One afternoon in 1988 I took a wind-surfing lesson at Anini Beach, on Kauai’s north shore.

Except for body-surfing, I’d never surfed before. I did okay – only ran over one swimmer. You should have heard the mouth on that woman. 

I got to talking to my instructor.

“So, what’s the biggest difference between wind surfing and regular surfing?” I asked.

“Well, one is about waves, the other is about wind, but I’d say the biggest difference is the people.”

“Serious surfers approach surfing very spiritually, almost like it’s their religion. They’ll get up at 5am and come out on the water to commune with the water and the elements. The universe, really. Sometimes they’ll sit for hours, waiting for the perfect wave. Almost like praying. A lot of them are vegetarians and buddhists.”

“On the other hand, wind surfers tend to be more technical , equipment-oriented and scientific in their outlook. Wind angles, plastic sails, lines and wires.  They like to sleep in, have an espresso, maybe get out on the water in the afternoon. Business people, a lot of them.” 

“How long have you taught wind surfing?”

“About twelve years now.”

“Always here at Anini?”

“The conditions here are best in the summer, so I teach here April through October. The rest of the year I teach snow-boarding in Telluride.”

“Wow – six months in Hawaii, six months in Colorado – that sounds like a pretty great life.”

“Well, it’s hard to get ahead financially – seems like I just about break even each year, but I have a pretty good time. If you’ve got the guts, and you don’t care about climbing any corporate ladders or playing the middle-class status game, anyone could do it.” 

After the lesson, I realized I had three days left in Kauai, and nothing to read.

At a small bookstore I bought a John le Carre novel, and a New York Times. The clerk looked like someone’s grandma. Like most people on Kauai, she was happy to chat, except in Hawaii they don’t say “chat” – they say “talk story.” 

“Have you lived on the island very long?” I asked her.

“About 25 years, now.”

“How did you happen to pick Kauai?”

“My husband and I came on a vacation. Like most people, after two weeks we didn’t want to leave. We looked at each other and said ‘Screw Ohio, let’s move here.’ So we flew home, quit our jobs and sold everything. We arrived here with two kids, about $2000 cash, no jobs, and no place to live. In our mid-thirties. My parents were bummed.”

“How did it go?”

“Well, I was pretty nervous at first, of course, but then my husband found a job with the public works department. Over the years he worked his way up, and we’ve done fine.” 

“Have you always worked here in the bookstore?”

“Oh my, no. I’ve worked lots of different places. I like to take every other year off. That way I have lots of time for my kids and grandkids.”

“And you have no trouble finding work when you want it? I thought jobs were scarce out here.”

“If you look at all presentable, and you can read and write and you’re not on drugs, you can always find a job. You won’t get rich, but there’s always something if you’re willing to break even to live in Hawaii. Reliable employees are pretty hard to find on the island. The work ethic tends to be pretty casual in the tropics. A lot of the new arrivals are dreamers, hippies, transients and short-timers, so there’s a lot of turnover, and a lot of the locals won’t show up for work when the surf’s up.”

“Any regrets?”

“Every day we thank the good lord that we had the guts to move here. This is paradise.” 

That little talk-story changed my life.