This is the time,
when else would there be?
This is the only place you can be,
striving for it to be somewhere else can distract easier than it can assist.
As a bird who can only use the current around him to navigate,
we can only mold the current moment to our desire.

Even, imagine, a convict staring at the bunk above him, white walls surrounding him.
Daydreaming of elsewhere eases the sharp pain of reality,
but only amplifies the numbness he has come to accept.
Since he is imagining somewhere else, it only makes the whitewash and dry colors around him fade farther.
No place could be more different, the clock reaches slowly to turn the corner.
While his mind drifts to his other place, his cell mate stays where he is.
They sit in the same lonely cell, but they are seeing different things.
Not again, his mate thinks, he will never return, accepting the situation he has placed himself in,
While the original continues to think of what he will do when he gets out, avoiding any thought of the present.
He see's not what is around him but what he wants to see, delaying reality until he is set free.
But what is learned by ignoring what is around you? How can this man expect to make a change,
when he does not accept he is wrong now?

As hard as it may be,
as aggravating, frustrating and powerful as the past may pull us into a different view,
we are the navigators of our perceptions, only we can make that final choice to see the beauty,
or wade in the filth.
To grab on a opportunity, or keep walking with our eyes focused in a different direction.
It may be one of the hardest mental challenges we face, but to see the world as it is now,
unaffected by our past events, is to set ourselves free.
To not dwell on what we desire, but appreciate what we have, and see how we can formulate our own plan.
And sail with the wind that we have.

The Day's Question

*Play song for full effect

The horizon brightens to the east,
How will the day unfold?

Are the worries of my past going to chase me?
Will the shadows of the future cling to my legs?
Or can I break free? Open the day to any experience?
Those who may try and drag me down, will they slip off?
Or will their grasp take hold, their influence stronger than mine?
Can I control the air around me, or will my masts have no direction?

Are the problems going to start, or will the opportunities rise?
Will the ups and downs be taken with the same awareness?
Or can only one side of life be learned from?
Those who think like me, would I like to be around them?
Or will I stray to what others would like me to think?
Can I build my own day, or will my masts have no direction?

The sun dims to the west,
How did my day unfold?

Keep Looking Up

The most important image ever taken, the Hubble Ultra Deep Field

For the time being, we are the only ones out there.
There is no life that we will be able to reach, or even talk to, in our lifetimes.
Our solar system gives hints of what was or will be,
Giving life a chance for the day we can no longer stay here.
For throughout the history of man we have fought,
argued, and bashed heads with little times of peace.
We have spilled blood on every continent and every country,
taking lives prematurely due to our hatred for one another.
Yet what is this for?
Resources, power and glory one might say,
but taking a closer look at the cosmic ocean our precious Earth floats in,
we must see that we are nothing more than a speck on the shore.
There is no way we can fully comprehend the size of space,
the trillions of stars that span nearly fifty billion light years across the universe.
Or the number of galaxies that exists, twirling and spinning in the vast seas between one another.
No, I certainly can't comprehend the beauty and the elegance that is contained with out universe,
the beautiful and diverse tapestry that exists even in the largest of scales,
and the smallest of molecules, living in our blood and our tears.
It is a dreamers dream to see the universe, the nebula's and shining stars,
but that too will never be possible with our futile technology.
Yet there is something we can do,
we can stare into the night sky,
see the faces of our ancestors,
the great age we imagine our planet to be,
and see just how small we are,
imagine a expanding valley of stars that stretches farther than we can possibly take in,
and we may touch the edge of the life that is around us.
This feeling; being in the fish eye of the cosmos,
brings me joy and peace no vacation, television show or product ever could.
It makes me wonder why we fight, hate and discriminate
For if we could see the lines of the universe stretched across the sky,
and our minuscule existence played out in less than a flash in the universes grand storm,
our jaws would be dropped, and our minds opened.
We would see the grandest ideas of any human to ever live,
is not beyond a fraction of a blink in the time of the cosmic sea,
not the slightest splash in its waves is found for our ideologies and utopias we force on one another.
Yet we are often too caught up in our everyday problems,
to feel the size we are,
and be humbled in our morality.
Instead we fret and tumble over our problems and griefs,
become frustrated with the days endless hassles,
forgetting how to breathe, how to see life with simple clarity.
What would happen,
if everyone looked up and had these thoughts,
saw their faces in the abyss,
and looked back to those around them?
Would there be more love and understanding,
or would we continue to destroy,
all that has made us be?

Update: Montezuma/Santa Teresa (Nicoya Peninsula)

Pops at Playa Grande


     200 feet away some local guys about my age give me the surfers’ wave (thumb and pinky), I look around, back to the friends I made from Portland, and I hear “happiness is out there, just jump and find it!” I look down at the waterfall and take a plunge. Falls always seem longer from the top, but this was a pretty good one with at least a few seconds of free fall, good thing my “day trip” friends got it on video. Coming from Manuel Antonio, the Disney Land of Costa Rica, this small, cultural beach town is just what the doctor ordered.

     During the green season this part of Costa Rica is only reachable by the brave souls in 4x4’s, atv’s, and boats. Being directly across the peninsula, I find myself in a water taxi on a beautiful Pacific morning. The boat stops in front of a floating brown bob in the water. At first I think it is another log, stranded in the sea but at a closer inspection I see it is a sea turtle relaxing on the surface! “Can I go in?” I ask immediately, not letting a chance to swim with a beauty like this slip through my finger. “You can try, amigo, but before you even jump, she will be gone” the driver says, shortly followed by her bubbles on the surface and an empty sea once more. We pass by several more of these majestic creatures soaking up the rays as well as some other delights: a bright spotted marlin that seems to appear from nowhere and leave just as quickly, a family of jumping fish with a manta ray on their tail, and a pod of dolphins that left me pinching myself. If that wasn’t enough the approaching peninsula looked like a scene from Jurassic Park, and before I knew it we were beaching in Montezuma, located on the end of the Nicoya Peninsula.

     After lugging my stuff to the top of the hill, I find myself, along with a couple of Welsh friends I made on the boat, in somewhat of a jungle and at the hostel we’ll be staying at, Luz en el cielo or light in the sky. After dropping our bags and having a beer, we decide to hit the white beaches and go for a walk. “Is it cool to walk around town barefoot?” I ask one of the employees, “Of course!” he laughs “No shirt, no shoes, no problem man.” I get the feeling I am going to like this place. Before we can dip our feet in the sand, we walk through the quaint town of Montezuma. Although it only encompasses a couple of square blocks, there is more culture here than in the sizable towns of Quepos and Manuel Antonio combined. A true Costa Rican beach town, Montezuma gives of chill vibes and good times from every building and business. Open walled stores with the occasional tour center flank both sides of the slightly paved road. Restaurants advertise live music while merchants roll out their towels of handmade tourist delights. Around the corner I see a brightly colored building with a mural of a waterfall, the ocean and tropical birds across the side. “Escuela central” it reads, the main school for Montezuma no bigger than the average fast food joint, I wonder how many kids go here.

