An insight crystalizes

Dear Staff at the Kaua'i Wildlife Refuge Complex:

I was among the many people who came last month to gaze at the plunging cliffs and the crashing Pacific near the Kilauea Lighthouse. I cannot remember the date, so I can't help you identify which person was on duty. That's how relaxed things are in Kaua'i -- hours, days, and dates blurred quickly. In fact, breathless beauty aside, my favorite part of Kaua'i was its slowed pace, its informality and ease. Going barefoot in the grocery story was the highpoint of my long and otherwise humdrum food shopping career; I am likely never to have that experience again.

I am writing to thank one of your staff members for the brief conversation she and I had. I imagine it has been eroded from her memory by now, but it has stayed with me, and I will refresh the memory often. I will address her directly, in the hopes that you can find her for me and pass her this message:

I had questions about the volcanic rock -- the many, many layers of dark, igneous rock. I knew they came from repeated eruptions, but so many? How could it be? And all the same? Did some cool more quickly than others? There were so many layers it looked like black sedimentary rock. And what is that even darker intrusion over there, in that outcropping? You weren't sure, but you loved the question. You asked me what kind of work I did -- was I a scientist? A geologist?

I made a sheepish, scrunched face. Gosh, no, no, I confessed with a small smile. My childhood dream was to become a geologist, but no. I am a psychotherapist. A counselor. I felt small.

You didn't miss a beat. "Same thing," you said, with conviction. I cocked my head. "Totally the same thing," you repeated. "You look at layers within someone. You try to figure out how they got there. Why did one layer cool more quickly than another, and why did crystals form here and not there? And what is that dark intrusion I see? How did that get there? You are still a scientist, doing the same kind of exploration, except your field is the person you are sitting with."

Can I tell you, dear Naturalist? Can I tell you how my heart thumped with joy when you said these things to me? I have always wondered what would have happened if I had stayed with my passion of science, and  a part of me -- a dark intrusion -- has long felt cowardly for not having taken that path. Your words showed me that -- from the distance of a telescope, a microscope, or a metaphor -- what looked like two paths might actually be one: simply, mine.

You helped me spot a crystal deep within the bedrock of me.

Thank you and aloha,

paula chu