My Reason

After almost losing Luke in a tragic accident in the Moloka’i Hoe Canoe Race on October 10, 2010, I began to feel very vulnerable to the possibility of an “end.” While Luke spoke of his overwhelming feeling of love for everything in this world, I spiraled down a whirlpool of fear.  Since 10/10/10 I felt like I was moving at a pace just a few steps behind him, over analyzing every move, every thought, and every thing that was going on around us.  My actions and thoughts chased me during the days as I watched him relearn how to walk, sit, step, and regain his strength.  My nights were filled with haunting dreams of losing everything.

I agonized over my fears quietly, veiling a false strength to aid Luke in his recovery.  While I kept trying to be his rock through his pain and suffering, I felt like I was slowly breaking into pieces inside.  Every ache of the heart truly felt like an icy crack of my humanity.  I began to feel empty, almost lifeless.  But one thing saved me.  I read Luke’s post on “Love, Life, and Awareness.”  However, instead of finding beauty and clarity in the world, I began to feel hope.  Through rebuilding ourselves, we will be rebuilding our entire way of life.

We have grappled over the years to live our lives in a manner that is vital to the sustainability and recovery of our earth.  In no way have we succeeded in doing so.  After all that has happened, Luke and I are taking this goal and hitting it head on in 2011.  While we will be trying to live off the grid, I am hoping that the ups and downs of this journey will heal the scars of my humanity and allow me to be a rock for my family. 

While Luke will be fighting to make us completely self-sufficient, I will be trying to allow myself to open up and face fear straight on.

Sokchea

Day two and Whole Foods

Just about every seven seconds I think about our Yurt and our new path.  It's always in my mind.  But I had an insight today into how difficult it's going to be.  Not the actual clearing, building, and maintaining of the land (which I am already well aware of the difficulties and inadequacy of my ability), but the commitment to the idea of sustainability.  Every day I am a little more aware of my impact on the environment and every day I get a little better at minimizing that impact.  But often I fail miserably.

Today we went to Whole Foods.  I'll be working for the week on O'ahu while Sokchea is going back to Kaua'i tomorrow morning.  So we went to buy me some food to last the next four days.  I walked right through the local produce section and bought six frozen burritos, a loaf of bread, peanut butter, and jelly.  Since I was at Whole Foods I let myself shop mindlessly.  I subconsciously justified my high impact foods because they were all organic.  It took a sarcastic comment about my pseudo-greeness from my friend Jeremy for me to realize how incredibly "unsustainable" my food choices were.  But even after thinking about how much energy it must have taken to create and preserve each of my processed foods, I still purchased them.

That is what I'm trying to tackle.  This can't be something that I do when I feel like it.  When it's easy.  I need to re-make my life.  And I have a really long way to go.

Luke

My Reason

I wrote this on a whim in early November, with the idea that I would turn it into a blog.  Rather than edit it and re-write it (which I am tempted to do), I have reposted it in its entirety to give any readers out there some insight into why I want to do this:

On 10/10/10 I was run over by a boat during the Moloka’i Hoe Canoe Race.  And it changed my life.  The prop went through my back in five spots.  Three deep lacerations ended up cutting off four spinal processes, splitting my pelvis, and severing my gluteal muscles.  I was extremely lucky.  One fractional difference in any direction and I would have been either dead or paralyzed.  The feeling of being hit doesn’t go away.  But neither does the euphoria of being alive.  I am alive when I should be dead.  

After being hit we had to drive back to Hale O Lono Harbor on Moloka’i.  I lay face down in the back of a fishing boat for an hour.  Based on the feeling in my body and the looks on everyone’s faces, I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it back.  Other than the overwhelming desire to lay in a soft, clean, and warm hospital bed, all I could feel was how much I loved everyone around me.  I wasn’t scared to die, but I was sad to die.  I realized how much I love our beautiful world and everyone that is a part of it. I could literally feel a wave of love connecting me to everyone and everything.  Even though I was staring at the bottom of a boat, I felt as if it was the first time that I could really see.  I know that we always have that ability, I’d just buried it underneath the rest of my life.  But once everything else crashed down in the face of death, it’s all that was left.  It’s all that I wanted left and I was sad that I'd only just noticed.

It’s been one month now. As I build my life back up, I am starting to bury that feeling again. Sometimes the light playing across the ridges of the mountain outside my window (or across the face of my fiancée) pierces through the veil, but sometimes I look at it with sightless eyes.  Now that I understand the feeling, I am determined to hold on.   To not let the daily activities of my life bury the world. 

I need to become a full-time resident of this planet: to hold on completely to the awareness of my surroundings, to the awareness of myself, and to the awareness of love.  The only way I know how to do this, other than getting run over by a boat, is to strive consistently for the idea of sustainability.  Each step towards minimizing my footprint is a step towards awareness. 

I’ve been dabbling unsuccessfully for the last two years with some gardening.  The only real success I’ve had is a large basil plant that lasted a couple of months.  My efforts at real food (since apparently you can’t live off of basil) have been somewhat disastrous.  I bought a Sweet Potato from Foodland and did what the Internet told me.  I put it in a dark cabinet until it sprouted, then I put it in a cup of water until it had substantial roots.  Then I planted it.  And I watered it.  And I waited. It kept getting bushier and bushier and I couldn’t help visualizing the huge potatoes waiting underneath the dirt.  After six months I finally felt it was time to  “reap the fruits of my labor.”  I excitedly told Sokchea that we were going to barbecue my potato harvest.  I dug for half an hour looking for potatoes in the dirt, my excitement slowly diminishing.  Our barbecue ended up consisting of one Okinawan Sweet Potato the size of my thumb.  I had somehow produced less than what I started with. 

Now I’m going to do it right.  I’m sure that I’ll have a lot more failures, and that some of them will be significantly more disastrous than the Okinawan Sweet Potato.  But I need to do this.  Not because I think I’m going to save the planet, or money, or time.  I don't think I'll do any of those.  I am going to work towards producing my own food and handling my own waste.  To “going off the grid.”  And I am doing it for myself.  To remember what it feels like to be alive.  To be connected.  To be aware.

And I am going to write about it.  Every success and every failure will be recorded.  Not because I have anything to teach anyone, but because I have a lot to learn.

Luke

Day One

On this New Years day, Sokchea and I have made a resolution to blog about our journey towards understanding life, love, and awareness.  In other words, we're trying to give meaning to our desire to go "off-the-grid."  We want to take a step back and we want to record our experience.  But we're not sure what we're taking a step back from or why we're doing it.  This blog is our attempt to figure it out.

We don't have anything to teach anyone and we're definitely not trying to preach.  So if we ever get to close too either, please tell us to stop or at least feel free to roll your eyes.  

We've purchased an acre of land with a small river and have just made the largest purchase of our lives on an $11,000 Yurt.  However, before we can move in we have to clear the land, build a bridge over the river, build a platform for the yurt to sit on, construct the yurt, build a composting toilet, build a water catchment system, figure out the most effective source of electricity, and plant our food sources.  Then we have to sustain ourselves and the land.  Which we will record.  In detail.

I imagine that there will be a lot more failures than successes to report.  But that's the point of it.  Hopefully by writing in this format we won't feel the need to gloss over or polish any of our experiences.  Hopefully we can sit down at the computer while we're still covered in dirt (or humanure, depending on the task).  While the frustration or elation is still fresh.  And hopefully through this, we will be one step closer to understanding life.

Luke