Called to the Island
On Valentine’s Day, 2010, as waves crashed against the cold, gray sand of Santa Cruz, my husband and I sat shivering, watching a surf competition. The Great Recession had turned our lives upside down. We were underwater on both our homes—the one-bedroom condo in Kona and our house in Los Gatos. Something had to give.
We had planned to sell the Kona condo, which we purchased in 2005. It was small, part of a retirement community, and seemed unsuitable for raising our two young children. But as we sat there on the beach, staring at the massive winter waves rolling in, something shifted. The ocean seemed alive, its rhythm speaking directly to us, bringing back memories of the Big Island: body surfing at Kua Bay, the salt spray in the air at the “End of the World,” in Keauhou and the pull of the warm waters where our family spent time snorkeling. I couldn’t explain it, but it felt like the island itself was calling to us, urging us to come back. My husband turned to me, his voice hopeful:
“What if we moved back to Hawaii full time?”
It was like a light went on. I wasn’t just hearing him; I was feeling the same thing. It was a jolt of intuition, as though a door had opened, and we could see the path we were meant to take.
Moving to Kona Full Time
From that moment, everything changed. We decided we’d sell the Los Gatos house as soon as possible and move to the Big Island as soon as the kids got out of school in a few months. We’d give up the life we’d built in Silicon Valley—careers, possessions, and conveniences—to create something simpler and more meaningful. Our two kids would grow up slower, closer to nature, and without the constant hum of Silicon Valley’s distractions.
We threw ourselves into preparing for the move. Every weekend was spent fixing up the house for sale, tackling landscaping projects, and dreaming about the life we’d build on the island. It felt as if the universe approved of our decision. My husband was offered a job as the resident manager of our Kona condo complex, and my boss agreed to let me telecommute for a year—though I’m sure he thought island fever would send me back before long. But we knew this wasn’t a temporary escape. We were moving home.
Letting Go of “Stuff”
One of the hardest parts of the move was letting go of our possessions. We held an epic garage sale, and as I watched strangers cart off my keepsakes, I felt the weight of each item’s loss. Four-foot-tall photo collages from my thirties? Gone. My wedding china and glassware? Packed away in my in-laws’ storage shed, knowing I’d probably never use them again. It was painful.
To live on the island, though, you have to shed the mainland mindset that ties you to your “stuff.” Letting go was hard, but it was also liberating. I told myself this wasn’t about loss; it was about stepping into a new life. We held one epic garage sale where, standing on the driveway looking at the boxes and piles of personal treasures, I had to embrace the fact that I could not take all my stuff with me to Kona. I watched strangers walk off with my keepsakes. I threw away four-foot tall photo collages that had been hanging in my home since I was in my early thirties. Painfully, I stored my wedding china and glassware at the in-laws’ storage shed, knowing that I would most likely not have formal parties in Kona.
For years after I made the move, I would counsel people who wanted to make the leap to island living that in order to assimilate to the island culture, you have to leave your stuff behind. I was determined to let go of being defined by my stuff, but it was a gargantuan task and a sad day selling off my possessions. Of course, I forgot about most of it when I moved into our already furnished condo that we had used as a vacation rental for four years. As for the wedding china? I ended up shipping it to Kona in 2018 and most of it was smashed by the USPS! I have learned to revel in consignment store plates and reusable plastic wine glasses for BBQ beach parties.
A Message From Pele
Shortly after our move, we visited Volcanoes National Park, eager to explore the heart of the Big Island. My husband walked near the caldera to leave an offering, and when he returned, his face was pale and thoughtful.
“I heard a woman’s voice,” he said. “She said, ‘Welcome home, Eric. Did you think it was a coincidence that you are here?’”
Chills ran through me. Was it Pele herself? Until that moment, I’d thought of Pele—the Hawaiian goddess of volcanoes and fire—as a mythical figure. But hearing my husband’s story, I started to believe she was real, a presence guiding us to the island. Soon after, I began blogging about life on the Big Island, sharing stories about its beauty, spirituality, and the people who felt called to its shores. I realized I wasn’t alone in feeling this connection. There was an unseen energy pulling us together, with a common phrase, “I cry when I leave and I feel like I am leaving a part of myself behind when I am away from the island”.
The First Year’s Test
If you talk to anyone who has lived on the Big Island long enough, they’ll tell you that Pele tests newcomers during their first year. For us, that test came in 2005, the first time we tried living in Kona. Back then, we fought homesickness, loneliness, and financial struggles, crammed into 750 square feet with grumpy elderly neighbors who were less than thrilled to hear a crying infant and a rambunctious four-year-old next door. Eventually, we gave up and returned to the Bay Area, where friends and familiarity waited.
But even back on the mainland, I found myself missing the island. I missed the Aloha, the sense of people knowing they all had an effect on each other, so kindness is a way of life. The way people would hug and kiss you when they first met you. Who does that on the mainland? I missed the warm ocean and my little fishy buddies on the reef while I snorkeled. I missed the sight of humpback whales breaching, the scent of plumeria on balmy evenings, and even the lime-colored geckos that scurried along our lanai, devouring gnats and cockroaches. More than anything, I missed the island’s energy—something I couldn’t quite name but felt as deeply as a heartbeat.
When we returned in 2010, it was different. This time, we knew we had a purpose – and it slowly unfolded over the years- spreading the message of Aloha, caring for the land, the culture and the ocean. To encourage new residents to learn about the history of Hawaii and respect the culture, while volunteering to create community.
The Energy That Connects Us
There’s an energy here on the Big Island that I’ve never felt anywhere else. Some might call it spiritual, others might call it metaphysical, but whatever it is, it’s real. You can feel it in the sacred heiau, the ancient sites of worship scattered across the island, and in places like Keauhou, where you can sense the past and its inhabitants. (My intuitive friends know what I mean!)
Over the years, we’ve had moments that defy explanation. My husband once woke in the night to see a young girl with long black hair standing in our kitchen. Thinking it was our daughter, he called her name, but the figure disappeared. There have been whispers, visions, and inexplicable occurrences. I don’t try to convince skeptics—it doesn’t matter if they believe me. I know what I’ve experienced.
“What Brought You Here?”
On the Big Island, when you meet someone new, they don’t ask, “What do you do for a living?” They ask, “What brought you to the island?”
At first, we answered with practicalities: the desire for a slower pace of life, the chance to raise our kids surrounded by nature. But over time, our answer evolved. Now, when people ask, we smile and say simply: “We were called and we make a difference here”.
Maybe it was Pele. Maybe it was the waves on a cold Santa Cruz beach. Or maybe it was something inside us, waiting to be uncovered. Whatever it was, it led us to the life we were meant to live—a life that feels like home in Kailua Kona.
Julie Ziemelis is the founder of the 365 Things to Do in Kona Facebook page, 365 Kona Newbies Group on Facebook, 365Hawaii YouTube channel, 365 Hawaii Island Community Fund and author of “How to Move to Kona” and a memoir “1 Year, 2 Kids, 800 Sq Ft-Adventures of a Small Family on the Big Island of Hawaii”
If you feel like your soul belongs here, and you want to give back to the island and perhaps call Hawaii home, join the Ohana and learn more! Or search directly for real estate on our site at www.365HawaiiRE.com