     Then the pavement ends and the beach present itself to us. Blue-torquise water is only plagued by the dirt that is present this time of the year, crashing over rocks on either side of the road. We are passed by several local surfers and the smell of charcoal drifts over from a Tico barbeque. There are no entrance fees to this beach, all are welcome to walk the shore, watch the surfers and explore the coast. About a mile further we are confronted with a slice of paradise. I literally stop every three steps to pick up rocks and shells of a smorgasbord of colors and textures, while a small inlet holds a surprise up ahead. A swimming hole of three light blue colors leaks into the ocean from the falling rocks and little waterfalls carried from the river it once was. On the other side is a Zen rock garden; dozens of stacked rocks, flaunting the colors that struck me just a minute ago. Where did this place come from? I couldn’t have thought of a better place to relax if I tried. Half an hour of swimming, climbing around and taking pictures and I am about ready to leave when I meet a new friend. A black lab with no collar but a full belly runs up to me and places his head on my knee, can I take him home? For the next hour we walk the beaches, he, who I named pops after his age and seemly rule over the area, scouts ahead for any food and glances back to make sure I am keeping up. When we have to take our separate ways I let him know if I ever had a black lab I will name him/her Zuma after such a fine fellow and the town he resides.

     The next morning I head to the waterfalls that I keep hearing about, hoping I will not be disappointed as I was in Manuel Antonio. I walk past an old Tico hanging in a hammock and can hear the crashing water in the distance. Around him is a tiny house, the electric cable hanging off a branch and leading haphazardly through a window. Grandkids run around him as he reads the paper and the smell of a freshly made meal makes it way to my nose. I can’t help but notice how happy this simple family looks.
     There have been several times this trip that I have felt sick, only one being about my physical health. The others have come from a sense of cultural genocide; tourism slaughtering little communities with posters, shuttles and advertisements in bold, English words.  I found myself thinking about the lack of culture in these towns like La Fortuna, Manuel Antonion and Jaco. Why did I come to Costa Rica to read menus in English, get asked ‘whats up?’ and feel bad for the locals who have lost some of their culture? Tourism here has been a double bladed sword for Tico’s, as it gives them a steady and at times heavy income as well as publicity for their country and beauty, but also takes over towns, making English an almost universal language and draining the local color from a once vivid landscape.  As someone studying the life of the people here, this disturbs me. Furthermore, coming from a small town, it makes me sick, and being one of these tourists makes me feel guilty and a little dirty. I try and stay away from the real touristy towns but there is no total escape yet. It is here, while I take in this little shack on the way to the waterfalls, I take a deep breath, sit and smile; instead of taking a negative attitude towards these towns, I started to think back and appreciate what there was and expand on it. In Manuel Antonio the curvy hills are stacked with attractions and tours but walk on the dirt road and find where the culture has run off to. Small grass fields fill with a fifty year old age range looking to play the national sport with their feet while little houses spread their clothes for the beaming sun to dry out. Dogs prowl with their noses searching for scraps and children play on their tails. Here mothers have been making handmade meals for longer than the tourism has been around, and their mothers before them. These people appreciate the beauty around them and live simply, not looking for a Nordstrom sale or trip to the big city.

I take another deep breath and think back to a time of desks and whiteboards.

     About a year and a half ago I took a Buddhism class taught by a small, soft spoken Japanese woman. That class opened my eyes to a religion which resonated with me in ways that others had not before. I was not going to pack my bags and head to a monastery but I saw practical uses for this ancient practice. One day during lecture, we were talking about materialism and its link to the mind. In the understated way she approached everything, my professor told the story of a man who found himself in luxury and the lesson that he learned. This man was given a very nice house, with all the food, entertainment and things he could desire. But soon his mind was left wandering and he became lost, searching in the items around him for the happiness he no longer felt. Until one day he abandoned the house and everything that came with it. He traveled to the mountains, to a place where the closest water was half a mile away up a steep hill. He lived in a small cave, one ridden with fleas and not tall enough for him to stand. But with him were others who believed the same as he did, and he was in bliss. He found himself through meditation, spirituality and journeys into the mountains. He didn’t need those material items, for that only fulfilled the physical needs, but in the cave he was mentally happy, creating a feeling no item could match.

     What do these people need? From what I can see, family, food, and friends are enough. They cannot afford a Ferrari but they can get themselves where they need to go, which is never too far away. Instead they are rich with social activities, common beliefs, and simple needs. These needs are easy to meet, making them happy with little effort. It was at this point that I remembered another reading, something from the book The Peaceful Warrior. Simply, it was; Happiness= satisfaction/desires, meaning if we can create simple needs to be met, happiness will never be far away. I couldn’t help but be in awe of how many Tico’s have fully realized this equation and use it most likely with little knowledge of the wisdom it holds.

The ideas of creating simple needs to enjoy the resulting simple happiness and being aware of mental wellbeing instead of focusing on material desires creates a paradox. The message is to live simply, but the thinking it takes to fully understand is deeper than the idea. Without growing up in a culture like the one cultivated in many areas of Costa Rica, appreciating a simple lifestyle may seem counter intuitive. Indeed, the advertisements and messages sent in the US many times preach the opposite. On television many commercials represent wealthy and successful people enjoying the finer things, news websites post articles about the highest paying degrees and ways to make more money, and possibly the worst is public education teaching on a format to execute not create, and finish in front of understand. This puts us in a situation where we often must create our own simplicity, we must think deeper. If happiness is something we desire, then simple happiness is the easiest route to achieve it. But to access this simplicity often takes effort to sort through the pressures put on by the media and culture. Thus the paradox is required; to be simply happy, thinking deeply is the route to reveal it. While others may stress about their jobs, paychecks or any other current situation, must you have to as well? If your peers are dropping everything to be successful, do you? Thinking on the surface, the answer is yes, of course you must do the same since that is the trend all around. But looking a little deeper, we are the ones in control of our stress and degrees of appreciation. Your friend may not enjoy the misty field as you walk, their eyes fixed on their smart phone or complaining about the work to come, but you certainly can. What is stopping simple appreciation? The awareness to appreciate, the insight that comes from thinking a step deeper.
     The first wall of rocks I encounter has a wide face of water splashing off of it and into several small pools at the bottom. I trek across its slippery ridge and up a small river before heading into the thicket and arrive at the bigger falls. About half an hour more of respectable hiking takes me to a thunderous sanctuary that is lightly inhabited for the time being. About 60-80 feet above me is the first of three waterfalls, and at the bottom I swim in a large pool that could hold a few hundred people. The rock walls hug the edge, and with a little precaution I make my way under the falls themself before taking a deep breath and jumping into the current, turning my back to the water and enjoying the warm day. I hear of a swing at the next waterfall and make my way back up and around a steep path that requires some semi rock climbing to a small but more secluded second and third fall. Here I meet the locals about my age that seem to be pro’s at being stupidly dangerous and laughing about it. “Here, every day is adventure” one guy tells me “we can swim, surf, climb around and jump off waterfalls, life is always fun.” I also meet a couple from Portland, Ore who have just quit their jobs to travel Central America for an indefinite amount of time. “We’ve done this before, seems like we can’t work every day for too long before getting the jitters and traveling.” David, a professional waiter tells me, “sounds like you have a pretty sweet gig here dude, and everyone seems friendly, just wish it wasn’t so expensive.” But this is free, a full day of adventure and a little danger just outside of town, and as I climb back up the waterfall and grab my bag, I feel for once I didn’t need to ask a Tico what they do to get away, because here they already are.

