I distinctly remember sitting on the yellow fire hydrant outside my house in Mililani. It had a flat top — kind of an odd hydrant, really — but it was cool to the touch, even on hotter days. I used to sit on it and daydream while my father worked on cars in the garage.
I thought about life, why I was here or who I’d be where I’d grow up. I was eight, but something inside of me has always been older. I wondered who I’d marry — if I would ever be? — and what kind of adult I’d be. Would I be a scientist? An astronaut? A basketball player? A doctor? I’d think of these things as I tossed tiny red lava rocks over the retaining wall.
The thinking continued through high school, where I developed a fondness for writing. Creative writing, American literature and advanced writing taught me to see the meaning behind things. A scarlet letter, the eyes of a child, a handful of dust or a rye field — to some they are mundane, nondescript, uninteresting things. To the right person they are heavier than the world or brighter than the sun.
The last few weeks have been important for me. At thirty-five I’ve found space to appreciate the meaning of time, love, patience, loyalty, humility, family and friendship. I’ve the time to daydream again and I’m excited about what’s to come.
Last but not least: Thank you. To my colleagues, friends, family and all of you who have helped me along the way — my eight-year-old self could not have imagined a better life filled with better people. I am definitely lucky. Also, 7-11 serves free Slurpees on my birthday. What?!
Here’s to the next thirty-five.