Kauai, 1993. It was late at night when I landed from California, and rain was coming down in a torrential, impossible-to-see kind of way. I was 18 years old, too young to rent a car, so I had to have someone else rent it for me. When I finally got in and read the directions on my paper map, I saw that after 30 miles of winding, unlit roads, I was supposed to find the address written on a pine tree. Okay, the entire island is covered in pine trees. There is even a beach called Pine Trees!
Why had I decided to do this to myself? Well, I had thought traveling alone would prove I could be independent. I have been coming to Hawaii most of my life, and I am so fond of it. The mere word Hawaii puts me in a trance. But none of the islands' poetry found me at this moment of panic. I took a deep breath, cranked the gearshift, and drove into the pitch-black night.
An hour later, between the rain and my tears I had zero visibility and was contemplating just pulling over and sleeping in the car until dawn. “No!” I screamed. “I can do this!” According to the map, my pine tree was approaching. I kept getting in and out of the car to check different trunks. I must have looked like Rambo—soaked and determined, with crazed eyes. Finally, I found it! I literally danced! I shouted like a caveman who had just invented fire! My map said to park the car and walk half a mile. I grabbed my suitcase (no wheels and a muddy path) and trekked through the forest, imagining all the terrifying things that could be coming up behind me. At the house I MacGyvered the lockbox and went inside, flipping on the lights as fast as I could. On the kitchen counter was a giant avocado, a size you can only find on these precious islands, and next to it was a note that read, “Welcome home.” I smiled.
I have been an independent traveler ever since, seeing places around the world without fear. So go ahead and get lost. It's the only way we can find ourselves.
