Monday, August 17

Home Sooner Than I'm Ready

I can't believe it will be time to board a plane again so soon. I feel like I've only just gotten started here. I do miss home and things like my dog, my friends, my family, and climbing, but I love the ocean breezes, the island people, folks at the park, the dive shop and all of its awesomeness, the beautiful beaches, and the breathtaking reefs. I could jump on the dive shop part-time, get another gig at the park or with a boat chartering operation and stay here quite possibly forever. I could also return stateside and try for the NPS job somewhere in a park. The other option, returning to my calling as an author and finishing my second book, Blue Wilderness, which will be set in tropical waters, either the Caribbean or in Australia. I will happily return to scaling the walls at Sportrock and outside, wherever a carload of climbers may be headed.

What was unique about today? It's hard for me to remember what I may or may not have already written about, if I've done something before. I've walked the roads, listened to the frogs at night, seen the light dancing on the bay below, waited for the wind to whistle through the house and cool off my bedroom, made my meals, swept the floors, done my laundry, walked the two or three miles to Starfish Market, and then walked back, going mostly uphill. I've called the diveshop every evening around 5:30pm to see if I'm working the next day or not. When it's dark, I've found I'm usually at home, since wandering the trails at dark is not really too easy or cozy feeling. Last night, I opened my laptop next to my bowl of madras lentils and started writing. I started writing something new and something a little bit old. I started a story back in 2004, about Alastrina, being chased down in the parking lot just outside the marina where she runs a dive shop. I let the story evolve and take-off. I spent hours writing. I stopped as I grew bleary eyed and tired. I showered and prepared for bed. In the middle of my shower, I was hit with another wave of ideas. I could hardly make it to my laptop in time to spill out the words that had been racing through my head. I spent another hour or more filling in more pieces to the story as it snowballed into something bigger, more complex, more dynamic. The writing left me quite exhausted. It was the kind of exhausted that I have not felt since I've been in St. John. I think writing is the only way to really get me to that level of exhaustion. I fell asleep and woke up with a towel still wrapped around my head.