     “This is a small community (Montezuma), everyone knows each other and there are few problems. Growing up about twenty of us were good friends that always knew where to go and see each other, we didn’t even have to say anything, we just knew.” This is Luis, the captain on the boat that I am today. It has been four weeks and I am on my first tour guided activity. We are on Tortuga Island, just off the shore about an hour boat ride from Montezuma surrounded by landscape that once again makes me think dinosaurs must live there. I have just chased down the boat which was trying to leave without me, as I was the last one to come back from snorkeling. Two little rocks just off the island in the big blue held over fifty types of fish that I drooled into my snorkel over as well as eels, crabs and in general sea life galore. “Life here is very Tranquilo” Luis continues. Tranquilo, I keep hearing that word from happy Ticos; in the north near Arenal and Monteverde with their spirituality and connection with nature, on the coast near Judy’s house in Potrero, Flamingo and the laid back cowboy lifestyles and now in the rugged Nicoya Peninsula, where adventure and beauty are omnipresent. Every place seems to have its own stamp but this chilled out, worry free attitude that seems to come straight out of a Bob Marley song permeates through all of these happy places… Are these the roots of Tico happiness?

Santa Teresa from afar

     “Surf, eat, surf, sleep” Reads a t-shirt thrown on the back of a longboard, here in Santa Teresa where surfing is tourism, the local past time and a world destination. The Quicksilver international tour was here just last week, but even without the big names there are huge groups that put their backs against the sun and stomachs on wax in hopes of catching the next wave. But that seems to be the biggest problem here at a surf mecca in a hard to reach spot on the Nicoya, finding your own spot to surf the pristine waves. Little shops and restaurants scatter the dirt roads while the presence of the ocean is never more than a look around the corner away. Eventually a few Europeans I befriended rented a couple of surfboards from the hostel and convinced me (it took a lot…) to give this surfing thing a shot. Fortunately I wasn’t the only newbie at the water riding sport and was given a brief overview before jumping on the board. After a few pitiful paddles I was standing on the board, for at least 5 seconds! With my mission accomplished and sinuses copiously cleaned, I sat back for the sunset.

     I hear a Jack Johnson song playing and I find it quite appropriate. He must have come to a town like this to write songs telling us to slow down and relax, sleep in, and of course, surf. The one road that shoots across a few small towns starts at the tip of the peninsula and ends at a natural spot; where a river heads towards the ocean and bears no bridge to cross, leaving travel only to the dry season and forcing me to either take private transit for 4 hours or public for about a day and a half (with lay overs). But that is something Tico’s just aren’t worried about, the road may be winding and out of the way, but if you get there, what else matters?     

Update: Manuel Antonio

Manuel Antonio "reserve", and their pay phone

     Imagine a ski resort that needs money due to the lack of snow on their slopes. They decide to invest in some dynamite to break a couple of hillsides on top of the mountain. But before they know it they have caused an avalanche, covering all the way to the top of their pristine resort. That’s what I feel has happened here in Manuel Antonio.

     5:00am, Jenny, Judith’s neighbor, is sweet enough to drop me off at the bus stop a few miles away, I tell her she is crazy and drop a few dollars on her seat without her noticing. Manuel Antonio is 130 miles (as the crow flies) from the house in Potrero, so it couldn’t take that long to get there, right? Well my first bus ride of the day takes me in the completely opposite direction, heading north to Liberia. The roads here go in all directions except in straight, causing me to go out of the way to go anywhere. What is said to take a hour and a hour usually takes a little over two hours, but this time it took four and a half.. The first delay came as the bus driver stopped at what I have to assume was his house, for about 25 minutes he is in and out, picking up some groceries and some other stuff I couldn’t make out, so I lean back and close my eyes. I get shaken by the bus coming to a stop. Everyone stands up and the bus driver says some really fast Spanish that I take as, “everyone off the bus!”

     So there I am at 6:45am, almost two hours down already, standing in who knows where, Costa Rica, with a bakery behind me and about fifty Ticos under a bus shelter waiting for the next one to come for Liberia. Half an hour goes by and everyone stands for the incoming bus, crowding onto the road itself. My eyes widen, but not as much as the bus drivers as I see the bus is almost overflowing with people. About twenty get off and the line to get on is a pushing, flowing mess. About ¾ of us get on and I am not one, as I was not going to cut a family to get a place to stand. So obviously I head to the bakery and get a treat. I have to say there is no place I have been with more bakeries than Costa Rica, making my sweet tooth very satisfied with the selections in nearly every town. But soon my pastry is gone and so is another half an hour. The next bus comes nearly full but room to grab a rail. Within 5 minutes there are close to a hundred people on this bus; forcing me to take off my backpack so someone can squeeze behind me.

     I look at my watch, 9:30. I am boarding the bus for Puntarenas, three and a half hours to the south via a giant green school bus. I take a seat by the window and start doing some math. So 75km in 4 ½ hours….

After fading in and out of sleep, experiencing a bus twilight-zone, I decide to take in some of the scenery. On my trip to San Jose I saw the landscape transform from tourist spots on the coast to cow country to the urban sprawl of San Jose. On my way north I saw the land being used to its fullest; sugar, mangoes, livestock, and ungodly amounts of coffee beans. But on my way south along the Nicoya Peninsula, the land is not fertile enough for coffee or major crops. I do not see many pastures full of cows or chicken coops. I have not seen a house with insulation in over two hours as I approach Puntarenas. But the poverty has beauty; shanty town villages huddle around the brown rivers, patching their roofs with a multitude of different shades and textures of sheet metal and whatever extraneous parts that can cover a hole. Old men smile under fruit trees and peel some apples. The kids run with sliced up shirts and ragged shoes, but with smiles and joy on their faces, and of course, there are tons of friendly honks.

     Puntarenas has not been blessed by the past century. Once a booming port city and former capital of the Guanacaste area, Putarenas was crushed as barges and ships headed to new ports to the south, leaving the city to fend for itself. Its location is prime; a small inlet on the Nicoya Peninsula with water on both sides. But it has the feel of a beat down and dirty city, it is obvious to see there have been problems of late. A neon sign reads 41 degrees Celsius (105 F) as I wipe sweat off my brow. I am broiling and lost, once again no street signs can be found. So I ask a taxi driver where I can get a bus to Manuel Antonio, “It’s Saturday” he starts “the office is closed, let me call my boss, I can drive you there real cheap, a good price just for you” yeah, I’m sure it will be a steal. “Alright amigo, 90,000 colones for you , what ya say?” he says excitedly. I literally laugh “That’s almost $200! Can you see me, I may be American, but I’m a student, no tengo mucho dinero.” I respond. “Alright, alright 70,000 colones, just for you. What ya say”

     As I board the bus, I look at the time, 1:15pm. 70,000 colones, I’ve already been hustled once this trip, not happening again, I’ll pay $2 and wait a little longer. But there is no place to sit, so I sneak behind some standing people and sit on the back stairwell and pull out my book. Three hours is a breeze at this point and after some music and a snack I’m in Quepos, only a twenty minute bus ride left! But something doesn’t seem right, all I see is tourism. This place is so hard to get to, how is this possible?? To my dismay, Manuel Antonio seems worse, so I check into my hostel and try to figure out what I will do, it’s now 4:30pm, 11 ½ hour day.

