Stranded On Mountains And Islands

Some days, the universe completely derails your plans just to see if you’ll roll with it. This was one of those days.

Fresh off my No-Wasted-Days mantra, I landed in Hawaii and decided to start my Saturday with a hike. Not just any hike—one that had me climbing rocks, gripping ropes, and scaling my way up dirt walls. By the time I realized the trail had completely disappeared, I was already way too high up. A quick Google search confirmed I had ignored the recommended turnaround point and was now in the you should probably be an experienced hiker zone. Which I was not.

For twenty minutes, I sat there, genuinely considering whether I needed to call a helicopter. But the humiliation of that rescue kept me from pulling the trigger, so I opted for the only other way down: scooting on my butt, inch by inch. One full hour of slow, awkward, barely controlled sliding later, I finally hit solid ground, covered in dirt and fully exhausted. In case you are curious, the hike is the (apparently permanently closed--with reason IMO) Crouching Lion Trail in Oahu.

A video I took after I learned I went way too far. Also as a side note: look at my skin! It's crazy looking back and seeing how different I felt and looked when I first started using "No Wasted Days" to pull me out of a funk.

I needed food. I hopped on a bus into town, where I ended up deep in conversation with a local who was showing me his art and sharing island legends—basically ghost stories. I was so into it that I completely missed my transfer stop. By the time I realized, I was (once again) far off course and had to call an Uber just to get back on track.

Lunch, reset, another bus. The next stop was supposed to be the beach, but this ride was a mess—random stops, yelling passengers, general chaos. At one point, I nearly got off early at a different beach just to escape the madness. But something told me to stick it out.

When I finally reached my intended destination at Lanikai Beach, I was a disaster—sunburned, filthy, running on fumes. I dumped my belongings onto the sand and dove straight into the ocean. By the time I resurfaced, a boat pulled up mere feet in front of me.

The man driving asked if I wanted to join him and his friends on another island just off the coast of Lanikai, they had snorkle gear and beer, they added. Hestitating, I asked if they were murderers. No. Perverts? Yes, they joked. Fair enough. I grabbed my stuff and got on the boat.

What followed was one of the best days of my life. Cliff diving, exploring caves and tide pools, drinking, laughing, meeting people who felt like old friends. If even one thing had gone differently—the missed bus stop, the hike taking longer than expected, that weird bus ride—I wouldn’t have been there. Every inconvenience, every detour, led to that moment.

Sometimes, things don’t go according to plan because the plan was never the best option to begin with. The universe knew better. And it was right.

A day on the Mokes off the coast of Lanikai