Unexpectedly Hawaii: RFK On The Island + Tulsi Gabbard Fresh From Morning Surf
Last year, before things got hectic on the campaign trail, I reached out to my children’s school to explain that my youngest would be missing some days to travel with me. I stressed that this was more than just time away from class — it was a unique chance for him to watch history unfold firsthand. This journey, following Robert F. Kennedy Jr. across the country, would turn his lessons into lived experiences. I knew these moments would leave an impact on him that no classroom could.
January 15
I wake early, my back throbbing from the long flight back from Iowa. We landed in LA late, and now my sciatica flares up, aggravated by the hours I spent in the cold, awkwardly angling my phone to capture Donald Trump as he exited the Hotel Fort Des Moines for his final primary event. Covering Trump demands unflinching dedication—arms outstretched, phone at the ready, knowing that one slight shift could ruin the shot or cost me my spot in the crowd.
By 7 a.m., I’m thankful for a day ahead to recover in bed. Creatively drained and mentally spent, I have no flights booked for three weeks. Until Mike walks in with coffee. “See this?” he says, pushing his phone toward me. It’s a video of RFK Jr. surfing with Kelly Slater in Hawaii. He had heard about it from a Kennedy staffer weeks ago, but Iowa’s caucus took precedence over everything.
“We should’ve gone,” he insists, scrolling through videos of Kennedy and Slater tandem surfing, leaping from a helicopter into the ocean. Seeing it makes me regret missing out, though the idea of another flight just a day after frigid Iowa feels nightmarish. “We missed surfing; all that’s left is whale watching,” I tell him, trying to temper his disappointment. “I’m not sure there’s even room on the boat.”
Minutes later, he’s sourced affordable flights. “If there’s space, we should go,” he says, hopeful.
Just Past Noon
Hayes bursts from the truck, thrilled. Our kids have learned to roll with shifting and spontaneous plans. We committed to my campaign travel for a year, and a trip like Hawaii means Hayes can join us, too. He’s excited by the chance to see whales and sailboats—a welcome change from campaign events he usually skips. He admires RFK’s animal advocacy, captivated by his wildlife videos and exotic animal photos, and even knows which pets Kennedy had as a child. When it hits him that we’re actually going, his joy overrides my pain and fatigue. There’s space on the boat, tickets are cheap, and campaign life demands this kind of begrudging adaptability.
Arrival in Kauai
Stray chickens peck around our feet as we land, and the muggy air feels like relief after Iowa’s bitter cold. I’ve never loved tropical places, but I’ve come to appreciate Hawaii’s old-world charm. I think of Joan Didion’s contemplative stays here amid personal upheaval—the way the island offered both escape and reflection. As literary legend knows, Didion came here on the brink of divorce, spending days at the Royal Hawaiian, what she called the “Pink Palace,” where she watched Robert Kennedy’s funeral and reread Orwell on the beach, moments she later immortalized in her essays.
“We spend, my husband and I and the baby, a restorative week in paradise. We are each the other’s model of consideration, tact, restraint at the very edge of the precipice…” Didion’s words echo in my mind, capturing how even her breakdowns were somehow poetic.
The next day, we head to the dock, where a long catamaran floats in sparkling water awaiting RFK Jr. and Cheryl Hines. They're here to support local businesses and reward ticket holders and sweepstakes winners with a scenic day of sailing. As Hayes boards, RFK Jr.'s security detail eyes him, noting the black metal suitcase with silver borders he’s carting—his drone from Christmas. Although he's unskilled, Hayes is determined, eager to replicate the cinematic aerial whale shots he’s studied on YouTube. Past mishaps haven’t dulled his confidence—like the time he startled a topless sunbathing PTA mom—but today, he’s ready for the challenge.
Upstairs, I exchange greetings with familiar faces from Team Kennedy, mingling among the crew. Denise introduces Hayes to Bobby and Cheryl below deck. “You missed Hayes meeting Bobby!” she exclaims, showing me a photo of them together, Hayes wearing a silver St. Christopher medal around his neck. The saint, protector of travelers against sudden deaths, is often depicted as a giant with a child on his shoulder—the child symbolizing the weight of God.
