the beach. As you drive down the Seven Mile Miracle, it’s just beach after beach, all of them spectacular. And each one comes with its own epic wave.
So far, I’ve surfed Chuns and Turtle Bay, the smaller longboard spots. Both vibes remind me of SanO, but Turtle Bay is special to me. I’ve seen whales out there, turtles and 3-D, multi-color sunsets. The wave isn’t that great, a soft playful righthander that can actually lineup pretty good. It’s a novelty spot that feels magical. But then again, that’s this whole island. Chuns is a mellow, super fun right hander. Lots of beginners and lessons going on here.
As for shortboard waves, my favorite so far is Lani’s. It’s my home break, five minutes from my house. It’s like Uppers: crowded, older guys rule the line-up. It’s a swell magnet and always the biggest on a small swell. It’s a tricky wave. There’s an east bowl and a west bowl. The west bowl has the best shape and a sloping, rippable shoulder. The east bowl fires down the line and can barrel on the right wave. I like to sit on the inside of the east bowl, but I get cleaned up by the sets. That’s a small swell strategy, about to go out the window.
I trip out with gratitude and surreal disbelief every time I paddle out. The water is teal and turquoise, 81 degrees. The air is the same temp. The way the sun reflects off the mist in the whitewash makes you look around for angels.
Sunset view from my rooftop overlooking Haleiwa Town. Kaena Point in the distance.
When the plane landed I sat in my seat with a strange feeling shifting around in my stomach. Part excitement, part fear, part bewilderment, part grace and gratitude; the type of complex feeling that can best be expressed with the phrase, “holy shit.”
I felt like I had just crossed the Jordan river into the Promised Land. It’s a dream. I’m in awe of everything around me; in awe of the new reality where God has brought me. I keep having these moments where I pause and look around and think, “Am I really here right now?” I might have died and went to heaven. Whenever heaven does come to earth, Hawaii won’t look much different. When that final new reality does come, I think we’ll just walk around stunned like… “Am I really here right now?”
The whole thing has made me reflect on how God is not a God of hope only for hope’s sake. I mean that hope is not just about looking forward towards something better, but that God actually comes through with the fulfillment of promises here and now. “Surely, goodness and loving kindness will follow me all the days of my life,” David sang. God comes through for us in tangible ways. He has appointed times for his promises to come true. It says: “taste and see that the Lord is good,” not “think and imagine the Lord is good.” He doesn’t just make us wait forever. He comes through. We can learn to expect these good things to happen. Good things that are just for us, for no other reason than to help us believe he actually loves us. I’ve learned that faith means trusting God is good enough to make these things happen.
As I grabbed my faded army green carry-on from the overhead bin, packed full to the brim with junk drawer shit and my board shorts, I reflected on what initiated this process.
My dad gave me this book “Barbarian Days,” a memoir about surfing. What a gift. While reading it, my heart lit on fire. A hook was set and tugged at my soul: “I have not yet surfed the biggest and best waves of my life. Nothing says I have to settle down. I want to travel. I want to surf.” Sobriety gave me the space to look within and ask myself what I want, and then I asked God for five specific things, the last of which was “tropical barrels.”
I remember feeling like it was silly, but I was also full of faith. I felt like God was pleased. “Now you’re getting it. Now you are understanding my heart for you.” I wondered how and when God would make it happen. I figured somewhere way down the road. This was in February.
But a few months later I was on Oahu for my friend Ryley’s wedding. Coming home from that trip I prayed, “God, I want to go to Hawaii, can I? Can I go? If yes, show me some signs!” I wanted his blessing.
And I got it. Green light after green light. The day after I prayed, I was in my room writing and I heard a rhythmic drum and tribal screams outside my bedroom window. “CHEEE-HOOOO!” Am I hallucinating? I thought. I hopped on my e-bike to head towards Del Mar, where the event was, and when I pulled up, there was a full on traditional Hawaiian concert from the Hawaiian Surf Club of San Onofre.
It took about ten more signs for me to really believe, okay, this is supposed to happen. Eventually, I felt God say, “Okay, enough, no more signs. Time to decide.” I never felt like God was “calling” me, as if he’s a General or a Head Coach who only assigns us work to do. I felt like God was “inviting” me to experience his goodness on deeper levels. In my heart it felt like a challenge from God, “How much do you believe that I am good and that I am FOR you?”
Two months later, in August, I booked a one way ticket, and now here I am holding my carry on about to step foot onto the ‘aina.
“Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.”
What if God wanted us to ask him for exactly what we wanted, knowing that he put those passions and desires in us in the first place, so that he can make it happen and we can learn to trust Him as a GOOD God who is FOR us in every way, and not against us in the slightest. He forgives our every sin and embraces our weaknesses, he suffers with us and feels our humanness, he dies with us, so that he can raise us from the dead, in a thousand little ways throughout our lifetime. God’s will is that we would experience the most vibrant and abundant life possible. That’s what eternal life is.
