Too Many Choices, Too Much Stuff

The Zen Café is the perfect place to hide away when it is raining and it has been raining everyday here now for as long as I can remember. There is usually a short window of sunshine each morning, but by 10:00 am the sky is cloud covered with rain alternating between a light mist and a torrential downpour. I am on my third umbrella since I arrived here in Nosara- I don’t even use an umbrella at home- and this current umbrella suffered a mishap last night causing the handle to break off in the middle. It still works, just a little awkward holding the skinny metal pole with no handle and a little frightening when there is lightning because I feel like a walking lighting rod. Yesterday at Zen, while the rain came down in sheets, between cups of coffee, matte, organic smoothies and tea, the conversation danced from alligators eating a horse crossing the river yesterday, the music of Fishbone and English Beat, life in the U.S., men who are a wreck and need a vision quest, to the most common topic of my trip thus far discussed by locals, travelers and aspiring locals alike- how life is hard in the U.S. because we have too many choices and too much stuff. I understand about the stuff. The older I get the more I crave the serene feeling of a minimalist environment. I think our home on the Outer Banks of North Carolina reflects this sentiment with just the right amount of furnishings, art and plenty of “surfaces”, but our garage is a complete contrast to the space above-it is packed full of stuff. I don’t even know what half of it is. Travelin’ light. I’ve met a lot of people who are completely ready to shed the skin of their lives in the United States and Canada- their jobs, big houses, cars, stuff. Mary, a Naturopath and therapist making the transition to full time living in Nosara, told me she will make less money, but she will have what she needs- nothing more, but maybe less at times. And what I’m hearing from some of the people that I’ve met here who are struggling with less, especially now in the challenging rainy season with little tourism, is that the struggle is what makes them feel alive. I get a sense of what that feels like. Having to walk everywhere, not having the convenience of hot water or a washer and dryer or even more luxurious items like the internet and a real grocery store has made me slow down and really think about what I’m doing, like making sure I hang my hand washed socks in the sun when it comes out! Choices are minimal and I can see how that can be appealing. It does seem easier. At home where to go for dinner is a tough choice. Here, most people can’t afford to go out and so they cook simple meals at home, beans, rice, fish and plantains. There is no movie theater; I’m the only live music in town, no ethnic restaurants, no library, and no bookstore. Not to mention the lack of services we take for granted at home like emergency medical care and animal clinics. Being a Libra, I think I am more apt to want a balance of sorts, an unencumbered life with not so much stuff so I can be free to move around without having to worry about it and at the same time have the kind of life that does afford choice- what to eat, music to listen to, theater, culture, books- these things are important to me and knowing that these choices exist for me in my life back home makes me feel very grateful. When I come home I plan on bringing some of the “simplicity” of this rustic living to my daily life there, I’ll walk/ride my bike more, eat simply, conserve, appreciate the richness of a life with choices and yes-surf.