     I meet a group of Americans teaching English who invited me out with them. I am reminded of the small world we inhabit as one girl is from the Tri Cities area of Eastern Washington and another is a stundent at Pacific Lutheran University in Tacoma and knows my “brother” Bernie who goes there as well. Unfortunately we had all been up for 18 hours so we decided to hit the sack after burritos. The next day we head out for the reason I came: Manuel Antonio national park. The town of Manuel Antonio is a long strip right on the public beach filled with Ticos and tourists alike. Every shop is filled with little toys and Imperial (national beer) shirts, every restaurant is in English and snorkels, jet skis and beach chairs read “rent me”.  We walk down a narrow dirt corridor that leads to the park entrance, again filled with shops and Tico’s saying “good day, special price for you”, I walk a little faster. At the entrance the people I am with decide to leave “It is $10 and we just want to lie on the beach, come meet us later?”, “sounds good!” I can’t pass up the beauty I have been hearing about, although $10 seems steep. The woman selling tickets tells me there are no maps of the park and the trails are easy to find. So I ask one of the employees, “where is the hardest hike you have?” “Hardest? Well they are all the pretty much the same, but go to the end of this road and head left, it’s a nice and easy path that should take about an hour to the top of a hill.” Nice and easy is the hardest, what kind of national park is this?

     A half an hour later I am on top of the ‘hill’, which is mostly paved and barely has me in a sweat even though it is over 80 F out, hiking for Disney Land adventurers.  The view is nice so I appreciate this park for what it is and head to one of its beach. I see a small peninsula of rocks and head out for it. In and out of a couple more of the same and I am alone with a beautiful view of the surrounding hills and rocks that scatter the sea. This is what I’m talking about I think as I take in the views and crashing surf. But coming in is a familiar sight for me; rain, and lots of it. So I start to turn back and I am assaulted by a downpour, once again soaking me to the bone, good thing I brought my rain jacket.

     Walking around the town more I am just not getting the Tico vibe from this town. I feel like I am part of a sponge that is squeezing out all of the local culture that is here in this beautiful place. This does feel like Disney Land with everything being advertised as magical and overpriced food. “With all the tourism here, are the locals still happy?” I ask the hostel employee, a friendly Tico named Carlos “Oh yeah, no problem. It is something you get used to, and if you want to be with people you know, there are always places that the tourists don’t know about.” Well I certainly can understand that, if my town was run by tourism I would want some local hang out spots as well, but he is not going to tell me where that is. The rain continues to come down; I am ready to move on to the other side of the peninsula and Montezuma.

     I decide to head back into Quepos and get a good walk around to see what there is to see. But it is Sunday, and everything is closed except bars and restaurants. Seeing a light hue come over to roofs around me I head to the waterfront; a paved walkway that is full of Tico’s riding bikes, walking with their families, and enjoy the fading sun. A sand bar provides a perfect picnic spot for a few families and hopeful fishermen. The beauty is immense, and smiles are around. Maybe this is how they are happy with the tourists; appreciating what they have. On my way back to the bus stop I run into a soccer field and filled bleachers. High school age kids don bright NIKE cleats and spiked haircuts, strutting their stuff before the game starts. Once the game starts, yelling from the crowd follows shortly after as the players sprint across the dirt with scattered grass field. The goals have no net and there is only one ref trying his best to keep up. They quarrel like it’s the Premier League, yelling and arguing over nearly every play. I glance over and see the subs place an order in a Soda that is on the opposite end of the field, Costa Rican futbol.

     When I get back to the hostel I am struck by a beautiful sunset. Instead of running for my camera, I take a seat to appreciate all the nuances. There is no way my camera could catch the light mist on the valley across from me, at the foot a cliff covered by cloud and flanked by rolling hills. No way, not the array of lights scattered across the horizon by the sun, I count 8 shades of white, yellow and blue. Maybe this is how happiness is found here; the beauty can never be taken away.   

Update: The North Country

My friend for the day in front of Arenal

It is 530am in San Jose, the sun has kissed the hills surrounding the city and the vendors are opening their gates to the morning commuters. I am sitting in the bus terminal with an empanada in my hand (so cheap and so good) waiting for the driver to open the doors for us heading to La Fortuna. After about an hour or so and we have left the outer limits of the capitol and I see a sign that says “El norte, nuestra tierra” (The north is our land) and as we climb higher into the mountains I see sprawls of coffee hills and cow pastures. Towns turn smaller and smaller, into communities with no more than a grocery/mini mart while houses come harder to spot, with more shacks, sheds, and cows than anything else.

The air has been filled with a relaxing breeze as we escape from the urban capital. The farther we get away, the more friendly honks and exchanges I see. I counted 10 honks and hellos from our bus driver in one little town we drove past, a great contrast from the honks I heard in San Jose; one coming every second you held up traffic or in the way. Here and in Guanacaste as well, honks are used as a friendly call, with two short beeps I could hear ‘hey! Goodmorning, hope life is going well’.

More rolling hills and farms and we were in La Fortuna, at the base of volcano Arenal, one of most active in Central America. I was not impressed with what could be a very cool and hip town, La Fortuna was a complete tourist hotspot with dozens of ‘souvenir’ shops and expensive hotel/resorts. So I was thankful to get the transport to my hostel quickly, I already had enough of the crowded streets and merchant shops this trip. Essence Arenal was the name of the hostel I was to stay at, and once we arrived I took a deep breath and was in heaven. On the opposite side of the volcano and perched on a hill overlooking the conical volcano and its gigantic lake, this place was a real escape. The owner, Kelly, was a really helpful guy, making sure every person had every detail perfected for their stay. I stayed in a tent/room that had a cement floor and a double sized bed. I immediately took several shots of the mostly clear day and started on a hike. Up and up I went. Past a little Tico community and over another lookout with tourists riding some horses while others grazed some grass on the hill (the horses that is). There I met up with my friend for the day; a beagle with a hanging tongue and a deep cut on his side. We continued on the horse trail and into a forest filled with huge butterflies and an array of sounds coming from the bush. For several miles we hiked until we ran into a farm that contained enough no trespassing signs to turn away the dog. But I knew a great view was around the corner so I scrambled under the barb wire and took a look. It was getting cloudy but I could see edges of valleys cutting into each other and streams popping out of their hills. I later learned on a clear day one can see to Lake Nicaragua and the surrounding volcanoes.

The next day I went for a hike with two Swiss women and two Frenchmen up Cerro Chato, a dormant volcano next door to Arenal. The lagoon in the volcanoes’ crater was worth the trip and the spring river (100 degrees F) was a perfect end. But our driver to and from the activities that day may have been the highlight. A bright and full bellied man, Eduardo was more than happy to talk about his people and his views on happiness. “Here we have no problems, life is simple because of it, we are happy” he tells me. “We live in a beautiful place, with volcanoes, rivers and lots of beauty to see”. I ask him what he thinks about San Jose to the south. “People are crazy there, they honk and push to move faster, here we are slow and honk to be happy.” I smile.

“Eduardo, I have spent some time in Guanacaste and on the coast and I have heard the same things about happiness there.”