The atmosphere on the boat is laid back, a pleasant break from the usual campaign grind. Bobby and Cheryl are at ease—he’s barefoot, she’s in a sun hat. Sitting with them on the deck below, I compliment their recent feature in The Hollywood Reporter. Cheryl asks if I thought it came off too negative. “No,” I assure her, “it was fair, especially for an entertainment outlet.”
For the next few hours, the sail is a blissfully relaxed break. Bobby points out and identifies various birds either flying overhead or perched on distant water tanks. He mentions his family has about 30 boats. Later, he introduces me to the captain, who, amusingly, hands him a pair of goggles he left on board 15 years ago.
At the buffet, we sip mimosas, snack on fresh pineapple, and tiny albacore burgers. I chat with some of the women on board, long-time friends of Bobby, who express concern over his appearance. He looks thinner than on his last visit, and they worry he isn’t eating or sleeping enough. “He’s like a shell of himself,” one remarks. Another notes that Bobby is one of the few politicians truly attentive to Hawaii, besides Obama, who vacations here every Christmas.
RFK Jr.’s dedication to Hawaii’s environment goes back years; he sees protecting the islands as a personal mission, championing sustainable policies and battling corporate pollution. For him, preserving Hawaii’s beauty is more than a tourism effort—it’s a cause he hopes the nation will adopt, setting a standard of environmental respect.
The conversation takes an unexpected turn when one of the women reveals she once knew Sarah Kellen, one of Epstein’s top lieutenants. After Epstein’s arrest, Sarah assumed the alias “Sarah Kensington,” married a wealthy NASCAR driver, and vanished to escape scrutiny. Epstein met Sarah at the hotel she worked at in Hawaii. The woman brings up an old website with photos of Sarah —sultry and full-figured at about 19. She recounts hearing from a mutual photographer a couple years later that Sarah was off living the fast life, reportedly making a fortune flying around the world on some billionaire’s private jet giving blow jobs to Bill Clinton.
Somehow, no matter the scene or circumstance, Epstein ties will find me.
As talk shifts from Epstein to the Maui fires, they discuss conspiracy theories and Hawaii’s strict COVID policies, one of the few states to mandate either vaccination or a negative test for entry.
Eventually, I start looking for Hayes, and panic sets in when I can’t find him. Frantically circling the boat, I ask if anyone has seen him. Someone points me to a bathroom below deck, but he isn’t there. My anxiety escalates, my mind flashing to visions of him slipping off the boat unnoticed. Friends’ superstitions about the “Kennedy curse” replay in my head—warnings I’d laughed off before now feel ominous. What was I thinking?
On the verge of tears, I pull Mike aside, insisting he find Hayes. Seeing my distress, Emily, a Kennedy staffer’s daughter, gently guides me below deck, where Hayes finally emerges from a tucked-away bathroom no one else knew about, looking green and unsteady. I wrap him in a relieved hug. Once we’re back on the main deck, he lies down, a damp cloth over his forehead.
Jackson Hines, one of Bobby’s nephews, joins us on the bench. I remember his mother once telling me how Jackson had been Hayes’ age when he first met Bobby, his aunt’s new, adventurous boyfriend. She confided that Jackson was the only one of the Kennedy kids who resisted Bobby’s pressure to join their thrill-seeking pursuits.
As we head back to the dock, a whale surfaces nearby. Hayes sits up just long enough to glimpse it before sinking back onto the bench. “How much longer?” he mumbles. Bobby steers us toward shore, where fresh fruit slushies await.
Tulsi Gabbard as Tour Guide
The following day, I receive a message from Tulsi Gabbard asking how long we’re in town. She offers to take us on a hike in her hometown of Lihue. While I’d love to accept, I can’t shake the speculation surrounding Kennedy’s trip to the island — the prevailing theory being that he’s there courting her for the vice presidency. I know this ship has sailed, but the public still holds out hope.
