07-19-2007, 03:07 PM
I was living very happily in San Francisco in the late seventies -- a very fun place for a guy like me to be-- when I met a red haired Southern Boy named Kiaran, who went by Steve for obvious reasons. He was born in Memphis but had lived in New Orleans for years before he moved to San Francisco. He had flaming red hair, blue eyes, was a brilliant visual artist, and loved Nietsche and Ayn Rand. He was against almost every thing that most San Franciscans were for, with the notable exception of sexual liberty. He purred and acted like a *****cat, but he was physically dangerous, which I learned when three punks challenged us as we walked alone on a street one night. He slashed one of them to ribbons before I even realized what was happening. They all ran, one of them bleeding. Anyway, he hated San Francisco, which I simply could not fathom. I was having the time of my life. He told me he wanted to move back to New Orleans and that he wanted me to come with him. I ignored him for months but eventually he said "I am going back to New Orleans and I want you to come with me but I am going anyway". Kiaran, or San Francisco? Although my roots were in the South (Southern parents, Southern Aunts, Uncles, Brothers and Sisters), I had never in my life been to New Orleans.
When I told my friends and family, they thought I had taken leave of my senses. Actually, I had taken leave of my capacity to reason and was following my senses, which said "Follow that poontang".
Before I moved to New Orleans, I pictured us living in a "Tara" like plantation, with jasmine coming in through the window, and a little iron gate in front and an oak tree on the lawn.
Kiaran left first, and went to work on an oil island in the Gulf, to get the money to get us set up down there. My friends were genuinely ANGRY at me for leaving and tried to talk sense to me, but I would hear none of it.
And so it was I sold everything, grabbed the cat, my bicycle and flew on a red eye to New Orleans....in August. The shuttle left me off in the Quarter and I remarked to the driver that it looked "Like Disneyland". Yeah......Disneyland in Hell. Kiaran had mailed me the key to our place: a one bedroom apartment at the top of 5 flights of stairs. On the map, the place was just three blocks from where the shuttle dropped me off with my cat. Those were the longest three blocks of my life. I simply could not believe how hot it was. I had to stop and buy a coke after 30 paces. I eventually made it to the apartment, somehow climbed the stairs, opened the door to a place that 120 degrees Farenheit until I turned the A/C on. It was charming but not NEARLY as charming as my apartment on Nob Hill on California street, where I could SMELL the brakes of the cable car, and the fog literally came into my apartment on summer evenings. The view from our New Orleans apartment was dismal in comparison. And, uh, there was no furniture in it! Nothing but a bare hardware floor, except in the closets which were carpeted.
In short, it was hate at first sight. I hated New Orleans and I was angry at Kiaran for seducing me into moving to this Sodom and Gomorrah that made San Francisco seem positively Pollyannish.
That mood lifted a little bit when Kiaran came home and we, uh, utilized the carpet in the closets for cushioning and rode on a Streetcar named Desire. But I was churlish and difficult and moody for quite awhile. However, Kiaran loved New Orleans and taught me about its secret gardens, its slower pace (necessitated by the heat), its intriques, and special vocabulary. And eventually one day, I just got it. I stayed there several years. Kiaran and I broke up when I returned to San Francisco go to go school (he followed me back, but I was so devoted to school that I couldn't tolerate a high maintenance *****cat anymore). But New Orleans is a part of me now, and a part of my character.
The key is giving in and connecting to where you are. Not expecting it to be like the place you were. I loved my life in San Francisco. It was easier, and full of beauty. But my life in New Orleans was full of intrigue, adventure, drama, music, great passion, shattered dreams and new dreams built from the shards. The relationships I formed there were for life. I am so lucky to have seen life from both sides (now) and so glad I had the courage to make a new life. By the time I got back to San Francisco, I spoke with an insufferable New Orleans accent and found San Franciscans shallow and soul-less. Kiaran died before I was able to scrounge up enough money to buy a small second home in the Quarter. The residence was completely haunted. Dolls flew across the room at night. I felt his presence everywhere. Spirits don't leave New Orleans. They continue to walk the streets, whereas in San Francisco, they creep out on the next fog, on kitty cat feet.
I say all that to say this: She will either get it or she won't. She may not get it immediately, but if she connects with what there is to like about Hawai'i, and not to what she misses about Oregon, there may be a transition. I agree with Andrew -- she will need to be engaged in Hawaii. Snorkeling in a warm pond, swimming in the rain, lilikoi margaritas, doing nothing while the rain patters on the roof, meeting people who take the time to breath and to speak to you....slowly, taking a moment to reflect that you are in the middle of the ocean, in one of the most isolated, but beautiful places in the world.
