essays by shé

listening to love

  • Directions

    “Turn left at the field of basil.” “Tom’s house is just past the one with the fake lighthouse in the front yard.” “The surf shop is around the corner from the mini mart with the shaka mural.” Time and again friendly folk have given me detailed directions better than any Google map. Yeah, I take…

  • Baja Boots

    I stopped in San Bartolo to look for a hat. I’d left my Hawaiian lifeguard topper (made in Mexico) on Kaua’i — traveling light. “No sombreros, lo siento,” said the vendor. But what’s this? Boots. Two pair in a plastic bag, leaning against the brick wall. The woman brought me a chair and I tried…

  • Phoenix

    One cannot fly directly from Kaua’i to Baja California Sur, not on a commercial airline, anyway. Instead, I first traveled to the land of my birth, Phoenix. This makes metaphorical sense to me: new start, new life. Sluff off the old and regenerate. Back to the beginning to move onward. Today I’m in La Paz,…

  • Baja Bound

    “I’ll give you a hundred bucks to drive my truck onto the Young Brothers lot,” says the weathered guy outside the port gate. I’d just dropped off my 4Runner for shipping to San Diego. He claims he doesn’t have proper ID for security, and wants to get his (also weathered) vehicle on the barge to…

  • Wahine Pool

    Two women stand on a rock above me, surveying their domain. The ocean storms have scoured the sand from between two outcroppings, and now the water rushes in and out tidally. I am carefully navigating the new pool, unsure how strong the pull out to sea will be. A wave surges in and they jump,…

  • Same Dog

    “You’re a strong woman!” yelled a pick-up driver stopped at the uphill intersection I was pedaling through, “I love it!” Laughter fueled my wheels. This made a nice change from another pick-up driver in another intersection who threatened to run me over as I was crossing (legally) on foot. I stopped in the middle and…

  • Double Fire

    “You are double fire,” says Kokomon after the drumming meditation. “Your father is fire; you are double fire.” I do not ask him what he means, my bones know: I am more powerful than I believe. I can protect myself. It takes a long time — decades — to understand this. I am not stuck.…

  • Burn Baby Burn

    In preparation for leaving the island, I burned a box of my art. It had served its purpose: expression, joy, distraction. I am keeping the pieces I love, but where will I ship them? Where will they hang? Transitions. Man. Irritated by rampant tailgaters, I flipped one off a few days ago. Instead of backing…

  • Moving On

    Just off the phone with a New Orleans real estate agent my friend Trish found (thanks, Delaney doll!). As soon as the rest of Mom’s belongings are removed and the place is cleaned, it’ll be on the market. Here’s your chance to own a charming fixer-upper in the Treme, only $300K. Wept, of course. Her…

  • Impact Zone

    I tried to surf the impact zone this morning. I paddled beyond it without much trouble, but the bigger waves outside scared me — double overhead. So I turned around, aiming for the waist-highs closer to shore. It was rough, like a washing machine. Got tumbled a few times, chafed. Thought, this ain’t fun. It…