I am hoping that you all have seen the Christmas television special where Rudolph finds the Island of Misfit toys. For those of you who have been living in a cave for the past 50 years and are not aware of this iconic classic let me bring you up to speed.
Rudolph, the red nosed you-know-what, finds himself on a remote island occupied by the world's dejected, unwanted, and unusual toys. They are a sad bunch of characters who due to some defects both obvious (a train with square wheels), an elephant with polka dots and not so obvious (A dolly for Sue?) could never quite fit into the social standards that the greater toy world demanded. Thus they banded together, maladies and all, to form a tribe of misfits.
(Do you know where I am going with this?
I bet you do!)
I think I have found this said island.
It's called Maui.
And I am worried.
I am worried because I think I fit right in.
To be described as a misfit one must possess a certain amount of social deformities that make them unsuitable for mainstream, mainland consumption. These could range anywhere from a serious inability to conform (ie: hold down a job, pay rent, do your taxes) to less serious maladies such as wanting to surf all day, to dream bigger than the box they were born in, or a serious need to avoid boredom.
I picture us at the harbor being pushed out of our toy crates and falling onto the beaches of Maui. The boat captain waves goodbye as the ship pulls away and we glance at each other, wondering which one is the train with the square wheels and who is the Charlie-in the-box.
On my drives through the little town of Paia I can tell when new shipment comes in. The streets become full of them. They wonder around starry eyed, lost yet hopeful, before finding their way to the beach to sleep or to a store to apply for a job. Our intentions are all different and our actions when we arrive separate us. The one thing that keeps us same is that we all came from a place where we didn't quite fit.
I often ask too many questions of people in my life. I can't turn off my curiosity and friends often complain that within 5 minutes I know everything about them and they know nothing about me. Through these conversations I have learned that behind every cool surfer dude, accomplished professional, homeless beach bum, party girl, or terminal dreamer their lies a misfit toy, someone who grew up feeling a little off, someone who was unable to change their square wheels into circles, unable to get rid of their polka dots.
At the grocery store in town I spoke to some length with my cashier about this cast of characters that stroll through the checkout. He said it was strange one day when he realized he was not just an observer of these strange people, that he was actually one of them.
I saw him later on the street playing a flute. He was a caboose with some square wheels. An even though he couldn't see them he knew I was ill covered with polka dots. We smiled silently. We smiled because we knew we were in the right place.
