Sunsets have always been one of my favorite things in life. They have this ability to calm and ground me. Growing up, I lived out in the country surrounded by acres of land. Our home was at the top of a hill, enclosed by forests below. As a kid, I would spend all my afternoons outside, just connecting with nature. I often would sleep outside, either in a fort I built in the grass or on my balcony upstairs to see the stars. This is where I developed by passion for sunsets.
My brother would be preoccupied playing video games as soon as we got back from school, my dad glued to the tv, either watching news or meticulously following the DOW stock fluctuations, and my mom swirling around, cooking or cleaning and carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Being outside was my place. The sky felt like it belonged to me. Nobody else was there looking up at it. It was just me and the outdoors. Because of this, even twenty-something years later, I still feel a strong pull to being outside. It has this instant way of making me feel safe, as if reminding me that everything is going to be okay. Living with land was something I always wanted as an adult, so moving onto a boat sort of went against that. However, I have experienced some of the most glorious of sunsets, which has, for now, been enough for me. I know when I have kids one day, I will want land for them to roam on and trees for the to climb, but at this point, sitting on the back deck has been my haven for the last 8 months.
It is funny how it happened out this way, because when we bought the boat, we were set on moving it over to a different marina. Kona Kai was where the younger crowd was. The marina we were already docked at was older and had less amenities. Because our friends lived at Kona Kai, we have seen what it has to offer: a whole spa and resort, including a gym, pool, bars and restaurants. Everything was set for us to move to our boat over there too--I even put my 30 day notice in at the current marina... but the last week before I was supposed to move, something whispered in my ear. "Stay here. Don't go." The universe has a way of showing you what you need, before you even understand it. And it is our job to try our best to listen.
So listen is what I did, although at first I still felt conflicted. I thought I knew what was best for me, even though my intuition was telling me otherwise. I would tell myself, I can always still move the boat in a month if it doesn't work out here. Not even a few weeks later I was able to understand why I was meant to stay. The slip the boat was already docked in when I bought was parked with the back deck facing the sunsets. Most of my life, I have tried to rearrange my days around in order to be facing west as the sun goes down. Always trying my best to position myself to get the best view possible, which sometimes meant driving far distances to be up on a mountain to remind me of my childhood sunsets. And here on the back deck, in the old marina, without having to rearrange myself, I had the perfect view every single night.
One day weeks later, I found all the paperwork I had filled out to move into Kona Kai Marina. For the first time, I studied the map of the marina, showing which slip our boat would live in. Their docks were facing a different way altogether, which meant our back deck would have been facing a parking lot if we moved there! LOL. It is so funny how things work out. As an old soul and an introvert, I have found a lot of comfort in living in a quieter, older community. In retrospect, I honestly don't know what I was thinking to move in the first place at all--being around young party people would have driven me insane!
Staying reminded me to find peace in my surroundings. To make those connections with the outdoors every day. And! A perk about having older neighbors is that they stay inside a lot. I love that when I walk to the grassy park across the street that overlooks the bay, on most days, I can enjoy the skyline all to myself. It is those moments where it feels like it's just me and the sky, just like the good old days.
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