Tahiti

There will be a straw hut built over the ocean, small (but comfortable) and round. That’s where we will sleep. It is only accessible by a footbridge, 50 yards over the water from land. You can sit on a little porch outside and watch the fish in the water, but only nice harmless fish. All the terrifying ones will swim in another part of the ocean and you won't even have to look at them.

The people who live there will be grateful for the commerce, but able to continue their culture and lifestyle without having to alter it to accommodate the tourism industry. They won’t resent our presence in the least, but will regard us as pleasant curiosities.

I will wear unusual but highly flattering dresses. My relaxed demeanor will alter my facial features to make me look serene and filled with love and peace at all times. I will not be jumpy. I will forget all insecurities. I will devote a significant part of my day to meditation and prayer and, as a result, be filled with tolerance, patience, and a gentle nature.

Tahiti.

Midwestern winters breed this type of lunacy. French Polynesia mocks you, beckoning; a grass skirt that hints at wonders below. Damn you, Tahiti. Damn you, Bora Bora. Damn you.