“Yes, I can see there are similarities, but not quite the same. I think we are a little more introverted with our thoughts here and have a lot of religious/spiritual ties to the land. But in both places, problems are few compared to other places.”

Too soon my time near the volcano is over and I headed to Monteverde and the cloud forest reserves. I take a boat ride with a couple of New Yorkers I have befriended and meet a socal college grad on the ride to the other side of the lake. A laid back dude named Robert who has been traveling the country for nearly two months. The ride from the lake to Monteverde was filled with gravel, bumpy, steep roads that criss-crossed the country side, dipping through little towns and coffee country.

The town of Monteverde is what I thought La Fortuna would be; not too big, a lot of local art and color, and cheap places to stay. I got a $6 dorm room run by a couple of Texans and hit the streets. As I walked out of town and towards a small art community down the road I felt this to be a more spiritual place than my other travels in Costa Rica. I ate at a great soda in the back of an art co-op that was running on a wood fire kitchen. Just down the road there was a dairy plantation (with great ice cream) and more art studios. I hiked on back roads and saw unique houses that reminded me of the west coast; surrounded by trees and plants, small but with loads of character. When I got back to the hostel I was notified by Judy that things back in Potrero were not going smoothly. Thus I went on an adventure to get an international calling card that no one in town knew how to use, but the five people I asked were all very nice, and eventually the guy working the hostel knew you had to hit 1 before everything else.

 After our chat, I ran into Robert whom I met on the boat and we grabbed something to eat. We ended up sitting outside and talking for nearly two hours. As a fellow young traveler we talked about the different parts of Costa Rica, places to stay, and a lot of happiness. First he was skeptical about deeming Costa Rica the happiness country, but after a good exchange we agreed on the relativeness of it all. “How can we really assess happiness?” he asked. “Well, that’s a good question isn’t it?” we both laughed. “But that’s half of book, what can qualify as a substantial measurement to something that varies so much between each person?” I answered. “Exactly man. Just a few days ago I saw some kids riding bikes meant for me and you, I mean they weren’t were trying to sit on seat, they barely fit on the crossbar.” He paused “and if you think about it, if an American kid had a bike that was that big, they wouldn’t even try to ride it, they would complain and get a bike that fit them.”

“You know what’s one underlying thing I have noticed here, the happiest people I have talked to,” I paused “they aren’t striving for anything more than they have, in a sense they are only eating what’s on their plate.”

“Exactly man.”

The next morning I packed up my bag and went for a hike in the Santa Ana cloud forest reserve. A beautiful early morning turned into a rain forest worthy downpour. I had to sneak under a tree to get temporary relief. I thought ‘why did I come all the way here to go on a Washington hike?’ but as I saw centipedes and tropical birds heading for cover my question was answered. Although the rain did not halt, I got a good view of a misty cloud forest from a tower and was surrounded with an aura of mystery in the air.

“But even here, the influence of tourism was unmistakable. The only Tico’s I saw were the construction workers building a new area for reception. The majority of hikers went with a tour guide equipped with a telescope, a shovel and planned stopping points to talk about the flora and fauna. “ I am on the bus heading west with Matt, a native of Austin, Texas who just got accepted into law school while traveling around Central America. “It’s everywhere.” He says “you can tell some people are really getting tired of it, some have even told me.” The owner of the hostel in San Jose mentioned the animosity some hold for tourists here. “I mean think about it” he continues “how would you feel if your town was based on people coming in from another culture and stomping around, changing businesses and restaurants to cater towards them?” Growing up in a small town that would have summer day tourists come, I could relate.  “But” I said, “People adapt. It’s in our DNA, just look at the thriving economy that has come to meet it here. I certainly wouldn’t like it but, but I wouldn’t let it control my life, especially in such a beautiful place.”

This thought brought me back to another talk earlier that day. As I walked around the town waiting for the bus, I decided to see another side of town, and found myself in a tourist shop that look very typical to the many I have seen in Costa Rica. Right before I decide to make my way out, the owner, a young Tico with his son, approached me. “Hablas espanol?” he asks. “A veces” (at times) I respond, they get a chuckle out of that. He tells me his name is Alberto and he is trying to learn English online. We talk about the challenges of learning a new language and about his son and their future in Monteverde. When he asks me what I’m doing in Costa Rica, his eyes light up and I ask “estas feliz?”

He tells me he is very happy. Why? “En Monteverde, hay no problemas y vida es tranquila.” (There are no problems in Monteverde and life is relaxed, easy.). Then his friend walks in, Juan. “This guy is researching happiness in Costa Rica” Alberto says. “No way! Hey man, I’m happy, you want to know why?” I like the sound of this. “In this area of Costa Rica, happiness depends on three things” he held out his closed palm, “physical, one, mental, two, spiritual, three”. Nearly an hour later we have touched on religion, spirituality, the self, and of course, happiness. My Spanish got an ego boost in the last couple of hours, although I’m mostly just listening. Juan grew up in a religious, catholic, household like many other TIco’s he tells me. “Then one day, I decided you should decide for yourself if you want to be religious. So I stopped going to church.” He continued “then I really thought about it and saw I needed god in my life, and that we all need god. We all need someone to talk to, during the good and the bad, and every night I talk with him.” In Costa Rica they often refer to Jesus as El or simply, him. So I ask him “how do you know everyone has to know god?” “Well, how do you know yourself then?” He asks “Where do you start? Who do you ask?” “Myself” I say and point at my chest.
“Who?”

“Me”

“Who?”

“Me. How can I know anybody else if I don’t know myself first?” I decided to elaborate a little more, pushing my Spanish. “If I can ask myself the hard questions, I can be happy for simply being alive and taking on problems by myself.”

“Ok then” he says “that’s great”

Happiness really is relative, the more I travel the country the more I can see that. Now I sit poolside in Potrero. Just a couple of days ago there was a crisis here and the house sitters were asked to leave. Trust is important, I see again. The sun has poked its head out the last couple of days and I have fully accepted the relaxed Tico lifestyle; lounging in the pool and ocean, writing and being simply happy. But I can’t stop thinking about the mystery of traveling. It is great to have both; times to wake up with the rest of the day open to any adventure and others to process and reflect. I am fascinated by the contrasts I see in the different parts of a country no bigger than West Virginia. What do the other parts I have not trekked hold? What about the Carribean? Are they happy there, and why? A topic with this much breadth needs to be walked from many shoes, talked by many voices.

Update: San Jose

Street Mural in downtown San Jose

“Less talk, more action”, bold letters read across a young Tico’s shirt I pass by. Regardless if he knows what it says (It’s in English), the slogan fits San Jose. A hustling and bustling city if I have ever been to one. The downtown area is as crowded as The Big Apple yet as active as a farmers market. People selling, yelling and getting all riled up. Guitarists and street artist call for your attention as you step over piles of burned DVD’s and kids toys.

It’s 9am and I have been on a bus for a little more than 5 hours. The contrast between Guanacaste and this new beast is overwhelming. All my senses are on overload; cab drivers yelling at me, sweet smells mix with city grum and I am surrounded by cement and a wash of bright colors from the tiny shops. No inch of this place is without a business; souvenirs, knick nacks, and bakeries seem to be the most common forms I see.  It’s very likely that my first few minutes in Jan Jose were spent with my jaw hanging trying to grasp the jungle I had entered.

