So far, so good

We've arrived in Georgetown, Great Exuma. Ex-um-a, it rolls off your tongue with a rumble and lands with the sigh of satisfaction that you make after a refreshing beverage. The word must be rooted in "exhume," to dig something up after it's been dead in the ground, raising it to breathe fresh air and drink tropical sun.
After about 400 nautical miles, three nights and three days on open water, not touching solid ground for six days, pitching, rolling, feet awash with a sea flooding over-deck in high waves, Georgetown is feeling like the a place we can stop and kick it for a while, relax and find a beach that most people will only see on the face of a postcard somewhere, or a Windows wallpaper--you know the one, with the lonely palm tree on the mini-cay, the sailboat in the background in the upper left.
And in two an a half hours, the only thing that's been missing during this entire trip will be arriving to the island on a plane from Miami (no, not cocaine): Kristen, my girlfriend.
Not long ago, the day before we set off from Luperon, over the course of a few hours Marty and I were jumping down a series of spring-fed waterfalls in a Dominican rainforest-rocks smooth, the stream only slightly tinged with the clay it sprang from, cliffs rising, vines hanging, and everywhere the whooooosh of rushing falls.
Life ain't so shitty, as Blind Melon once sang.
It was among the coolest things I've ever done in my life, and if you're thinking that it 'sounds like something out of a movie,' do me a favor and slap yourself. This was real, this was being alive, and the movies are pretend, a fake vicarious tramp through another person's vision of an experience, and if your only concept of adventure is through a pixelated projection on a screen, get out more, because it's worth the trouble.
When we reached the bottom of the mountain, I said to Marty, "Thanks for coming with me man, I would've done this by myself if I had to." It was our last chance that day to go to that national park, and I was hell-bent.
"Yea," he shrugged as he was drying off in the sun next to a streamlet I was sitting in, "but it wouldn't have been as fun by yourself."
He was absolutely right. Although at times there's a certain necessity for solitude, it is the company you keep that determines the richness of experience. I realized that over the course of the last few hours, it was her company that I was missing, imagining how her whoop would sound as she launched off a cliff into a blue pool, the mutual wonder to be shared in a place of perpetual amazement.
I've realized now the importance of sharing experience; that's the idea behind cameras, uploading photos on Facebook, and this freaking blog. Otherwise I wouldn't have filmed it, wouldn't be sharing it right now.
So if you have someone you care about, go do something with them. Take pictures. And remember when you see someone eating alone at a restaurant or riding a roller coaster solo, why they aren't smiling as wide as the ones who keep good company.