It may never happen, but I wish you both luck, and would invite you over if I lived there! (And I might --the sun is coming up on the horizon!).
Hawai'i is not for everyone (thank god). Neither is Southern California or Oregon. And sometimes there are other things going on, and it is not about the city or state at all. Perhaps she wants a shorter commute...or a whole house fan..or a really nice night out at Cafe Pesto.
Don't leave it open-ended but give it time and if you are happy in Hawaii, show it. At some point, she may wonder what she is missing, as I did, and choose to be happy here, even if she ultimately wishes to return to the "main"land.
When I told my friends and family, they thought I had taken leave of my senses. Actually, I had taken leave of my capacity to reason and was following my senses, which said "Follow that poontang".
Before I moved to New Orleans, I pictured us living in a "Tara" like plantation, with jasmine coming in through the window, and a little iron gate in front and an oak tree on the lawn.
Kiaran left first, and went to work on an oil island in the Gulf, to get the money to get us set up down there. My friends were genuinely ANGRY at me for leaving and tried to talk sense to me, but I would hear none of it.
And so it was I sold everything, grabbed the cat, my bicycle and flew on a red eye to New Orleans....in August. The shuttle left me off in the Quarter and I remarked to the driver that it looked "Like Disneyland". Yeah......Disneyland in Hell. Kiaran had mailed me the key to our place: a one bedroom apartment at the top of 5 flights of stairs. On the map, the place was just three blocks from where the shuttle dropped me off with my cat. Those were the longest three blocks of my life. I simply could not believe how hot it was. I had to stop and buy a coke after 30 paces. I eventually made it to the apartment, somehow climbed the stairs, opened the door to a place that 120 degrees Farenheit until I turned the A/C on. It was charming but not NEARLY as charming as my apartment on Nob Hill on California street, where I could SMELL the brakes of the cable car, and the fog literally came into my apartment on summer evenings. The view from our New Orleans apartment was dismal in comparison. And, uh, there was no furniture in it! Nothing but a bare hardware floor, except in the closets which were carpeted.
In short, it was hate at first sight. I hated New Orleans and I was angry at Kiaran for seducing me into moving to this Sodom and Gomorrah that made San Francisco seem positively Pollyannish.
That mood lifted a little bit when Kiaran came home and we, uh, utilized the carpet in the closets for cushioning and rode on a Streetcar named Desire. But I was churlish and difficult and moody for quite awhile. However, Kiaran loved New Orleans and taught me about its secret gardens, its slower pace (necessitated by the heat), its intriques, and special vocabulary. And eventually one day, I just got it. I stayed there several years. Kiaran and I broke up when I returned to San Francisco go to go school (he followed me back, but I was so devoted to school that I couldn't tolerate a high maintenance *****cat anymore). But New Orleans is a part of me now, and a part of my character.
The key is giving in and connecting to where you are. Not expecting it to be like the place you were. I loved my life in San Francisco. It was easier, and full of beauty. But my life in New Orleans was full of intrigue, adventure, drama, music, great passion, shattered dreams and new dreams built from the shards. The relationships I formed there were for life. I am so lucky to have seen life from both sides (now) and so glad I had the courage to make a new life. By the time I got back to San Francisco, I spoke with an insufferable New Orleans accent and found San Franciscans shallow and soul-less. Kiaran died before I was able to scrounge up enough money to buy a small second home in the Quarter. The residence was completely haunted. Dolls flew across the room at night. I felt his presence everywhere. Spirits don't leave New Orleans. They continue to walk the streets, whereas in San Francisco, they creep out on the next fog, on kitty cat feet.
I say all that to say this: She will either get it or she won't. She may not get it immediately, but if she connects with what there is to like about Hawai'i, and not to what she misses about Oregon, there may be a transition. I agree with Andrew -- she will need to be engaged in Hawaii. Snorkeling in a warm pond, swimming in the rain, lilikoi margaritas, doing nothing while the rain patters on the roof, meeting people who take the time to breath and to speak to you....slowly, taking a moment to reflect that you are in the middle of the ocean, in one of the most isolated, but beautiful places in the world.
It may never happen, but I wish you both luck, and would invite you over if I lived there! (And I might --the sun is coming up on the horizon!).
Hawai'i is not for everyone (thank god). Neither is Southern California or Oregon. And sometimes there are other things going on, and it is not about the city or state at all. Perhaps she wants a shorter commute...or a whole house fan..or a really nice night out at Cafe Pesto.
Don't leave it open-ended but give it time and if you are happy in Hawaii, show it. At some point, she may wonder what she is missing, as I did, and choose to be happy here, even if she ultimately wishes to return to the "main"land.