The next thing I realized were the street signs, or lack thereof. My hostel was across the city, and although I knew the general direction and had the street it was on, it was to no avail. I saw two or three signs on the sides of buildings but that was it. As I wandered this strange new place, I ran across a fruit market. Just on a side street next to an abandoned railroad station, this was the image I had of a street market in Costa Rica. Block followed by block there were literally hundreds of vendors selling the ordinary array of fruits to those selling things I couldn’t even imagine how to eat. There was a sweet smell in the air swirling the juices, herbs and vegetables that were on either side of me. After asking for directions and finding them less helpful than wandering, I grabbed a taxi and thought, ‘maybe there is more to this high pace city than my initial reaction’. My hostel was not too far from downtown but far enough that I would be able to sleep without horns and airbrakes blasting the windows.

As I got myself settled I got in a conversation with the owner of the hostel; an American who had a weeklong trip planned in Costa Rica that turned into a two year adventure that sees no end. But his view of happiness here is sharp and to the point. “Bullshit” was his immediate response when I mentioned Tico’s being the happiest people on earth. He believed they are too wrapped up in their imagine, animosity towards Americans, and falling government. I couldn’t help but think this was more of the atmosphere in the city. This made me realize happiness here does not come in one form, one size or one shape. From this point on I turned my senses to see what differences I could feel, hear and see from my travels.

The next few days I walked over a dozen miles around the city, visiting all types of markets, museum’s and restaurants. I talked with waitresses, clerks and travelers. I observed the behavior of the locals and the businessmen showing their pinstripe suits. I heard the screams of joy from the young Tico’s running after pigeons in the plaza de cultura and smelled the spices in the mercado central. What does this city signify for Costa Rica? It stretches out and holds nearly a third of the country’s population and thus many resources that cannot be found other places. Do you need a cell phone fixed? A part for your bike, or air conditioner? How about a new movie release you want to catch in theaters? San Jose offers these things that many Americans can find within 10 or 15 minutes of driving. Their “mega supermarkets” are no bigger than Albertsons and only a fraction of Costco or Walmart that can be found even in small towns in the US.

This is the place to be if you want to be “somebody”.  It was obvious the people here held a different attitude about style and image. I could count the number of people (aside from myself) that wore shorts and a t-shirt and although I did not see any Guicci or Dolce and Cabana, many stores were trying to replicate high style. A more cosmopolitan atmosphere than I was expecting, I stuck out even more by wearing casual clothes.
Furthermore, it seemed people here needed to be somewhere. Not only a location they were traveling to but in the position of power that viewed themselves. I could feel their energy filled with pursuit and desire. Men and women alike walked with an air that sought something more, as if they were reaching to take another step past those around them. But still I could see the older generation holding onto a different work ethic; do what you can, socialize and relax.

So in San Jose I saw a great mixing. In a culture known for a laxed attitude there is a vast number climbing the ladder for success. Image conscious young strut their stuff on the streets and in the clubs as if they were fashionista’s in LA. Still some have not changed, as the older population hangs onto more of a small town vibe. As more and more Tico’s move towards the San Jose area this trend may grow and turn San Jose into even more of a metropolitan.

But happiness must be found here right? Yes, but it has many more sublevels than in Guanacaste. Juan, a Tico about my age told me depending on what you are looking for you can find a social group in San Jose. Be it the businessmen or the hipsters, a way to connect with likeminded have more roots showing here than other parts of the country. Yet the simplicity that the country is known for has been drowned out by the churning of a growing city, in the thralls of an urbanizing country.

Update: Potrero/Guanacaste area

Just another bike ride in Playa Potrero


I take a step to avoid a string of atv's passing a narrow, dark red clay road, my leg is swallowed in mud. This is the second time on my walk today that i have almost lost my foot in the thick, musculus road that was flooded by heavy thunderstorms during the last few days.

But today is sunny and I have taken the opportunity to walk the beach, think about my time here, and go to 

the bank before I leave for the capitol of San Jose in the morning. Playa Potrero too, has been hit hard by the recent storms, making the walk along the beach almost impossible with the sea of newly acquired beach wood, assorted trash, and flooded creeks that now resemble neck high rivers.

Yet this is a slice of paradise. The central, "gold coast" of the pacific is littered with anywhere from white to black picturesque beaches and rugged peninsulas separating the bays like shallow spaces between fingertips.

In this area of Guanacaste, prices and advertisements are point directly towards wealthy (relative to the locals) travelers looking for an escape from their current lives. 

But this is not that season, and many businesses are empty, with a few Tico's sitting at the bar or taking a stroll to the bus stop or local market. The people that I have met, and the things that I have seen so far have been great context to the readings and thoughts I have had for this place.

"Tranquilo" lifestyle spills over into many aspects of life here. At any time of the day you can see a family at the beach, men taking a break in the shade with a local beer or banana, and creatures of many shapes and sizes calling out for something no one really knows. The Tico's I have talked to call themselves lazy with a touch of pride, noting that they have little stress and a good life. Almost everyone holds the view that life in Costa Rica better than their "crazy" northern neighbors of Nicaragua and the disparity that covers much of Panama to the south.

Carlos, my tourismo taxi driver told me he doesn't know if the people here are happiest, but he knows they are happy with what they have. As I took in my first sights of the country I was surprised by the number of shacks, tiny towns/villages and number of people walking around. It was as if the country is their house; they may not have any insulation in their walls but their community provided the warmth they need.

The vibe I'm picking up here so far is not outlandish happiness but satisfaction with the current life, not striving for anything more than what they have and thus happy with what they need.

But Jennifer Dalton, a local real estate agent, tells me that this may not be a current view of the younger population on the rise in Guanacaste. She describes a age group that is seeking materialistic items, shiny things, and alot of money. She pointed out that the age gap of marriages is growing to a uncomfortable gap, with local very young women (many under 21) tying the knot with much older, wealthy men from America and other imported countries.

As I get ready to leave I wonder what the capital and beyond holds in terms of attitude towards life and the happiness the inhabitants posses.

Trust and theft

Parque Nacional, San Jose

It’s my first day in the capital of Costa Rica, San Jose. A sprawling city that contains 1/3 of the country’s population in its urban palm. After hours of bus rides, street wandering and being utterly lost I make my way to the hostel I’ll be staying at for the next few nights. Soon after dropping of my bags I head to the San Pedro mall to grab some food.

This mall is almost too much. Four stories with a shape of a tic tac toe board, I can barely hear myself think with everything going on. There is a live concert in the main lobby and every store and restaurant has a different song blasting. I can see six different cell phone stores from where I am standing, with a plate of food in my hand and absolutely nowhere to sit in the two stories of tables. I walk and walk and walk, not a single seat open. I am rushed by workers from WENDY’S with certificates and hear cries from the Copa America futbol game playing on all the TV’s. Suddenly, a guy wearing shorts, black boots, a golf shirt and a quicksilver hat approaches me and frantically asks, “Are you American?”

