HAWAIIANS are the most content people in the country. WHAT CAN THE REST OF US LEARN FROM THEM? Ten remarkable locals show you how to live We good Me, island-style.
A glorious view of Kauai's Kalalau Valley from the Koke'e State Park lookout at 4,000 feet
MY HAPPY PLACE
MT. OLOMANA OAHU
"The mountain looms large in our lives: It composes the bulk of our view from the backyard. The hike up it is about a mile and a half; with an elevation gain of 1,643 feet. When you get to the top, you feel like you're standing on a mere stiver of land. You can see the spectrum of Oahu - you're overwhelmed by nature yet managing it in some way."
-KAUI HARTHEMMINGS, AUTHOR OF THE DESCENDANTS
HOW THE LOCALS N LIVE
Novelist KAUi hart hemmings didn't realize how much she needed Hawaii until she moved away.
IN MY LAST BOOK, The Descendants, the patriarch, a Honolulu attorney, takes a good look at his paradisiacal life and declares: "Paradise can go #!#% itself." He obviously didn't contribute to the Gallup Poll that each year determines that we Hawaii dwellers have the highest level of well-being of any state in the U.S. Indeed, "Lucky we live Hawaii" is a common sentiment (and hashtag). But are we as happy as the pollsters say? And if so, why?
I can't answer for everyone. But I will look at my family's life over a few days and try to glean some answers. What is different about Hawaii?
Sunday morning at our house on Oahu's Windward Coast. We ask our two kids what they want to do.
"Beach, I guess," our 7-year-old daughter says.
"Wave," our 2-year-old says after he hears the word "beach."
We head to Kailua Beach, about a five-minute drive away. We go to Kalamas, past the kitesurfers, and let our dog, Bob, off his leash. Sometimes we bring Bob's bodyboard too- he catches waves to the delight of tourists- but today we're just here for a little while. We run into my brother and sister-in-law and their three kids. Daphne just got off her shift - she's a surgeon at Honolulu's Queens hospital. The kids surf; I head off for a quick walk, intending to exercise, but end up bumping into friends. I socialize more than sweat, which is fine - it's almost impossible to be on this beach without meeting someone you know.
There's a nice breeze and because of the expanse of the beach it's not too crowded. Kids are digging holes like it's their profession; their parents are drinking coffee and reading books.
When I return, the kids are still surfing, my son is busy in the sand, and my close friend happens to have come down with her kids and a cooler of lunch and beer.
"Stay?" she asks.
We get home around 1, put our son down for a nap. In the afternoon, some friends stop by to swim in the pool and end up staying for dinner. We rummage through the fridge, find enough things to throw on the grill. Our friend runs home to get some just-caught mahimahi she bought off a fisherman coworker. We bring out the little firepit and roast marshmallows.
Monday morning. I take on the carpool, grocery shop, work, clean the house. After school my daughter wants to hike Mt. Olomana. I oblige - I could use a walk. The mountain looms large in our lives: It composes the bulk of our view from the backyard. The hike up it is about a mile and a half, with an elevation gain of 1,643 feet. When you get to the top, you feel like you're standing on a mere sliver of land. You can see the spectrum of Oahu - you're overwhelmed by nature yet managing it in some way. The last stretch of this hike is difficult and dangerous. Often there's a whir of helicopters rescuing the injured or the afraid. You need ropes to pull yourself up the last section. My daughter and I turn around at the first set of ropes.
Tuesday. Even in Hawaii, not every day is bliss. My husband, originally from Wisconsin, is a Honolulu litigator with a grueling work schedule. His hour commute takes him over the Pali …