And that’s what brought me to Hawaii.
I walked down the aisle of the plane and approached the smiling Filipino/Hawaiian male flight attendant. I had predetermined to say “mahalo.” My first local interaction, how exciting! I wasn’t expecting him to say “aloha,” so when he did, my brain spun upside down and I replied with, “maloha!”, which is just about the kookiest thing you can say and my worst nightmare. A hot searing embarrassment washed over me as I realized that the very first thing I ever did in Hawaii was say a word that doesn’t exist, maloha, which is just so typical me. And also something my dad would do, which made it worse.
I told a friend about it on the phone and we laughed.
Being completely new to a place like this, or any place, means the decimation of the ego. I feel like an infant. I don’t know the roads, or how to drive without using a blinker, or how to yield to everyone. I barely know the local dialect. Every time I speak I have to decide if I should try to fake a local accent like I’ve been here longer than six days. I’m white, haole, the minority. I don’t know the surf spots, the shops or the restaurants. I have a handful of friends and am missing all my friends from home.
Everything I do feels awkward.
But the one familiar thing is God’s presence all around me.
This humble state, being laid low by newness, forces me to rely on God’s grace in every way. I’ve learned when we expect grace and look for it, we will find it. The littlest things become the most reassuring reminders that grace is everywhere.
There was an auntie at the DMV who offered to let me go in front of her two minutes before they closed. We talked story a bit and she welcomed me to the island.
A friend I met from the wedding invited me to play beach volleyball with her friends. One of them, Phi, was hyping me up about surfing winter and he kept calling me, “Zach da Rippah.” I liked that.
The fellowship of AA has provided love, familiarity and instant friendship.
My friends Ryley and Rose have been so gracious, always inviting me to go surf with them.
One of the things on my prayer list was a mindset of abundance instead of scarcity. I was nervous about the cost of living, which is a typical mainland fear, bowing down to Mammon. My cousin Veronica picked me up from the airport and we performed the universal tradition of going straight for pokè. From behind the counter, the first thing uncle said was “Ay one free sample, ya? Here you go, take some, take as much as you wan.” It was haupia, this coconut jello stuff. I had three. Then he said, “You wan try the new? Garlic chili?”
“No, thanks,” Von replied.
“No, I can’t do it, you hav to try,” he said, shaking his head with a big, one-missing-tooth smile and handing over to us more samples.
Then another lady approached us with a sample tray of Butter Moche, which is scrumdidliumptious. I took a pink one, wolfed it, and immediately took a yellow one.
As we walked to our car in the parking lot Von said, “That’s weird, that never happens. Them giving out samples like that.”
I knew it was God telling me to trust him and not to worry. I’m going to experience abundant provision.
A few days later I stumbled into my first job: trimming the flat rectangular gravestones at National Memorial Cemetery in Honolulu. The first day I had to lug around the blower on my back while walking about ten miles, back and forth, back and forth. It was grueling, but I must have proved myself because the next day they let me rotate in on the cutter.
It’s a day and a half of work for $500. A two day work week covers my nut for the month. That’s what we call “CHERRY!” Thanks, God.
Beach across from Ryley and Rose’s house.
After a week, I’m beginning to slow down, although my ego and mainland nature tries to fight it.
Talk story is one of my favorite cultural norms so far. Anywhere and anytime, if you see someone you know, you just talk for fifteen-twenty minutes or so.
I haven’t driven over 60mph since I’ve been here, and that’s really pushing it. Usually it’s under 45mph.
The weather patterns last minutes, not days. The sky turns gray for 15 minutes, it rains, and then it’s blue skies and sunshine again. Change is continuous. The ‘aina is alive and well. She asks you to slow down, be present, to love and to trust the process.
Out here, in the middle of the ocean, there’s nowhere to go, there’s just right now. It’s harrowing and freeing, requiring full surrender to the Present. If you try to resist it and do too much, you’re against the grain and you’ll suffer. There’s nowhere to go and there’s nothing to accomplish. Everything is right in front of you.
Lastly, the buzz is building about the approaching winter swell season. From the hundred or so conversations I’ve had about it, the general consensus is the same, “You have no idea.” I practice my breath-holds everyday. Apparently, Sunset has the most two wave hold downs out of any spot in the world. Before hearing that, I thought I heard her calling my name. I’m not so sure anymore.
I feel like I’m standing at the base of a mountain trail. Along the way, there are a dozen dragons resting in their caves, soon to wake up. I’m counting the cost of this journey. How high up do I want to climb? And for what? For the first time in a long time, I’m the man in the arena. I wonder what I’m made of.
Deep down, there’s a still, small voice. A memory, even. A dream. I’m paddling over the crest of some deep blue monsters, and I see one. Time stops, fear grips my throat and I find myself turning around and putting my head down, somewhere on the border of life and death.