You’ll meet someone who wants to take care of you. It would be okay to be pampered. It would be okay to be babied. And it would be okay to be with someone whose idea of ‘take your breath away’ is lamination. Sealing you in a bubble so you don’t get exposed to anyone else’s potential relationship germs so that you’re guaranteed to stay with him. . . . You’ll hit a point in the relationship where you’ll peak out in terms of the quality that you’re getting, level off for a while, and then start to drop. When you start to drop down, that’s your bail out time. If you’re really fast, it’s 9 months. If you’re really slow, it could be 3 years.

Astrology reading, March 1989

The islands were calling me. Tropical breezes and soft white sand and aquamarine water so clear you could count the indentations in the seashells on the bottom. So what was I doing in Bakersfield, California where the summer heat baked your brains and the winter fog made driving a terror?

Good question.

I’d moved from Los Angeles for the opportunity to manage the one-man office of a family law attorney. But after three years of crazy growth and 12-hour days my effervescence had fizzed out. I was tired of the job, tired of the fixed salary, and tired of the scenery. I wanted a change. Somewhere nicer, different, and far away from there. Somewhere tropical.

One cold winter night my boss walked me to my car in the deserted parking lot. I scraped ice off my windshield and said, “I’m thinking about moving to Hawaii.”

“So why don’t you?” he asked.

I realized I’d been waiting for permission. All those months of wishing and wanting and hoping and telling myself I wasn’t sure, and all I could think was Why not? There were no ties holding me, no family, no dependents. I could do what I wanted. So in April of 1989 I quit my job, packed my bags, shipped my car, and moved to Kihei in southwest Maui.

Paradise was wonderful—the ocean, the long stretches of pristine sand, the greenery, the enormous, glorious flowers. This was what I’d been waiting for. My soul expanded and I breathed deeper. But was it expensive! I found a clerical job (way below my skill level), a decent apartment, bought the cheapest food I could find, and settled into a routine. Not exactly the stuff of my dreams, but living right across the street from the ocean and walking along the beach filled my soul with little glimmers of satisfaction. I was doing okay.

Then in June I met him.

I was walking on the beach in the morning sun, trailing my feet in the water and minding my business. I loved my walks, how my feet sank in the sand, the repetitive heel/toe that stretches the muscles and relaxes the mind. Just me and the ocean and the energy of the water. I finished my usual half-mile and turned to come back. I was feeling good, refreshed, and there he was. Fifty yards away, his body tanned and strong, sitting on the sand in lotus position like a sun god. Self-conscious now, I walked until I was almost parallel with his position, and flustered, I turned to the sea. Seconds later, a wave washed around my feet and a seashell tumbled in the receding water. I dipped in my hand and pulled out a slender conical shell. As I held it in my palm, something dark brown extruded from the shell. I’d never held a live shell before. Surely this was a sign of something important.