I was recently in Maui for a lovely oceanside wedding with an intimate group of friends and family. I had planned the week long vacation months ago, but when it came time to book the lodging I got frustrated with the high price of hotels. The thought of being hold up in a fancy resort hotel with restaurant food for a week had my IBS clawing at the bathroom door. I'm not exactly a cheapskate, but I'm... frugal and emotionally attached to my savings account. I'd been given the tip to look for a condo rental, which was super appealing and provided more autonomy, but there were slim pickings in my hopeful price range. I reached out to the few friends I knew were also attending, but had no luck with finding a roommate to share costs. After two weeks of lunchtime internet searches and spotty responses, I conceded to the fact that my Hawaii vacation wasn't going to be fun on a shoestring budget. I would have to part with my treasured rainy day funds. Hell, it's ok, they're sunny day funds too.
With my revisioned expectations, I got back on the hunt for a sweet pad in Kihea. Not but a day had passed when I got a hit on a 4th floor two-bedroom ocean-view condo just a five minute walk from the beach. I quickly called the contact number to verify that it wasn't too good to be true: all those amenities were available for that price? She confirmed and I told her I'd get back to her the following day because "I needed to sleep on it." With a smile on my face, I set about to finish the morning's work and head out to a spaghetti lunch. Upon my return, I read some online news and checked my personal email while the food coma worked its way through my system. Low and behold, I had a new email from the bride's good friend in LA asking if I'd sorted out lodging for the wedding, and if not, would I be interested in sharing a condo with her? Serendipity strikes again.
From the moment we met at the airport, inspiration abounded. It started with the getting-to-know-you conversation as we cruised down the Mokulele Highway in our rented black Jeep with the warm island breeze swimming freely through our blond locks. After the baseline data exchange, we talked about boys, the Secret, family, friends, and what 2013 had in store for us. Oh, and we talked about writing. She is trained as a lawyer, but self-identifies as a writer. I had been nurturing my writing voice for a few months now, and couldn't believe the luck of having a fellow writer dropped in my lap. The familiar inertia of our conservation continued through that first evening, as we chatted lazily on the lanai, sipping Pacificos while the afternoon wore off and the stars came alive. In fact, the ease and openness of our discourse continued all weekend long, through snorkeling and whale sightings, bachelorette gossip and fancy cocktails, the rehearsal dinner and quick-mart cigarette raid, and the wedding ceremony and dance floor debauchery. It was the following morning, as the wine was wearing off and she was packing for her flight home, when she turned and asked "do you have nickname?" "A few, but nothing widespread." "Megahertz, that's what I thought of when I first met you. It fits."
As I sat on the beach later that afternoon, reflecting on the week and looking forward to a few more days of island life, I made a commitment to myself. A commitment to more seriously nurture my writing life. This means more than my writing group starts or my jar full of notes about stories yet to be written. It means actually writing. So here I am... Welcome to Megahertz: Stories of a Supernova trapped in a Firefly.
