A perspective on perspective

The other night I invited my best Costa Rican friend over to my apartment in San José. I made dinner out of a single large skillet (because that's all I own) and I introduced him to hot buttered (Costa Rican) rum because I’m sick with a sore throat.

Cooking brought up memories of my old garden. In Tennessee, I had a big garden and I canned some of my own food. I would pick fresh herbs for dinner each evening. I was chatting with mi amigo about this and pulled up some photos of my garden to show him.

Then photos of my old house came up. To think… I was so happy and proud of that place. Two stories--every inch perfected carefully--big yard, manicured grounds, huge pool... I had it all.

Well, I thought I did. How very wrong I was.

And now? How do I feel in my tiny 60m² apartment with no A/C and no TV and no table and no microwave and no screens in the windows? The one with the electric-wired "suicide shower" that only sometimes has hot water? My humble abode that I’ve decorated with bay leaves to keep the ants out?

I feel filled up with joy and contentment. It’s not the stuff, friends. It’s everything else. It’s sipping a hot buttered rum on a rickety little couch and laughing over language mishaps and sharing profound observations about life, the universe, and everything.

{42}

Perspective and priorities, folks. That’s where to find happiness.

A journey of the soul

At the end of summer, 2013, I was shocked and shattered when my previously happy marriage of 10 years dissolved in a puff of smoke and anger. There were lots of reasons and I was willing to do what I could to remedy the problems. My ex was not. It was the greatest challenge, the deepest heartbreak, I have ever gone through.

As I considered my next move, I started thinking through my options. Should I keep working in an office and trudging through the days until my next vacation? Should I move out of the big, beautiful house I had worked so hard to make a slice of paradise? If so, where should I move? An apartment nearby? A different city? A different state? A different… GASP… country?

When the life into which you’ve invested your whole self and all your energy and passion dissolves like a crumbling skeleton before your very eyes, you can do a lot of things. You can cling. You can scrap along. You can sink into a hole never to reemerge. Or you can do what I did, and take a good hard look around.

Was I living the life I wanted for myself? Was I headed in a direction that led to some kind of fulfillment? Did my life have meaning? Was I reaching my dreams?

The answer to all those questions was a resounding NO.

So I did some research and asked a few people who were living lives I thought could be the right ones for me. I talked with family members. I made plans. And I decided to move to Costa Rica and teach English.

There are many reasons I was certain this was the right move for me. I love English. I am a grammar nerd extraordinaire. I majored in sociology and minored in anthropology. I visited 12 countries and loved it each time. I am a detestor of ethnocentrism and a lover of language and culture. I am passionate about literacy. I believe in empowering people to improve their lives. I was a student ambassador and firmly believe in enriching and improving foreign relations between nations by improving human understanding. I am a writer. I am a gypsy at heart.

The minute my decision was made to move to Costa Rica, my heart became tranquil and at peace. Everyone thought I was crazy. Everyone was worried and scared for me. But I knew with utter certitude that I would be all right. Not just all right, but HAPPY.

So I went through divorce proceedings and I got rid of most of my possessions. I quit my job with dignity and put them in a good place to move forward without me. I said goodbye to my home and my friends and loved ones. And I came here.

I traveled a bit then came to Quepos and began my studies here. I made friends. I worked hard – really hard. A community blossomed around me – embraced me – and I flourished in friendship and acceptance.

The other day I was walking around Quepos alone and smiling to myself as I noticed the signs of high season infiltrating the town. I saw the increased bustle and excitement in my town. And that is when it hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest: Costa Rica has become my home. I know this place. I love this place. I adore the people. I am infatuated with the culture. And I am not so much of an outsider as I was when I first arrived just over a month ago.

My Tico friends have embraced me wholly. They say my Spanish improves daily. My adventures fill my heart and so do the quiet moments sharing an Imperial watching the surf roll in.

This week I graduate from my certification program. On Saturday I go on a mini-vacation through the country and then I return to San José to pick up one of the jobs for which I’m interviewing (six currently!). I will settle into an apartment that one of my Tico friends has found for me.

But all of that is merely background noise, for I am already home.

 

A rainy morning in Tortuguero made wonderful with nuevos amigos

Costa Rica has so many things to boast. Rich biodiversity. Educated, literate population. Unrivaled vistas. Mountains, oceans, waterfalls, fields, beaches, jungles, and towns. Tropical weather. But the best part for me has been the Tico culture.

I moved to Costa Rica toward the end of the rainy season, which means it has rained a couple hours each day. One morning in Tortuguero, a tiny village and national park in the Limón Province known for massive amounts of nesting turtles, it rained and rained and rained. It rained so hard we canceled our canal ride in the morning (the area is only accessible by boat). Instead, we loitered around the hotel lodge and took photos of a night crested heron who was sheltering nearby. My mom, who was traveling with me at the time, and I struck up a conversation with two people from San José while we watched the rain come down. They were incredibly friendly and welcoming and the conversation was easy and enjoyable despite some language barriers. (One spoke only Spanish and I am hardly bilingual.)

When the rain didn’t let up, we donned our raincoats and umbrellas and took a stroll. We walked among dripping trees and tropical flowers pregnant with rain along a trail to the angry Caribbean that crashed against the black sand of the playa. The rain softened and the gray-white clouds roiled like ballet dancers above the foamy sea. A dense white mist rolled in from both horizons to greet itself where we stood.

Costa Ricans, or Ticos, are among the most amazing people on earth. I discovered this in my new friends that morning. We had such a great time getting to know each other, playing with the language, and bantering back and forth. The two I met that day will be friends for life… and they are not atypical for Ticos. So welcoming, so open, so helpful, so patient, so caring, so intelligent, and bursting at the seams with passion for life. Just the tall drink of water I needed to refresh me and make me want to embrace life again.

A little rain in my old town in Tennessee would have had everyone griping and muttering and hunkering down. A little rain in Costa Rica blossomed a lifelong friendship.

Pura vida. I’ve found it.