Tulsi assures me the speculation doesn’t bother her, and we agree to meet off the record — not to discuss politics, but to explore the landscape of her beloved hometown. After hanging up, I read reviews of the hiking trail and see warnings about rocky pathways, casting doubt on Tulsi’s assessment of the route as a beginner’s course. Anyone familiar with her workout videos knows she’s a hardcore thrill-seeker, and I can’t help but tease her about whether she’s trying to lure us into a death trap, reminiscing to Denise about my regret at missing the era of Clinton campaign coverage where politicians would shoot tequila with reporters instead of making us go on treacherous hikes with green tea or vegan dishes as rewards.
Fortunately, Tulsi changes her mind at the last minute due to a swell at her favorite surf spot, and we decide to meet at the beach instead. The drive there takes us through lush scenery, immersing us in the stunning beauty of Lihue.
We are greeted by a soaking wet Tulsi, clad in a black bikini, carrying a longboard to her car, with her husband, Abraham, just ahead. We head to her favorite café. As we wait in line, Mike and Abraham hit it off. Tulsi shares that she has just finished her book detailing her reasons for leaving the Democratic Party. A woman in line overhears this conversation and stops to congratulate her, remarking on how difficult it is to write and finish a book. Tulsi turns her full attention to the woman, thanking her sincerely for the kind words.
As we wander through the town where she grew up, Tulsi recounts fond memories of her mother taking her to a slice of beach right in front of our hotel. When we pose for group photos, Abraham gently repositions her under the sunlight, pushing her hair out of her face while affectionately calling her “darling.” We snap the photo, and I’m struck by the warmth between them.
Born in American Samoa in 1981, Tulsi emerged as a beloved figure in American politics, marked by her military service in the Hawaii Army National Guard and the United States Army Reserve, where she earned honors like the Combat Medical Badge and the Meritorious Service Medal. Her dramatic departure from the Democratic Party speaks volumes about her principles. I recall a friend texting me about his decision to vote for her, frustrated with the party's abandonment of core values. Tulsi's willingness to stand firm on her beliefs has garnered respect from both sides of the aisle, reflecting her commitment to prioritizing people over political elites.
As we explored Lihue, I could see how her upbringing in Hawaii shaped her worldview. She fully embodies the spirit of aloha: shared humanity and responsibility to one another. Her advocacy for environmental protection and addressing the opioid crisis stems from this deep connection to her community. I appreciate how she creatively blends her passions, like surfing, into raising awareness.
For Love of Country: Leave the Democrat Party Behind captures her journey and her resolve to challenge the status quo. In a divided world, Tulsi Gabbard’s story serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of conviction and service to others, revealing a genuine authenticity that resonates deeply in today’s political landscape.
She was, in fact, Bobby’s first choice for a running mate. A few months earlier, we believed it was happening—but the rumor dissolved as quickly as it had blossomed. At a private party overlooking the ocean in Oakland, after announcing Nicole Shanahan as his chosen VP, he told a room full of people that he’d lost Tulsi to a “better” offer from Trump. He placed his hand over his heart, admitting that phone call broke it. Nicole, standing beside him, smiled awkwardly; she was his second pick, “sent from God,” he stressed. Yet, he would neglect to thank, or even mention her, in his suspension speech in Arizona before endorsing Trump.
The Email
On the drive back I got a call from one of the Kennedy campaign staffers who relayed an email from Link Lauren, urging Bobby to consider suspending his campaign in support of Trump. Or accept VP, if it was still an option. As another staffer read it aloud, a wave of emotion washed over me. If Bobby got on board, this could shift things in a promising new direction. This is what many of us wanted.
The email opened with a subject line that asked, “Can we reconsider?” It pulled me in immediately. “Hi — I'm writing this as every campaign is in the middle of Veep-stakes. In Iowa, everyone loves RFK Jr. Everyone I talked to at the Caucus said Trump is their number one, RFK Jr. their close second.” It was clear: RFK Jr. was gaining serious traction, especially among Trump supporters.
Link continued — describing Trump’s strong campaign: “Trump’s ground game this cycle is incredible. He’s hired quiet workhorses to get out the vote; no leaks, clear messaging. He’s dead-set on making it to the White House.” Link and I had discussed this. The energy felt almost like 2016 again. Who wouldn’t want a piece of that momentum? The proposal was a practical alternative for a consistently struggling campaign.
