Las cosas pequeñas
It has been almost ten days since my last entry, and when I try to think of why I have been unable to put my fingers to this keyboard to record the details of my life, I honestly cannot come to any good conclusion. Life has had other plans for me.
Last week marked the ending of my first Spanish immersion class: Intermedio 2. I passed the class with a 96 which both surprised me and lessened my worry for the classes ahead of me. The final exam last Friday was something else, and I can honestly say I fought back tears in the middle of that last class - for good reason.
The last essay question was crafted specifically for us to demonstrate our use of the conditional tense (would haves).
De tener una segunda oportunidad de vivir tu vida, que cosas cambiarias?
(basically, if I had another chance to live my life, what things would I change?)
I have always been steadfast in the parts of faith that say things happen for a reason. Usually when I am forced to answer one of my many thoughtful questions I love to ask people about a second chance at life, I respond that I would change nothing.
I looked at this question last Friday morning and then I looked out the familiar window by my desk. The world before my eyes and one thing on my mind: John McElyea.
And I wrote my essay honestly and openly about my friend who took his own life this April, about the day I spent sobbing in a pew and pushing the lightness of my birthday away, about all that I should have done, and all I still do not understand. And it was healing.
Sitting at the small desk, feeling the air of new life, and the light rain of the afternoon, I found peace with him and I let him go. No more questions, simply love. No more regrets, simply gratitude and hope. My friend John Bethell introduced me to "Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman (I'm eternally grateful), and I know that he was right in saying that John "stops somewhere waiting for me."
Friday afternoon we left for La Fortuna the town of the Arenal Volcano and the Baldi Hot Springs. Our bus driver, Edwin, is a guardian angel, and I felt an easiness about him from the first moment of our meeting - he wouldn't let me pack my own bag into the van. Eight of us (much fewer than our usual excursions) set out in that little van. Three chicos and the five chicas who are my closest friends so far in Costa Rica: Kyndra, Greta, Caitlin, Lisa and me.
I was blessed to have the window seat on the drive. The countryside of Costa Rica rivals that of Tuscany in Italy - I can swear to it. Friday night once we arrived in La Fortuna, we made a very necessary trip to the supermarket nearest the hotel for some Cacique (liquor de guaro - sugarcane - very popular) which we carefully poured into waterbottles to sneak into the Baldi Hot Springs. We laughed like high schoolers the whole way in, especially when we all kicked off our shoes and took off running toward that beautifully natural, oh-so-hot water.
We frolicked the whole night through on water slides, with a chocolate fountain and lots of pineapple, piggy back rides, and eighties American music on the way home.
Saturday came searing into my morning at 5am when I woke with an incredible fire in my throat and a throbbing in my temples. Sickness had been traveling carefully among all of my friends - it was only a matter of time. The overwhelming and steady downpour of rain on that old hotel roof led me easily back to sleep for a few more hours thankfully.
Saturday morning may have been one of the most significant mornings in all of my memory. We hiked our way into the rainforest and life's gracious serendipity gave us a trail that led to the most beautiful waterfall these eyes have ever seen. Hundreds of feet of rushing, pouring, invincible power all culminating into a brilliant blue pool of water whose temperature whispered of the Arctic. My breath was gone as I stumbled carelessly over those rocks led by my only thought of getting closer, standing nearer to this miracle of the earth. Washed over by its incredible mist, I was cleansed and awed. Shedding clothes with nervous laughter, we all toed the water with trepidation, before giving ourselves over to pura vida and jumping in. That time my breath was gone because my lungs were instant icicles.
Swimming in that water, standing behind that waterfall - a secret from the whole wide world, laughing with friends of true spirit in the bus afterward, I could not have asked for a more magnificent Saturday afternoon.
Damp but ready for more adventure, we returned to the hotel to pack our stuff and head to Monteverde by jeep-boat-jeep, or so we were told. I have to admit, that there was a bit of nervous energy when we handed over our bags to our bus driver who waved out the window and left us with "Nos vemos en Monteverde a las 5!" (See you in Monteverde at 5!) while we were left to wait for the jeep that was supposedly coming for us.
Our dreams flying by the Costa Rican countryside in open Jeep Wranglers were dashed, however, when a regular ol' adventure van pulled up and told us to hop on in.
Little did we know that the mediocrity of that van ride would lead us to the most beautiful boat ride. When we stopped on the side of the road next to a lake of sapphire and glass, innocently surrounded by lush mountains and wrapped in silence, there was the most humble yet welcoming open air boat waiting for us.
That thirty-five minute ride with the wind dancing more beautiful tangles of travel into my hair and the view of Arenal standing proudly behind our spray of water was one of the most quiet and significant moments of my journey. I thought of family, I thought of friends, I thought of life both ahead and behind, I thought of fish and dreams and how hugs are such intimate, delicate things. I thought of my mother's curls and my father's moustache, my brother's dancing and my sister-in-law's laughter. I thought of the comfort of sitting. I thought of simplicity. I thought and thought and thought and all my mind's whispers floated lightly upon that lake.
