In December, 2017, we were standing on a rocky beach in Moloka’i, Hawaii, looking out toward the expansive Pacific and the palm tree-dotted coastline, waves crashing at our feet, and somehow we came to the mutual conclusion: fuck it, let’s move to an island.

This hadn’t been our plan all along - in fact, I don’t think it had even crossed our minds up until this point, at least not in any kind of legitimate manner. But, we were facing a transitional point in our lives (individually - professionally - and as a couple), and it just seemed to make sense. Why the heck not?

In my case, I was coming upon the end of a two-year-long teaching commitment with Teach for America in New Orleans and was ready (and craving) a change of scenery. I loved New Orleans and, honestly, I loved many aspects of my teaching job (first and foremost, the kids), but the hours were long, the work grueling, and I was spread thin to the point of exhaustion.

Kevin had been teaching at a well-funded private school in New Orleans’ Garden District (in essence, the complete opposite of my teaching experience), and was ready to move on.

Together, we were thirsty for change, so the prospect of moving to a faraway island was enticing for us, to say the least.

It was in this moment, standing on those rocks in Hawaii, that I felt a certain lure toward island living. The newness of it, the idea that when things got rough we could immerse ourselves in nature, in the wet denseness of a tropical jungle and the liquid fingers of the sea, captivated me.

When we returned home to New Orleans, I found myself yearning for that island escape we had found in Moloka’i, and we began to take the steps necessary to turn this daydream into a reality.

Since we were teachers at the time, we decided to search for teaching jobs in Hawaii, and, in doing more research, expanded our search to the Caribbean. After several interviews, we accepted an invitation to fly to St John in the US Virgin Islands for an in-person interview and sample teach at a local private school.

Knowing little about the island, aside from what we’d seen on the news about Hurricanes Irma and Maria just months prior, we arrived to the island enthusiastic and energized, albeit naive. Despite the obvious destruction that might have scared away someone more sensible and prudent, we immediately became enamored by St John - its small but intimate, and incredibly resilient, community, its natural beauty - largely untouched, save for Mother Nature’s wrath, as about 60% of the island is protected by the National Park.

Before that short trip was over, and with little discussion, we decided that we would accept the positions and move to St John in August, 2018.

August rolled around, and we boarded a plane, one suitcase each, $4,000 cash, no car or place to live on the other end of our journey, but a whole lot of wide-eyed enthusiasm in our hearts.

We spent our first night in a dingy hotel on St Thomas - the cheapest one we could find, and spent the entire next day driving around St Thomas in our rental car, which happened to be a convertible Mustang (the rental agency was out of their budget cars, so we got a lucky upgrade), scouting out every abandoned vehicle on the side of the road, looking for ones that had For Sale painted on a window. Side note: showing up in a Mustang is NOT the best way to finagle the cheapest price for a beat up, used car.

We ended up finding a rattly, old silver 2006 Dodge Caravan, settling on a price of $3,000. We handed over a wad of cash (3/4 of our lot), and took the keys to our new ride, which we lovingly named Tuna, and drove straight to the St John ferry terminal. Before we even boarded the barge, Tuna’s front left tire flattened. Kevin had left to return our rental Mustang to the airport, so I was stranded, alone with a decrepit minivan, about to board a barge to an island I barely knew, with no clear destination once I reached the other side.

Thankfully, a woman in line beside me lent me a can of Fix-a-Flat and taught me how to insert the tube and squeeze the foam into a flat tire - I will forever be thankful to this kind stranger, for she not only saved me on that day, but on many days to come, as Fix-a-Flat has been a blessing on more than one occasion since moving to St John.

With our newly filled tire, Tuna and I boarded the barge and set off to our new home: St John.

We were greeted on the other end by a man with whom one of the administrators at the school had set us up; he would become our new landlord. He guided me to an apartment not far from the ferry arrival site. He opened the door, and I was struck immediately with a stench that was made of something between fresh paint and mildew. I stepped into the windowless, single room apartment, a tiny kitchen to my right, an even tinier bathroom just beyond, and a double mattress nestled into the far corner of the “bedroom,” and took a good look at my new home.

We settled on $1,000 for a month-to-month rental (after all, that’s all I had left to give). Our landlord left with what was left of our bundle of cash, and I sat, penniless, waiting for Kevin to arrive at our new home.

In December, 2017, we were standing on a rocky beach in Moloka’i, Hawaii, looking out toward the expansive Pacific and the palm tree-dotted coastline, waves crashing at our feet, and somehow we came to the mutual conclusion: fuck it, let’s move to an island.

When we returned home to New Orleans, I found myself yearning for that island escape we had found in Moloka’i, and we began to take the steps necessary to turn this daydream into a reality.

August rolled around, and we boarded a plane, one suitcase each, $4,000 cash, no car or place to live on the other end of our journey, but a whole lot of wide-eyed enthusiasm in our hearts.

With our newly filled tire, Tuna and I boarded the barge and set off to our new home: St John.

To be continued …