He leaned into the Trump-Kennedy partnership potential: “A convergence of these two campaigns would change the landscape of American politics, ushering in a new era.” He wasn’t just throwing out big ideas—he made a strong case for how a Trump/Kennedy ticket could really shake things up. Picture Pfizer’s stock tanking and the media in a full-blown frenzy.
He laid out convincing reasons for why Kennedy should consider the VP role: “As VP, you’d have major fundraising power and a full press pool 24/7.” And pointed out Kennedy’s potential influence: overseeing the Senate, reforming agencies, even shaping foreign policy.
Further, he emphasized the ticket’s potential to transcend party lines: “Trump isn’t running as a Republican; he’s running an America First agenda. He’s moving outside the two-party system, just like you.” The subtext was clear: “This is your chance to do something historic.”
And then he hit a nerve: “I’m not saying we can’t win on our own, but Trump/Kennedy ups those odds tenfold.”
For the next few hours, I took calls, tracking incoming response. Bobby wasn’t upset, and neither was his inner team. The issue was Cheryl. Someone jokingly assembled an imagined intervention team to convince her it was a good thing. We each picked a focus to help win her over, scheming to pull her out of Hollywood and into MAGA—selfishly envisioning her in designer gowns at political events during this new era of rebranded Republicans.
“We need more like Cheryl in that mix,” someone texted, earning a string of heart emojis from everyone in the thread.
At the Hotel
Back at the hotel, we headed to the beach and settled into a row of lounge chairs. Not long after, a staff member informed us the area was reserved for special guests. Sighing, we moved to blankets on the sand, and I took my first nap in weeks. I fell asleep immediately.
I woke to a blurred scene: Mike, Denise, and Hayes swimming in the ocean. A lean figure to their right caught my eye. Rubbing my eyes into focus, I realized it was RFK and one of his sons, Hayes circling them with goggles on.
When Denise returned, she showed me some underwater photos she’d taken of Bobby and Finn. Curious about her camera, Bobby lit up when he learned it could take underwater shots, and asked her to capture them, pulling his nephew, Jackson Hines, down with them.
In front of us, Bobby’s crew had taken over the lounge chairs we’d vacated. I noticed I’d left my Gucci slides beneath one of the chairs but decided to wait until they left to retrieve them. When I finally went back to check, they were gone.
“Bobby must have mistaken them for Cheryl’s,” I joked to Denise. They were the only flat shoes I’d brought. Without them, I’d be clomping around in wooden clogs for the rest of the trip.
The hotel had a White Lotus vibe—Polynesian fancy, with an air of impending chaos. Like someone might definitely drown after dessert. We drank Mai Tais and ate sushi on the patio while the kids enjoyed fried chicken upstairs, thrilled to be reunited with their iPads.
Later that night, we found Cheryl Hines in the lobby waiting for her sister and stopped to say hello. Instinctively, we both glanced down at her feet.
The next day, we played tourists, wandering through shops and picking up tropical souvenirs—glitzy shell-encrusted lighters and flowered rubber flip-flops. We convinced Hayes it was local tradition for boys to wear them since he’d also lost his shoes and it was all we could find. Mike rented a surfboard and we all sat on the sand trading friendship bracelets like it was peak summer camp. This extra day was a spontaneous addition to our trip. Originally, we were supposed to leave, but standing curbside in the breeze waiting on our uber, we decided we needed one more day to savor the warmth of this tropical paradise—a sharp contrast to the brutal weather in Iowa. As we packed up, a hotel attendant rushed to our car, slightly breathless. “You forgot something!” he said, handing me a pair of black Gucci slides left at Lost and Found.
We left the island with our souvenirs and a reminder that sometimes it’s the little things—birds, boats, beaches—that etch the most memorable chapters of a grueling year-long campaign trail stretching connecting and dividing us across the country.
Not entirely relevant to this post but… Could you contact someone in the campaign and tell them to promise to keep permanent Daylight Savings Time? Less seasonal depressive disorder, more time for surfing!! 🏄♀️
Again- thank you for taking us on this journey! Love the BTS view. As a teacher- I appreciate that Hayes, and all your boys, are getting the education of a lifetime! And one they will never forget!