Coffee on the lanai
When I was a kid, I used to sit on the front porch of my grandparent’s farmhouse with my grandma. She had ivory white wicker furniture that creaked as you sank down to sit on it, and with the hot, humid Ohio heat, pieces of the seating would chip off in the summers. Grandma and I would drink her famous sweet tea while I would take a break from the day’s farming, and we’d talk story, gossip about the latest town news, and simply sit, looking off into the distance to see how the crops were doing, watching the other farmers move their equipment and work in the fields a couple roads over, and wade in the scent of our cattle farm. We’d reminisce about days gone by, like our time with grandpa before he passed away, and we’d talk about the future, particularly what we’d envision for the farm and for our lives ahead.
It was a simple life then, and I didn’t realize it — or soak it up as much as I wish I would have, especially now that this time is in the rearview mirror.
Now, I live a totally different life. And it’s one that I am, indeed, so incredibly grateful for. I have a lovely, warm home. I’m blessed with the greatest of friends and community who are now part of my family. I’m blessed with a career that’s remarkably rewarding and the opportunity to support my community in their mental health and wellness progress is a gift I’ll never take for granted.
I write this as I sit out on my lanai, 7:30 am on a drizzling Monday morning in West O'ahu. This is the first time I’m out here, sitting and relaxing with my cup of coffee, watching the cars go by, my neighbors walk their pets, and the sun rise over Diamond Head in the distance. After a few moments of catching my breath, I can hear the quiet — the birds singing in the trees across the street, the basil growing in the nearby fields, the sweet tropical flowers blooming right in front of me.
It’s taking me to this space of reflection. How life can drift right on by… how it does drift right on by. How fast it moves if we don’t slow down to catch it. How beautiful life can be if we turn our focus back inward and recognize what we have and have been given.
In this space of reflection, I question when things changed — when did life go from the simple sweet tea-drinking afternoons with grandma to the hustle-and-bustle of trying to make ends meet, month after month? How did I blink and end up 4,500 miles away from home? Why do I look like an adult yet still feel very much a kid?
Life is full of questions, and ones we might not always have an answer to. But the simple act of asking those questions prompts our engagement with self-reflection.
If we don’t stop to pause, we won’t know where we are. Our heads will be spinning on a swivel, just enough for us to not lose our footing, but simultaneously enough to keep us from living in and soaking up the moment.
One of my favorite singers is Miranda Lambert. A country singer-songwriter, Miranda is known for her high-energy and badass female empowerment. To me, she shines with her raw, authentic emotion in writing, particularly her storytelling.
She wrote this song called Carousel. It’s the last song on her latest album, and it tells the story of Elaina and Harlan, two circus performers from the 80s. I don’t want to give the story away (I want you to listen to the song and pay close attention to the lyrics — both the song and the story are beautiful).
There’s one lyric in the chorus that stands out to me:
“You don’t know the magic’s gone until the lights go down.”
— Miranda Lambert
I’ve been listening to this song on repeat for weeks. It’s been at the top of my playlist since it came out in 2022, but lately, it’s the only thing I’m listening to. Literally — I just play it over, over, and over again.
When I’m driving and singing along, following the story and hitting these lyrics, most of the time I start breaking down, tears rolling down my face, and sometimes a deep, blubbery cry. Now that I’m typing this, the tears are coming back.
There’s something about this record that forces me to pause. It transports me back to the front porch with grandma, back to family dinners at home, back to church on Sunday mornings, back to playing baseball with my sister, back to riding bikes with Joel and Jared, back to plowing the fields with my dad and grandpa.
I know that we have lives to live — bills to pay, jobs to do, loved ones to take care of, news to watch, prayers to pray. Yet at the same time, we’re spiritual beings having a human experience, and this spiritual side of ourselves needs watered, too. And you can find it by slowing down from time to time, even for just a few minutes each day.
Give yourself the gift of this space. Take a pause for 5 minutes. Turn your phone on Do Not Disturb, lay down on the ground, close your eyes, place your hand on your heart to feel your own flow of your breath, and reflect. Go back to a place that made you genuinely happy, and roam around there for a bit. Look around, smell the flowers, feel the breeze. Enjoy it, and exist here for a little while. You’re allowed to, and I imagine your soul will thank you for doing so. Remember that you have access to this space — and a million others — any time you need a break, a spiritual recharge, and a personal reconnection.
When I go back home, grandma and I pick up right where we left off. But if someone could change the geography of the world to put Ohio and Hawaii right next to each other, that’d be great.
This is for you, grandma. I love you so much, and I can’t wait to see you soon.
Love,
Kevin