“I’m moving here,” I announce flinging my arms up to the indigo sky.

My kids look at each other, with a “Here we go again” smile.

“Be realistic, mom.You can’t sit still for a minute. How are you going to survive two months, let alone a few weeks here? You will go berserk.”

“No, I won’t.” I stomp my sparkly pink toed feet in the sugary sand. “ You can all visit me,” I chirp like a baby Robin who’s just left the nest. Dreamy-eyed, I imagine escaping to a small painted house, only a bike ride away from the closest beach, routine morning hikes alone and quiet afternoons spent completing that novel and screenplay I’ve shelved for years.

It didn’t take long to become smitten by Kauai, and just like falling in love, it was completely unexpected.

I chose Hawaii to gather my clan over the winter holidays, but I never thought I’d see such untouched beauty and so much uninhabited space.

Life on the Garden Isle would be perfect; loads of time to think about the next coconut to pick, exploring dirt roads in my 4×4, searching for the next secluded beach, and perhaps an afternoon yoga class at sunset with my once graying hair, now bleached blonde, wrapped up in an aloha shmata. (Yiddish for scarf)

Every ridge I hiked in the Waimea Canyon, each muddy trail I negotiated overlooking the majestic Na Pali coastline, and that breathtaking helicopter ride over the Kipu Kai Bay ( segments of The Descendants were filmed here), confirmed my place in this paradise.

What I soon discovered, just days after arriving, was that I was not alone in my desire to relocate. Regular folks serendipitously found themselves in Kauai. While filling my van with groceries, I ran into a woman my age who worked for a local outfitter company. She came to Kauai with her first husband, and stayed even though he went back to the mainland. That was over twenty years ago.

Our friendly car rental shuttle driver beamed when he told us that he moved to Kauai sight unseen, following after his wife, who had always dreamed of living in Hawaii.

Then I met Kristin, of Cakes by Kristin(considered the best bakery on Kauai) who shared her story as I inhaled her yummy pineapple crostata. She made the move to Kauai with her chef hubby and baby son, five years ago and hasn’t looked back. “ Kauai is not for everyone,” she warned. The island will either welcome you or spit you out.” I pondered the unlikely latter possibility for only a second.

“What’s your favourite beach?” I asked, as I pull out my handy notebook, a question my family was getting tired of hearing. She pointed to the beach down the street.

Other than getting my daily fix of mango shaved ice (like a Sno-Kone), my other preferred activity was going for morning jogs. I opted out of strapping myself to any high tech devices and chose to be in the moment, listening to the crashing sound of the waves as my musical interlude.

So, on my last day in Kauai while jogging along an isolated beach road trying to avoid trampling precocious wild roosters crossing my path, I got lost.

I thought that getting lost on a tiny island wasn’t even feasible. But it happened to me.

With only a trickle of water left in my bottle, my only possession – a hotel key- now wet from my sweaty pocket in my shorts, I try to remain calm. I lift my tired legs and do a fake jog, my head jerking from left to right, hoping by some miracle, that I will choose the right way back. Only a few minutes pass, and I’m starting to feel my once steady breath, shorten.

My blood pressure momentarily subsides when I see a blonde lady and her teenage daughter out on their morning walk. Lost like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, looking for Kansas, I rant like a lunatic to them that I don’t have a phone, money or water. They giggle but I’m not joking. I then ask them to point me in the direction to the Sheraton Hotel. They pull out their iPhone but can’t figure out which way I should turn. “Ugh” I imagine myself running around the empty streets in circles for days, alone.

I come to my senses when I feel the sweat trickle down my forehead into my eyes and make out a salt and pepper long-haired guy plugged into his iPod. I surprise him by grabbing his arm. Taken aback he kindly stops to see why I’m so frantic. Speaking as if to a 3 year-old, he slowly explains how I’m only a mile from my abode and outlines the way back. He seems like one of locals, so I trust him.

Palms together, bowing his head, he says, “Namaste” and “Peace”. Exactly what I think I’m looking for.