On the shore, another van awaited, this one ready to take us flying through the heart of Costa Rica, jungle and farmland mixed into a beautiful mess, with cows coming down the way as incoming traffic, and potholes that make any form of photography impossible.
We arrived in Monteverde to the Hotel Don Taco: a place of beautiful architecture, a resident kitten and puppy (the best of friends), and flowers growing up and around a balcony that was all our own - thank goodness for the off-season.
Monteverde was a simple time of storms that shut down the power for the entire little town. They helped shop for cheap wine in the supermarket with little flashlights when a big crack of lightning brought darkness. That was a beautiful night - five girls hunched over a bottle of wine, digging the cork out with a pocketknife by flashlight, and later sipping from those well-worked for plastic cups and sharing our lives amid the thunder.
As the light came over the mountains, on Sunday morning, the sun dawned upon one of the most beautiful days of my life.
By 8am, I was wearing in a full body harness and flying through the canopy of the rainforest on a 12 zip-line tour above the world.
There are no words.
I could try to describe the way it feels to be faithfully hooked to one lone cable and come out of the dark of the lush green and into the wide open air that is a mountain valley of Costa Rica. I could try to describe the wind and awe-evoked tears that caught in the corners of my eyes, the sound your voice makes when you yell to God, to no one, to everyone, to the earthworms below the dirt, to heart of life all at the same time because you're so alive there is nothing left to do but yell. I could try to describe how it feels to be so infinitesimally small above the earth, amid the air, below the sky and to take big deep breaths of life.
But there are no words. No hay palabras.
I have never felt more loved than at this moment in my life. Love comes pouring in from every direction at every moment of the day so that I am constantly spilling it into the lives of others wherever I go.
I wake up to Facebook notifications (a simple but wonderful thing), I've received mail, I've been surprised by random emails and mid-afternoon Skypes, and I've even been blessed by the package of a photobook one of my best friends Katie made me. If you think that I burst into tears in the middle of the cafeteria when I flipped through the pictures of my Boone life and read secret letters she had collected for me, you're right. Love tugs at my shirt sleeve no matter to what direction I turn my heart. Just last night it warmed me over in the limonada healing tea Mama Tica made me before bed.
This Insanity workout program I'm doing with my friends is absolutely incredible - I have never felt so strong in my whole life.
I am luckier than I have any right to be.
Blessed by more than I can pin down and try to describe.
My heart has stuck around lately, it waves to home from afar. In fact, it's so busy skipping around and around with happiness that I feel like it's everywhere all at once.
And that, I would not trade for anything.
Last week marked the ending of my first Spanish immersion class: Intermedio 2. I passed the class with a 96 which both surprised me and lessened my worry for the classes ahead of me. The final exam last Friday was something else, and I can honestly say I fought back tears in the middle of that last class - for good reason.
The last essay question was crafted specifically for us to demonstrate our use of the conditional tense (would haves).
De tener una segunda oportunidad de vivir tu vida, que cosas cambiarias?
(basically, if I had another chance to live my life, what things would I change?)
I have always been steadfast in the parts of faith that say things happen for a reason. Usually when I am forced to answer one of my many thoughtful questions I love to ask people about a second chance at life, I respond that I would change nothing.
I looked at this question last Friday morning and then I looked out the familiar window by my desk. The world before my eyes and one thing on my mind: John McElyea.
And I wrote my essay honestly and openly about my friend who took his own life this April, about the day I spent sobbing in a pew and pushing the lightness of my birthday away, about all that I should have done, and all I still do not understand. And it was healing.
Sitting at the small desk, feeling the air of new life, and the light rain of the afternoon, I found peace with him and I let him go. No more questions, simply love. No more regrets, simply gratitude and hope. My friend John Bethell introduced me to "Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman (I'm eternally grateful), and I know that he was right in saying that John "stops somewhere waiting for me."
Friday afternoon we left for La Fortuna the town of the Arenal Volcano and the Baldi Hot Springs. Our bus driver, Edwin, is a guardian angel, and I felt an easiness about him from the first moment of our meeting - he wouldn't let me pack my own bag into the van. Eight of us (much fewer than our usual excursions) set out in that little van. Three chicos and the five chicas who are my closest friends so far in Costa Rica: Kyndra, Greta, Caitlin, Lisa and me.
I was blessed to have the window seat on the drive. The countryside of Costa Rica rivals that of Tuscany in Italy - I can swear to it. Friday night once we arrived in La Fortuna, we made a very necessary trip to the supermarket nearest the hotel for some Cacique (liquor de guaro - sugarcane - very popular) which we carefully poured into waterbottles to sneak into the Baldi Hot Springs. We laughed like high schoolers the whole way in, especially when we all kicked off our shoes and took off running toward that beautifully natural, oh-so-hot water.
We frolicked the whole night through on water slides, with a chocolate fountain and lots of pineapple, piggy back rides, and eighties American music on the way home.
