5 Ways to See Tourists Differently this Summer
5 ways to see tourists
differently this summer.
A collective exhale. And a reframe.
Photo: Amanda Robinson / Unsplash
I'll be honest. There are moments in summer on Maui — stuck behind a rental car going 15 miles an hour on the Hāna Highway, or watching someone step over a rope at a sacred site for a better photo, or just trying to get a table at your favorite spot on a Tuesday — where the patience runs thin. Where you feel the weight of living in a place the whole world wants to visit. Where "aloha" feels like a word that belongs to a quieter version of this island.
I've been sitting with this tension for a while. And I keep coming back to something I learned in my studies: aloha mā. Self-reflective love. What we put out, we get back. It doesn't ask us to be doormats. It asks us to look inward first.
So this summer, we're trying something. Five reframes. Not toxic positivity — just a different lens. See if any of them land for you.
Aloha mā. Self-reflective love. What we put out, we get back.
— Maui Makai
One
They are keeping this island alive.
Every plate of food ordered at a local restaurant, every shave ice bought from a family-owned stand, every farmers market visit, every surf lesson — tourist dollars are woven into the fabric of how this island sustains itself. After the fires. After the floods. After everything. The businesses we love, the people we know who work in hospitality, the farms and makers and artists who call this home — they need visitors to show up. When we see a tourist, we can choose to see someone who is actively, if unknowingly, helping us keep our home intact.
Two
Their joy can be our joy — if we let it.
There is something genuinely moving about watching someone see Maui for the first time. The moment they step off the plane and the air hits them differently. The first time they put their face in the water and come up speechless. The sunset that makes them go completely quiet. We live here. We get that every day. And sometimes we forget what a gift that is — until we watch someone else receive it for the first time. Their wonder is a mirror. Let it remind you.
Three
We have the power to touch them in a way that travels the world.
Think about the last time a stranger was genuinely kind to you somewhere unfamiliar. You remember it, right? Now imagine being on the most beautiful island on earth and having a local — someone who actually lives here — take a moment to smile, share a recommendation, explain something about the land or the culture with warmth instead of resentment. That person goes home changed. They tell that story for years. They come back differently. They raise their kids with it. The ripple of a single act of aloha from a local to a visitor is immeasurable. We carry that power every single day of tourist season.
Four
They bring the world to us.
One of the quiet gifts of living in a place people travel to from everywhere is that the world comes to you. The family from Japan. The couple from Brazil. The solo traveler from Nigeria seeing the ocean for the first time. The retirees from the midwest who saved for twenty years for this trip. Every one of them carries a culture, a perspective, a way of seeing the world that we don't have to leave home to encounter. That's not nothing. That's actually extraordinary, if we're open to it.
Five
This is their dream. We live in it. Both things deserve respect.
Someone, somewhere, has had Maui on their vision board for years. Has worked extra shifts, skipped vacations, saved carefully, planned meticulously — all to stand on this sand, in this water, under this sky. The place we drive to the grocery store in. The place we sometimes take for granted. We can absolutely hold the line on respect — for the land, for the culture, for the community. And we can also extend the same grace we'd want extended to us if we showed up somewhere new, imperfect and learning. Aloha mā. What we put out, we get back.
Let's Talk About It
We don't have all the answers here. This island is complicated and the relationship between residents, Native Hawaiians, and tourism is layered in ways a single article can't hold. But we think the conversation is worth having — openly, kindly, without judgment in either direction.
How do you navigate this? What helps you find the grace in high season? And if you're a visitor reading this — what would you want locals to know?
Drop it in the comments. We actually want to know. Be kind out there. 🤙
Aloha mā.
Self-reflective love.
