Running Away to Big Island, Hawai‘i — AKA Another Existential Crisis

In the summer of 2020, at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, the world came to a standstill. Structures shut down. Humans locked in.
Like everyone else, I felt completely outside myself — hollow in my gut, scattered in my mind, and holding back a silent scream inside my small house in Austin, Texas.

So I did what my nervous system had been trained to do since childhood: I ran away.

When the chance came to join a dieta with the plant medicine Bobinsana, I said yes — anything to escape the Texas heat and the heaviness of the world pressing on my shoulders. At that time, I didn’t know what I needed to feel safe or grounded in my own skin. I only knew I had to get the heck out.

Arrival: A World Alive and Strange

Stepping off the plane onto the Big Island felt like landing on another planet — lush, alive, and humming with mystery.
I stayed with a small community in Pāhoa, surrounded by volcanic hot springs, thick air, and beauty in every direction, including the people. I was greeted with kindness and acceptance.

But little did they (or I) know that the woman who had just arrived was in the middle of an internal war — and she was a hot mess.

Something about the people there captivated me. Maybe it was their presence, their vibrancy, their songs and prayers. I desperately wanted to be like them — steady, radiant, whole.

Over time, I began to notice: a medicine person carries harmony within. They live in right relationship with nature and spirit — through song, prayer, devotion, and ceremony. They become the bridge between the seen and unseen worlds.

I, on the other hand, was looking outside myself to be fixed.
Needless to say, I probably left a memorable impression on that community.

The Dieta: Meeting Myself Through Bobinsana

I committed to a two-week dieta with Bobinsana — a beautiful plant that grows along riverbanks in the Amazon. Her long roots anchor deep through the mud into Pachamama. She’s known as a heart medicine — helping to clear old emotions and open space for love to live in the body.

For two weeks, I drank Bobinsana tea three times a day, followed a restricted diet, and spent most of my time alone. We were encouraged not to talk with other dieters so the relationship between us and the plant could unfold directly — in silence, through respect.

I failed miserably at that part. Respect? What was that?

What I discovered instead was how little I knew about my own inner world. I couldn’t name what I was feeling or where it lived in my body. I was like a tantruming child flailing at the air — “someone see me, someone fix me.”

It was strange. My body and mind felt like they were running on different channels. I wrestled with ideas, expectations, confusion. I wanted clarity, but all I found was frustration. Anger. Exhaustion.

There were good moments too — glimpses of softness and peace — but looking back, I can see that I was avoiding the deeper work. The bridge between my outer self and inner world was broken.

Now, I can hold compassion for that version of me.
Back then, I carried a lot of shame and embarrassment for how I showed up. I can laugh about it now, but the truth is, I didn’t know how to let compassion in — not from others, and definitely not from myself.

Exploring and Learning (Sort of)

The community surprisingly let me stay for another two weeks. I didn’t really have a plan. Mostly, I was just drifting — driving around the island, trying to make sense of what the hell had just happened.

You can drive around the Big Island in about six hours, but instead I meandered:
across to the west coast for the clearest beaches,
down south past the giant windmills,
through the heart of the island to Volcanoes National Park,
and along the east coast, where hot springs bubble up through fresh lava flows.

My favorite place was Waipi‘o Valley, the Valley of the Kings. I went with a small group from the community. The hike down was brutal — steep, slippery, straight into another time. We helped a Kia‘i — a guardian of sacred places — reinforce a small dam that fed his crops. The valley felt alive, breathing around us. Even his dog seemed to be part of the teaching — he bit my calf when I wandered off mid-story, worried about a friend we’d left behind.

Lesson received: respect and presence are non-negotiable when living in right relationship.

Waipi‘o had a charge to it — dark, alive, ancient. It was feminine but not in a soft way. More like the kind of power that doesn’t care if you understand it or not. I didn’t know what I was feeling back then, only that something in me was waking up — and I wasn’t ready for it.

Looking Back

That trip didn’t fix me. It didn’t make me enlightened or whole. It was messy, uncomfortable, and full of moments where I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I thought I was chasing healing, but really I was just running — from the noise in my head, from my body, from myself.

Still, the island left its mark. The people showed me kindness I didn’t know how to receive. The land showed me presence in a way I didn’t yet understand.

It would take a few more existential crises — a few more failed attempts at escape — before I finally got the universe’s message:
You can’t run your way to peace. The work isn’t out there. It’s in here. 💚