It was too good to be true, finally, my plan to retire on the Big Island.
At 30 I settled on this dream, bought a piece of property up at Volcano.
Over the next few years I would surely marry, have children, raise them in Honolulu.
By the time I retired, I would have built a home at Volcano. 
My wife and I, our nest now empty, would fly to the island of Hawai‘i,
settle in at 4000 feet, a half hour walk from Halema‘uma‘u
and sunset cocktails at the Volcano House, Hawaiian music at the piano bar.

As years rolled by, I did not marry, did not have children.
The closer retirement came, the more clearly I foresaw
I would be living alone,
away from doctors and shopping,
would have to haul water, due to the catchment system, as I weakened,
would eventually not be able to drive.

Seeing no upside to my plan anymore,
I sold my Volcano place when I turned 60.
The biggest draw had been, 30 years ago,
that I would have the solace I needed to write full-time.
Fortunately, I’ve found that I can write full-time anywhere,
from Antarctica, to China, to Norway, to North America,
in airports, hotel rooms, coffee shops, restaurants, and libraries,
at sea, at night, at dawn, in the mountains, by the shore,
indoors or out, on trains, and busses, and planes.
So now I satisfy my desire to be on the Big Island
with frequent trips – prior to the pandemic.

I do miss my home away from home for now,
but I am happily retired in Honolulu knowing
that the Big Island is just minutes away.

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