Trust. Without it, humans would be lost. More often than we imagine, we trust our very lives with others. Every time we step into a car, plane or boat.  When we cross the street during a red light or when we step into a doctors office. Any of these situations can be greatly affected by our fellow human beings, and by doing these acts we place a great amount of trust into them. Furthermore, relationships crumble without this trait. A child unquestionably trusts their parents while a baby has no choice in the matter. A marriage cannot be strong and stable without the mutual feeling and I certainly wouldn’t fall backwards onto someone I didn’t think trustworthy.

It is in times when this trust is tested that we make great judgments of character. For someone you can trust will always be needed, always called for in times of need.

“Yeah, could you tell?” I laughed as returned my focus onto my food; nothing could drag me from my hunger. “Great, finally! I’m going to stick to you like a fly on sugar” he says. I laugh again “if you can find me a seat I’ll let you hang around”. We  turn the corner and a man gets up. “HEY, are you done? Can we sit here?” He blurts out. The poor man obviously doesn’t speak any English and gets up with a weird glance and walks away. This guy has to be American. I dive into my food, my first meal since the night before. He tells me his name is Randy. “Look I got the damn thing tattooed on my arm!” He shows me his right arm, ‘well I guess he won’t forget’ I think.

“Man this place is nuts, I’ve been walking around all day and haven’t got anyone to talk to until you”

“I can imagine, I got so lost trying to find my hostel, San Jose is overwhelming”  I respond.

“You won’t believe what happened to me man, I’m still getting a grip on it” I can hear the stress in his voice.

I look up from my sandwich as he wipes the sweat off his brow.
“I got mugged last night, lost everything; my money, passport, everything. The only thing I have left is my plane ticket home, this thing is my holy grail!”

He’s got my attention. Walking around lost got me feeling a bit stressed earlier and would hate to be feeling that way for any extended period of time, nonetheless without all my belongings and not knowing any Spanish. “The worst part is I can’t get into the embassy or anything until I get my passport and paperwork on Monday”, it’s Friday night.

I can see where this conversation is going; this guy needs my help, and probably some money. So I divert the conversation to find out more my fellow American. He has a Italian-American accent, and as he tells me he is a butcher in Florida, he shows me the scars across his fingers and hands. We talk about Costa Rica, his recent divorce and my plans to help research an upcoming book about the country and happiness. “Man that’s great, when I was your age I was a working in the meat section at Albertsons.” But look where you are now I tell him. “I got lucky, I tell you. Met a jew and after we got married she gave me the money to start my own shop and restaurant, I paid her back within 5 years. Now I live in Baton Roca, ever heard of it?” No. “Real expensive, I mean if you drive a shitty car in my neighborhood, you get pulled over” He laughs. He tells me he needs some money to last him until Monday. “I already have a hostel picked out and the money will be here on Monday, I just need to hold off until then, can you help me out?”. Possibly, let’s keep talking I tell him. So we talk about the difference between the US and here, his love for fishing and his plans for his trip. “I’m renting out a boat in Playa Flamingo and staying at the Westin, you have to come out and go on the boat with me.” He says. “No way! I’m staying in playa Potrero, not even a mile away” I say excitedly, fishing on the ocean is on my mind. But I keep the conversation going and he tells me more about his divorce and gives me his email, business number and cell phone number. When I glance down at my watch I see it has been over an hour and his story has held up to every word. More than that I see he looks desperate, a feeling I can relate to with my short encounter with helplessness in San Jose.

“Alright, let’s go upstairs to the ATM.” People looking for a spot to sit are staring at us like hyenas on the hunt. “Thank you so much you are really saving me here, you like prime rib? I’ll send you some every Christmas, I swear.” I laugh and tell him prime rib is okay by me. As we walk up the stairs and across the mall to the ATM I notice how he cuts people off without a glance and speaks very loud English, definitely American. I withdraw $150 and we sit at a yogurt stand overlooking the mall. I keep a little for myself and I give him the rest. We talk some more and make sure we have the right info for contact. He thanks me a few more times  and heads off, calling my name as he walks down the stairs. I sit a while longer feeling good about helping someone that was in need, never wanting to be in that position without some help.

Well that happened a week ago. Now that my trip is over I look up his info. His address shows up on Google Maps and his phone number works but no one answers. So I look up his name some more, Randy P, look it up on Google if you like. The first link makes my heart stop. His real name is Randy G and he has a violent history of sexual assault, false imprisonment and robbery. He goes by an alias that he told me. I look on another site, I can’t believe what I’m reading,  I’ve been hustled. Almost word to word others recall his story of a traveler in Costa Rica that had been mugged and needed a little money. They call him a smooth talker and cite his tattoo on his right arm. Some lost $50, others over $200. I sunk into the couch and anger and deceit filled my mind. How could he do that? He knew I was a student short on money. All the details, the passion, the accent, everything was a part of his show. The best liar I have ever met, this man tricked me and used my good intentions against me.

Trust. Something we all rely on daily. How can we ever trust someone completely? What happens when we are betrayed on this aspect of human relationships? I trusted this man by his word and his stories, as I others have trusted me when I tell them I lost my student ID or my movie ticket.  Without trust there is no love, without trust you cannot know yourself. Trust is a big risk, a risk required for joy and a risk that can end in shatters. But as an athlete risk their bodies for their passion, I risk trust in the love of others. If I decide to not trust others, I cannot trust myself. I will not trust every single person, as for all the good souls out and about there are the dark ones too. But that is a risk I am willing to take, to form relationships that require trust and give others the respect that comes with it. Because without real relationships and real trust, how will I ever grow? How will I ever live fully? There are lessons for every action, some require pain, and others do not. This was an experience I will not forget. I could never look someone in the eyes and lie to them for an hour and take their money. But not everyone knows themselves, not everyone believes in trust. 

Race with no end

Have you watched any television lately? If you did, it can be sure that you saw a message or advertisement expressing the idea of something better. Something that you need and must seek after. Something you must pursue.
I am afraid that this message has carried over and into a literal meaning for happiness. If happiness is pursued, then something is being lost. Once it is objectified, a layer of gloss spreads across the idea in your thoughts. Your idea of happiness is now finite, focused on the goal itself and stripped of its freedom.
I have read over and over again that happiness is not affected after a certain income line. Thus the importance of material items is not the hear all say all. The comforts they bring cannot be denied, but the desires they cause are not always just. Many advertisements carry the message of pursuit, such things as jeans, cars and fame call to us at great lengths. If you only had the 20XX BMW/Porsche/Infinity, you could cruise the coastline and be on top of the world. But once that car/item is obtained, that happiness now relies on you. The pursuit is over and you are now on flat ground. It is up to you were you take that feeling you sought. Is it going to keep moving, or lay dormant, confused on what to do?
Direction. Something we all have found helpful in one way or another, the car is dependent on the directions you give it. So imagine that dream machine, it is struck unless you give it a direction to travel, your input is directly correlated with where it goes.
Yet this is where pursuit is useful. If you know how far you can push yourself, drive and determination are equally as important as direction. The use of your work can have great outcomes if you have meaning throughout the process, letting you create meaning once you have what you were chasing. Giving the bike in the picture the chance of creating equal or more happiness than the cars many of us pursue.

Staring at waves

If you have been lucking enough to see the shore,
a ocean so vast you can only see a slice,
contemplate what lies beyond,
then you have seen its waves,
constant as a summers wind
they breath in and out,
every day,
every night.