Saturday came searing into my morning at 5am when I woke with an incredible fire in my throat and a throbbing in my temples. Sickness had been traveling carefully among all of my friends - it was only a matter of time. The overwhelming and steady downpour of rain on that old hotel roof led me easily back to sleep for a few more hours thankfully.
Saturday morning may have been one of the most significant mornings in all of my memory. We hiked our way into the rainforest and life's gracious serendipity gave us a trail that led to the most beautiful waterfall these eyes have ever seen. Hundreds of feet of rushing, pouring, invincible power all culminating into a brilliant blue pool of water whose temperature whispered of the Arctic. My breath was gone as I stumbled carelessly over those rocks led by my only thought of getting closer, standing nearer to this miracle of the earth. Washed over by its incredible mist, I was cleansed and awed. Shedding clothes with nervous laughter, we all toed the water with trepidation, before giving ourselves over to pura vida and jumping in. That time my breath was gone because my lungs were instant icicles.
Swimming in that water, standing behind that waterfall - a secret from the whole wide world, laughing with friends of true spirit in the bus afterward, I could not have asked for a more magnificent Saturday afternoon.
Damp but ready for more adventure, we returned to the hotel to pack our stuff and head to Monteverde by jeep-boat-jeep, or so we were told. I have to admit, that there was a bit of nervous energy when we handed over our bags to our bus driver who waved out the window and left us with "Nos vemos en Monteverde a las 5!" (See you in Monteverde at 5!) while we were left to wait for the jeep that was supposedly coming for us.
Our dreams flying by the Costa Rican countryside in open Jeep Wranglers were dashed, however, when a regular ol' adventure van pulled up and told us to hop on in.
Little did we know that the mediocrity of that van ride would lead us to the most beautiful boat ride. When we stopped on the side of the road next to a lake of sapphire and glass, innocently surrounded by lush mountains and wrapped in silence, there was the most humble yet welcoming open air boat waiting for us.
That thirty-five minute ride with the wind dancing more beautiful tangles of travel into my hair and the view of Arenal standing proudly behind our spray of water was one of the most quiet and significant moments of my journey. I thought of family, I thought of friends, I thought of life both ahead and behind, I thought of fish and dreams and how hugs are such intimate, delicate things. I thought of my mother's curls and my father's moustache, my brother's dancing and my sister-in-law's laughter. I thought of the comfort of sitting. I thought of simplicity. I thought and thought and thought and all my mind's whispers floated lightly upon that lake.
On the shore, another van awaited, this one ready to take us flying through the heart of Costa Rica, jungle and farmland mixed into a beautiful mess, with cows coming down the way as incoming traffic, and potholes that make any form of photography impossible.
We arrived in Monteverde to the Hotel Don Taco: a place of beautiful architecture, a resident kitten and puppy (the best of friends), and flowers growing up and around a balcony that was all our own - thank goodness for the off-season.
Monteverde was a simple time of storms that shut down the power for the entire little town. They helped shop for cheap wine in the supermarket with little flashlights when a big crack of lightning brought darkness. That was a beautiful night - five girls hunched over a bottle of wine, digging the cork out with a pocketknife by flashlight, and later sipping from those well-worked for plastic cups and sharing our lives amid the thunder.
As the light came over the mountains, on Sunday morning, the sun dawned upon one of the most beautiful days of my life.
By 8am, I was wearing in a full body harness and flying through the canopy of the rainforest on a 12 zip-line tour above the world.
There are no words.
I could try to describe the way it feels to be faithfully hooked to one lone cable and come out of the dark of the lush green and into the wide open air that is a mountain valley of Costa Rica. I could try to describe the wind and awe-evoked tears that caught in the corners of my eyes, the sound your voice makes when you yell to God, to no one, to everyone, to the earthworms below the dirt, to heart of life all at the same time because you're so alive there is nothing left to do but yell. I could try to describe how it feels to be so infinitesimally small above the earth, amid the air, below the sky and to take big deep breaths of life.
But there are no words. No hay palabras.
I have never felt more loved than at this moment in my life. Love comes pouring in from every direction at every moment of the day so that I am constantly spilling it into the lives of others wherever I go.
I wake up to Facebook notifications (a simple but wonderful thing), I've received mail, I've been surprised by random emails and mid-afternoon Skypes, and I've even been blessed by the package of a photobook one of my best friends Katie made me. If you think that I burst into tears in the middle of the cafeteria when I flipped through the pictures of my Boone life and read secret letters she had collected for me, you're right. Love tugs at my shirt sleeve no matter to what direction I turn my heart. Just last night it warmed me over in the limonada healing tea Mama Tica made me before bed.
This Insanity workout program I'm doing with my friends is absolutely incredible - I have never felt so strong in my whole life.
I am luckier than I have any right to be.
Blessed by more than I can pin down and try to describe.
My heart has stuck around lately, it waves to home from afar. In fact, it's so busy skipping around and around with happiness that I feel like it's everywhere all at once.
And that, I would not trade for anything.
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