Greener Grasses

I am walking down a lane in Chiang Mai with some new friends.  We are on our way to our teacher's house.  We are talking about what our plans are when our 3 weeks together are over.  I talk about the dance retreat I am headed to in Costa Rica.

One of them says, "Man, I wish I had your life."

Immediately, I respond, "I wish I had the life everyone thinks I have."

I have been hearing a lot of affirmations and faintly envious well-wishes since I started planning this trip.  This makes me realize, again, how good we are at storytelling.  And how dangerous that can be for us.

We are so good at storytelling that we rarely stop to fact-check.  While this makes us the creative weirdos who change the world, it also makes us seal open doors with nothing more than our stories.

Sure, my life is good.  Much better than it was 2 years ago.  But there are still key things that I am missing, and there are still things in my life that make me the opposite of proud.

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I am at the second part of my trip, tired and sore from a morning absorbed in dancing.  Life is pretty good, as long as I stay in the right now.  But soon I will start storytelling, and see my return to the city I want to leave, the lonely hours at home, the fear that keeps me smaller than I can be.  I'm working on those things -- on having the life that people think I have.

I'm working on telling a different story.

Return to Costa Rica

I came to this retreat two years ago as my "something to look forward to" after the divorce decree.  At the time, it was my first major trip on my own.  Every morning of that trip, I got up early, got coffee, came out to the patio, sat on a comfy chair overlooking the Pacific Ocean and cried.

This time, I arrived directly from 3 life-changing weeks in Thailand.  I am sleeping as late as my body will allow, and I don't drink coffee anymore (for now.)  I feel a lightness which means that I have finally detached from a person who taught me both how to be comfortable in my body and how it feels to be emotionally manipulated.  I am still feeling fragile and unsure of my relationship decision-making skills.  But I am much more sure of my self.  the retreat leader even notices.  She tells me that I look more "in my body" and confident since the last time she saw me.

I am sitting on that same patio, in those same comfy chairs.  The endless ocean still swells in the breezes.  The howler monkeys still call early in the morning and the roosters crow in the afternoon.  I may even be on the exact same cushion, but I am different.  Outwardly, more muscular, wilder red hair, and (I am told) more relaxed in the face.  Inwardly, equipped with a soft, quiet place of infinite strength.