Sea Cliffs

Where Restless Meets Calm

I often feel a sense of restlessness. Insatiable and profound. Pounding in my head like a big sack of rocks tied to a church bell.

That part of me can always argue that there is a pressing matter to attend to. That resting could not possibly grant me any kind of progress. Survive, survive, survive! It cries out. And oh, how this part of me has kept me alive in times of complete chaos when I had to shift into being my own parental figure from a young age. 

Sometimes this part can be quite dormant. When everything feels stable and change has subsided for a little while. This part of me can finally kick its feet up and rest them on its desk in corporate brain. I giggle to myself as I write this-because this part of me is probably 12 years old or so. 

I find myself, current Logan that is, challenging this part of me in loving ways. I moved to rural Hawaii County after years spent in the floating metropolis of Honolulu. I’m now forced to find contentment in being at home while a tropical storm rages on. I can’t simply now jump in my car every time I feel bored, every time that restless and anxious part feels like it needs stimulation. 

In times of heightened restlessness, I have discovered that there is another part of me that will patiently tell me what to do. If I listen closely. The other day I hopped in my car aiming to drive down the coast and jump in the ocean, mainly for the purpose that I could get some exercise. It started dumping rain seconds after I left.

The frustrated part of me pushed on. Drove faster until I saw the lengthy line of cars in queue to the way I was heading. Right, rush hour. I turned around. Upset about going home. Another part of me calmly said; just drive a little, explore, baby.

But where will I go? I don’t know where I’m going!

The restless part said. 

But instead I leaned into the calm and just drove around. Just to look, not to do anything. My curiosity led me to a beautiful point on the coast line, where cooled lava has cascaded down to the water's edge and created massive sea cliffs. Stark black and rippled, telling a story in every crease. 

And all of a sudden the rain subsided. I got out of my car and walked along the cliffs, marveling at the power of the waves. The water reminded me yet again, of my perplexing smallness yet inter-connectedness in this world. 

Since I am starting over in this land of East Hawai’i Island, the newest and ever evolving part of the youngest of the archipelago, I am trying to turn over a new leaf with myself. Visiting my younger, but in some ways much wiser sister this past summer, she reminded me of something when I told her I’m often too shy to say anything to strangers. She said to me, “lead with your heart Logan, not your head”.

I keep this in mind as I encounter people day to day. I see that I am about to walk past a father and his two small children. I have this thought that this is how I would want to raise my own-teaching them how to navigate difficult terrain, exploring, in Hawai’i. As I pass them, I push past my shyness and greet them. The little boy looks up and exclaims “HI!!!” With an adorable smile and much enthusiasm. It did something to my heart.

I walked for a while longer and the clouds that were on the horizon when I arrived inched closer to me. I sat down on one of the cliff's edges and surrendered to them. I think of the little boy and his sister and his father. I notice my own yearning for having a family of my own someday. 

I think of my own father telling me about the moment he knew he wanted to have a kid. My mom begged and pleaded for years but he was set in his ways; no kids-not ever-no way. But one day at FedEx Kinkos my dad watched as a little boy stood by the water dispenser. Whenever someone would come and pour a drink, air bubbles would rise up from the bottom. The little boy's eyes were glued to the thing and to him it was magic. My dad said something shifted in him then, and not long after, him and my mother were expecting their first child (me). I can imagine that he was moved and inspired by the complete wonder this child had for the seemingly mundane. 

I realize, this is my moment of certainty. Completely moved by a child’s ability to automatically extend pure kindness without a thought. I start to cry. My thinking brain perplexed-Is this joy? Is this sorrow? Why on earth are you crying right now?

Instead of fighting off the intellectualizing I just let it do its thing and let the rest of me feel it. Feel the mist of the ocean and the rainwater mixing delicately with my tears. Feel gratitude for getting to experience a world that is so fucking beautiful. Feel the part of me that anxiously prepares by doubting that I’ll ever have what I yearn for. Feel my Self calmly hold the rest of me. 

In beautiful synchronicities like that, I am reminded to listen for that small still voice. Cause there is always something there.