On December 16, 2019, I watched my mother take her last breath on earth. Despite the sorrow, it was an honor to midwife her over to the other side. I learned something surprising that day. In the same way that you bond with the people who witness a soul coming into the world, you also bond with those who are with you when you watch one go out. So it was, for me with my younger brother. The instant my mom crossed, my brother and I moved up to the top tier, becoming the next in line to exit the planet. Given the heightened bond, plus the dismal understanding about us being next up, I felt we should spend more time together, and my brother agreed.
My family of origin moved from Long Island to Florida in the early ’70s. They remained there, but I hated Florida, so I moved to a different state as soon as I came of age. However, now that my mother was gone, being with my brother seemed more important than his location. With that in mind, I rented a second home near his place in Clearwater, Florida. It was a cute little studio apartment sitting right on the Gulf. My plan was to spend as much time there as my husband’s work schedule would allow and to manage it for the landlord as a furnished-rental when Funk and I commuted home to DC.
The strategy worked, to a degree. The landlord and I made a ton of money because, for some reason, I was really good at overseeing his rental. But the extra money was only an unexpected bonus. My main purpose for being in Florida was to be with my brother. Yet for unknown reasons, he was only able to get together with me three times that year
Back in 2006, with an empty nest on the horizon, I decided to go after one of my dreams—building little houses in the woods for the just-dumped woman. Instead, Funk ruined our life by running for mayor. About fifteen years later, two things happened: First, the idea of building my little houses began smoldering again and second, I was given the first right of refusal to purchase that studio in Florida.
Since I was making good money, despite sharing the profits, buying the place seemed like a no-brainer. With Funk in his 70s, the proceeds from the rental would go a long way towards his retirement. Just as I was about to jump off the cliff, something stopped me from signing the contract. My heart was doing cartwheels trying to get my attention. Since I was given an opportunity on a proven investment, why wasn’t I jumping at the chance?
Mulling that question over for a few days, I finally concluded that if I was going to shell out big money, I should spend it on something I really wanted— building my little houses—even if my dream had morphed into grouping the houses together and making them into an artist retreat.
Listening to my gut, for a change, I called a realtor in Hawai’i to ask why the sale of an oceanfront piece of land that I’d been tracking for three years was still pending, especially given how underpriced the parcel was. The listing agent was shocked that I’d called. He asked how I knew that the buyer had just backed out of the contract and that the seller was just about to re-list it. My response? I didn’t know that I knew!
As the Universe continues to toy with me, a few hours later, a ready-made retreat came on the market. Since it was only two miles up the road from the land I wanted, purchasing it seemed prudent. I agonized over which of the three properties to choose. Of course, Funk was away. That jerk is always gone when I need him! This time, he was having the time of his life with his Frat Brothers at their annual weekend-without-the-wives.
Back to the moment of commitment. And I mean really committing. With your soul, not with your brain. I hate Florida. The ready-made retreat was not EXACTLY where I wanted to be. The oceanfront piece of land was tiny, yet large enough to house a retreat—more, it WAS exactly the right spot in my beloved Hawai’i. And practical or not, I went with my passion.
Being prone to self-doubt, I double-checked my decision. Alone in my apartment, I walked over to the painting that said-jerk-husband had gifted me and asked the Hawaiian ancestor it depicted if I was making the right choice. I had never received such a visceral confirmation before! I know it sounds cliché, but the hair on my head raised so high that it felt like it was vibrating, and the sensation traveled all the way down to my feet. My heart was pounding from getting such an undeniable response. Though a bit scared, I took the answer as a resounding yes! Short of breath, I called Funk and asked what he thought.
Usually, Funk isn’t much help when I’m indecisive. He just goes along with whatever I want, not really caring one way or the other. This time though, with his Frat Brothers all about him, he yelled into the receiver, “Gloria, hang up the phone and get a contract going on that land!”
My Hawaiian ancestor was at work. During one of the worst moments in my life, he made himself known to me. And just to make sure that I knew he was real, the day before leaving Hawai’i, I happened upon this painting of a Hawaiian ancestor, posed the same way mine presented himself to me, long stick and all, except in this photo, he faces forward instead of towards me. A Hawaiian kahuna said he was facing the future. I felt that he was calling me home. It was time to jump, this time for joy and not off a cliff.
Here’s to you! if you also torment yourself when given the choice to go with your heart or play it safe. Once I decided to follow my passion, the Universe conspired to make it happen. Against all odds, I won the bidding war on that oceanfront piece of land where my artist retreat will one day finally have found its home—and, it will be built in the EXACT location where I want to be in Hawai’i.
