Work That Hard to Leave

Bob and I just got back from six days on Maui, bookended by two travel days that felt more like endurance events than transportation. Hawaii has been a favorite of ours for years. We’ve visited several islands over the last fifteen, usually in the name of escape.

This trip was different.

First, I don’t have a corporate job anymore, so I wasn’t entirely sure what I was taking a vacation from. Second, we’ve never gone in winter. And third — and this surprised me — we were just as excited to come home as we were to leave.

Maybe more.

The trip had been planned long before I decided to retire. For most of the last three decades, vacations meant detaching from the grind. Stepping away from the inbox, the meetings, the low-grade Sunday dread of what would be waiting on Monday morning. Bob still needed and deserved that kind of break.

I, on the other hand, got to sit in a very beautiful place without that background noise.

Purely by accident, we landed on Maui during peak whale season. It was the highlight of the week. From beaches and boat decks we saw spray from blowholes, smooth arches of surfacing backs, tails rising in perfect silhouette before slipping under again. A few full breaches — the kind that make everyone on the boat gasp in unison.

Many sightings included a mom, her calf, and an “escort” — a young male lingering nearby in hopes of earning future consideration. Nature is majestic. Nature is also apparently strategic.

We timed our snorkeling excursions well — two sunny, calm days filled with turtle sightings. The rest of the week was windy, occasionally rainy, and not especially cooperative with ocean ambitions. So we drove to Haleakalā, visited a couple of artist studios (research), and spent more time than strictly necessary under shelter with a mai tai (hydration).

Getting there required commitment.

No direct flight. Salt Lake to Honolulu to Maui. Two hours stranded on the tarmac in Salt Lake because of brake issues. I watched an entire Bruce Springsteen biopic, Deliver Me from Nowhere — it was fine — before the plane even left the gate. Seven hours later, we arrived. Our bags did not. They caught up eventually.

Coming home was more dramatic. A delayed departure. Fuel concerns. Weather preventing a landing in Salt Lake. Not enough fuel to circle. A detour to Idaho Falls. Refuel. Back to Salt Lake. Finally on the ground.

In previous years, that would have been the end of it. Twenty minutes home. Stop for Cash. Collapse.

This time we still had a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Fish Haven. And of course, I-80 through Parley’s Canyon chose that exact moment to start snowing. Slow speeds and four-wheel drive got us through. The line of cars backed up for miles in the other direction suggested we were, comparatively, thriving.

When we finally fell into our own bed — more than 24 hours after starting the return trip — it might have been the best moment of the entire week.

The next morning we woke to fresh snow dusting the mountains. Not much. Just enough to remind us where we live. Bear Lake was quiet and steady and very much itself.

And we found ourselves wondering whether we will ever work quite that hard again to get away from this place.

Hawaii is beautiful. The whales were extraordinary. The turtles, reliable as ever.

But it turns out it’s harder to justify a full travel marathon when you actually like your regular life.

Which feels like a pretty good problem to have.