The time we spend here is filled with change,
no day the same,
no moment exactly recreated
like a wave crashing against the shore
we have no choice in face of change,
it is with us whether we sit at the shore
or get carried in its wake

It is easy to find ourselves within the wave
trying to find a way out,
barely getting to the surface before the next crashes upon us
frustration is never far behind,
as life may seem to be built upon these struggles.

But we have a gift,
with great power
the mind can take us out of the chaos.
Let us sit at the shore,
observe
watch the cause of change,
see the causes we have brought,
and those that come with the tide

From here we are no longer in a struggle but in appreciation
with the sand under our feet,
we know how far we can venture in
feel at peace with each wave that comes to our feet,
and see the power we can call our ally.

A New Time

Solo Yo: my adventure in Costa Rica

Over the past year I have seen my dream grow. I decided I wanted to study happiness this year that the University of Washington. I was told it was unlikely since it is a unstudied topic at the school and many didn't respond to my email. But David Barash took my passion as a good thing and told me he would give me a "fishing license"; for me to do what I wanted without his guidance. I read a lot of books. I also gave a talk on meaning, happiness, and their practical uses at the Undergraduate Research Symposium at my campus earlier this year. It was  a great experience and showed me a passion I didn't know I had.
But bigger than that was what WE are undertaking now. His wife, and now my second adviser, Dr. Judith Lipton recently bought a house in Potrero, Costa Rica. It turns out Costa Rica has been recently deemed the happiness country in the world by several websites/survey compilations. This inspired them to attempt a book on the subject of happiness, in Costa Rica, as a paradigm in modern society and beyond.
Now I find myself in their house, occupying the basement with two Ticos (what Costa Ricans refer to themselves as) with 7 weeks at my disposal. I've been here for a few days and been able to enjoy a couple amazing sunsets (see picture above from two nights ago) and a complete rain day as I found myself choosing the wrong time to go for a long walk. Since I am essentially alone, with the language barrier affecting this deeply (I can understand a decent amount of Spanish, but my speaking still are past broken), I have taken this opportunity to write.
I will be talking about my adventures and such as writing is a way of talking to someone as well as getting my thoughts off my sleeve. Any life thoughts and the like will also be finding their way here as usual.
I'm excited to start traveling this weekend when I go to San Jose!

Onward

Push forward,
keep walking your path,
for the wise know the fate of those who continue,
those who walk in the rain,
stand in the wind,
and stare at the stars
the hard times will come now,
and go then.
it is how we handle the transitions,
that direct our future,
gather wind for our masts,
and shoot for whatever star we may choose.

So don't be scared to fall,
because if you want to be pushed,
you must know the choice to get back up,
take another step and move on,
follow what feels good,
and let the rest go.

Push forward,
Hear your fears,
challenge them so they do not keep you waiting
So you can continue on,
break on through
and see it's only fear,
that kept you looking

Chameleon

"If everybody is thinking alike, then somebody isn't thinking" -George Patton, Jr

There are a lot of times where we experience change face on. Sometimes we are not expecting it, causing this (insert your problem of the day) to mess with the rest of your day. But, not all the time.. right?
Well that depends
Picture a bowl of pancake mix, but the ratio of water-batter is too just dry, so to keep your breakfast alive you add some water. Now you might have more than you intended for, but everybody likes left-overs.
Think about that problem that came to your head, that unexpected burst that made you switch your train of thought. It may have only been spilling water on your counter-top, but at least for a moment you had to re-asses your environment. It is at this point that we must become a..

And become distinctly clued in with whats around you. This problem can't catch you off guard if you're blended into the background. Don't let yourself stand out before you understand the the whole situation and the role you play in it. Then make the desired thought/action/reaction in a pointed direction, much like sticky tongue of the chameleon. Thus, whatever you catch is a success and whenever you miss it was an opportunity.

Cosmo's

NASA picture of the day

When I feel knocked around,

I know I will find my balance

To take the next step,

wading further into the ocean,

that makes up the experiences of our lives

The fabric of our wellbeing,

the aggregate of our pain,

and that which, ultimately,

will fall short of making the smallest splash,

in the vast cosmic material we are all bound in

Stretching from the edges of the universe,

to the depths of our souls,

making our consciousness possible,

and our imaginations alive.

So please, 

let me not think my importance,

as any more than a tiny part,

in this complex and flowing step,

moving together with all that is star stuff,

in the grace of time,

which widens our rivers and reddens our wines.

Keeping our planet suspended in a mote of dust,

Lost in our own world

Rainy Season

Here in the emerald city it doesn't rain as much as people think.
But the clouds follow the color of concrete for well of half the year. Gloomy skies cover my head as I walk to class, drive to work, and go for a jog. Drizzling afternoons are the norm starting in late October until (at least) May.
This leaves many Seattle-ites in a mood similar to the forecast, yearning for warm beaches and the sun scorching our faces. Oh how nice it would be to have a sunburn in mid January or enough 'shine to play some frisbee in March.
But today, as I put my hood on and stared at the cobblestone as I went along, I started to smile. I haven't been to alot of places around the world but I've been to enough to miss where I'm from. The green surrounds us in the Northwest and the beauty of the seasons is strong here. As anyone who has spent a summer here know's its a blissful 70-80 most of the time with blue skies and bodies of water.
I started to look at the rain as a watering system for all the life that inhabits the beautiful sound. It's a trial for all those that live here, but when we make it into spring, when the cherry trees blossum, the sunflowers sprout and the sun illuminates the pacific, we understand why we stuck through the winter. A trial to appreciate sunlight, a sunny day and the sun we have missed.
So instead of keeping my head down, I looked up and praised hallelujah. I wouldn't let the drizz put a down on day, because I know its how life works around here, and fighting a frustration we cannot control isn't going to make us happy, now is it? It was a liberating feeling, accepting the rain as a gardner that we get to appreciate all year, that is, if can see it that way.

Get it out!

Ideas

It starts with a thought and ends in a place you can only imagine.
Visualizing our goals is something that we've been told to do, whether it is on the basketball court or in the classroom. But what about all the other thoughts we have?
Writing is a great example of the power of putting your thoughts out there. Sometimes I write about looking, being thankful or making mistakes. But sometimes I write about the weather, exams or food. What I've found is that getting your thoughts out of your head and into or onto something else is quite gratifying.
Journaling and writing is powerful because it allows the author to express his/her thoughts in a way only they can describe. But more than that, it allows them to see what they were thinking, eliminating much of the stress they may not have even been aware of. I often see it as clearing space in my thoughts, I feel weight come off after I write, I may even call it therapeutic!
By putting what you think out there, you are sending a message to yourself and the universe of what you want and who you are. This can be very empowering since exposing ourselves is not something that is easy or comfortable to do. Yet afterwards, it would be hard to not feel closer to yourself and the goals you want to accomplish.
We may feel like some of these goals are unrealistic or unorthodox, but we'll never know what could come of them if we don't explore where they can take us. Furthermore, you may find your ideas were in the right book but on the wrong page. Seeing yourself narrow in on a goal is the start of an adventure.
Many times, I have thought, then written, then seen those thoughts come alive around me, and at this point, I am filled with peace because I know thoughts contain power, but more importantly, potential.