Hey, guess what! Traveling does not, in fact, turn you into a completely different person. If I thought I was going to go to Costa Rica and do anything but talk about bugs on Twitter, I was fooling myself.
Isn’t it a rule that you’re not allowed to go to a foreign country for a month without something momentous happening? A life-changing event? An epiphany? A bestseller? A nice summer fling? Instead, I’ve spent most of my time becoming that much more cemented in who I already am.
Who I am really likes quesadillas and will always choose a nap over a fling.
None of this should surprise me even a little bit. And yet it does. Women are a mystery! Even to themselves! DON’T FEEL BAD, MEN. WE DON’T UNDERSTAND US EITHER.
I’ve had some feelings about my expectations, because I have feelings about everything and because expectations are a specific brand of human folly that really enjoys poking our tender bits with the sharpened tines of its cantankerous little folly fork. Ouch. Stop that, folly fork.
But your life is going to do what it does, no matter how many trips you go on, dates you set up, projects you do. Your life will always just be what it is, regardless of your expectations.
So I’m finally starting to shift out of poking range so I have space to enjoy the small things. Because the small bits are always the best part. And goodness, there’s a wealth of happy-making in Costa Rica.
Ceasing Cyclical Self-Reflection In Favor of Small Bits of Awesome.
Or, Things I Really Like Here.
Walking down to the beach just to watch red and purple crabs scuttle frantically away from my clomping feet.
Sitting on the roof with the surfers and egging on prodigious thunder storms.
Swatting at my hair like it’s developing a sentient personality, one that quivers eagerly at the thought of hastening my demise. I’m not convinced this is just my imagination. The humidity has not been kind.
Walking down dirt roads through the jungle to take a yoga class or buy more mangos.
Walking home in the hot sun and being offered a lift on what looks like a go-cart on steroids. I sit on the front and cling for dear life as we jolt down hills.
Propping my feet on the deck railing as I work on my laptop. If I lift my eyes four inches above the screen, I can see the ocean.
Et tu, Jiminy Cricket?
He dropped unceremoniously into my lap one day and then spent a reasonable portion of the night hanging out on my laptop. The next evening, I had a one-night stand with a lightning bug. The night after that, I learned to shut my door as soon as it got dark.
The Coffee and Where I Get To Drink the Coffee
Dogs That Show Up While I’m Drinking Coffee, and Wander From Table to Table In Search of Hands to Pet Them. Their Success Rate is Impressive.
Especially this one. I MEAN, LOOK AT HIM.
I was tempted to take him home with me – he didn’t have a collar and his ribs were alarmingly prominent – but then I remembered that not all dogs have collars around here and sometimes people carry machetes and I don’t want to end up on the wrong end of a scythe because I blithely kidnapped some dude’s adorable dog. And customs would probably have a fit.
Black Sand Beaches and White Sand Beaches and Yes, I Got Called Racist By Two Different People The Last Time I Mentioned What I Still Insist Are Racially Inconclusive Beaches
I went running today – at noon which, by the way, is a really stupid time to run in Costa Rica – and as my feet hit the sand on what must be one of the most beautiful beaches in the world, I realized that maybe my life doesn’t need to change. Maybe I don’t need any major epiphanies. Maybe I’m fine just the way I am.
Which is its own sort of epiphany, I guess. So never mind.