The Day I Learned To Swim

I remember at a very young age, my father taking us in the winter to an indoor swimming pool at a local high school in Milwaukee, Wisconsin so we could learn how to swim. I have vague recollections of jumping off of starting platforms into the water and swimming in the lane back to the platform. I was six and by summer I was swimming like a fish. My father was a swimmer, a water lover. I’ve seen photographs of him as a young man, lean and happy posing with friends and at family gatherings held on the lakes so abundant in my home state. He was also a merchant marine and relished his time on the great lakes. I lived in Milwaukee until I was nine years old. In the winter we would frequent indoor pools at nearby schools, jumping off the diving boards, flying out of our dads arms as he tossed us in the water, swimming back to him for more. In the summer we swam in lakes and fresh water quarries with crystal clear waters surrounded by rocky cliffs that we could leap off of into the crisp cold water. Soon there was a pool in our back yard that could barely hold our family of seven (my brother wasn't born yet), much less all of the neighbors and cousins who clamored to join us. “Just put your foot down child, the water is only waist high. I’ll let go of you gently, so you can swim to me.” These words from a Kate Bush song remind me of those times. I never feared for my safety in the water, my father’s strong presence and encouragement emboldened all of us. We became expert divers, back flippers, strong and capable swimmers who never tired and who swam outside even in the cold until our lips were bright blue. When we moved from the city to the country we scoured the vast landscape surrounding our humble farmhouse looking for bodies of water. It was a different time and place and though we were quite young we would explore our pristine surroundings unsupervised for hours emerging from rivers and hidden ponds glorious and dripping wet sometimes with leeches between our toes from the muddy bottoms. In high school I swam competitively on the school team. Although I was not a much of a disciplined athlete I loved the water and can remember my dad coming to my local meets after work smiling as I stepped out of the water following a race-never winning, but not losing either. “I’ll let go gently, so you can swim to me...” Learning to swim brings to mind that scary moment, that place between the fear of letting go and letting go, that moment before jumping into the water for the first time or off of a high dive, those choices that involve the risk of facing the unknown as opposed to the safety and comfort of what is known. Contemplating my time away, my “space” I am now faced with the challenge of integrating the lessons of my journey into my reality. I feel it is time for bold action, time for me to pursue my dreams and goals and I pray for the strength to take the first steps trusting that the universe will provide everything I need.

Exodus

I couldn’t sleep. The driver was coming to pick me up at 7:30 so I could be at the airport for a 2:30 flight. The sun rose at five and I followed close behind making tea and finishing my packing. I left three umbrellas- Lord knows they will need them more than I will. I also left a half a bottle of Flora De Cana rum, my beach towel and a spare suitcase. I did manage to fit all of the shells I found on the beach and both pairs of boots-my Dingos and cowboy boots- in my suitcase! I took one last look at the beautiful backyard at Casa Del Ray, the sloping hill going down to the pool, the ocean in full view in the background, all the beautiful tropical foliage. I thought about how much I will miss my nightly "skinny dips” in the pool before going to bed. I walked through the apartment to the front porch where I got into a hammock and swung lazily, listening to the sounds of the jungle, trying to memorize as much of it as I could. The monkeys were howling, the birds were singing, squirrels and lizards scurried about. I thought about how much I have grown accustomed to their exotic sounds and how much I appreciated being witness to such amazing diversity in this jungle. I started crying and then realized that my ride should have arrived. I called Victor at Harbor Reef, who arranged my travel plans and he said I should be seeing my car and driver in minutes. One half hour later after frantically calling Victor again, I was running down the road trying to find this lost van driver. I live in the “middle fork” of three dead end roads; surely he could figure it out! When he did, he was frantic, spitting out harsh words in Spanish through his toothless mouth. We drove up the hill to grab my things and we were off. We did not get very far before we came upon road construction. Road work in these parts consist of dumping truckloads of dirt and gravel down on the existing excuses for a road and trying to smooth it out as much as possible, then cross your fingers that the rainy season will not wash it all away. I was starting to panic because we sat there for what seemed to be at least a half an hour. I did not want to miss my flight. I fought back tears and the driver was cleared to move forward, yelling and cursing and looking at me in the rearview mirror. Meanwhile I’m wiping my tears that are now mixed with sweat because he has no air conditioning, or he won’t turn it on. After a few more miles we approach yet another construction zone and this time my driver loses it and springs from the car running to the man holding the flag. I start crying for real knowing there is no way I will get to San Jose on time. The driver returns and calls Victor. After a brief conversation he holds the phone out to me and says, “Victor”. Victor tells me we will be through this road block in ten minutes and that I will still have plenty of time to make my flight. Slightly reassured, I hand the phone back and soon we are traversing the perilous twenty plus kilometers over the flooded, muddy, bumpy terrain until paved road. Once on paved roads, I tucked a small travel pillow under my head and tried to sleep. I awoke when the van stopped thinking that we might be at a gas station and how I could really use water since my body was sweating buckets of it in the oven-like van. I sat up and found myself looking at a woman staring at me through the window. She gestured and I shook my head and said “No”. She knocked on the window and I realized that she was a police officer. Two other heavily armed officers stood by. Another delay. I handed her my passport and told her I was a tourist. She reached in the van and touched my backpack and motioned for me to open it. “You want to look in my backpack, really? It took me twenty minutes to fit everything that it is in it inside. It’s a mess.” She smiled and waved for me to show her. So I showed her my Laptop, cords, magazines, notebooks. She pointed to a small brown bag. “It’s my new bikini” I said. We did not understand a word we were saying to each other, but I could tell she wanted to see what was in the bag. When I pulled it out to show her holding it up to my body she said, “Sexy”. I spent the rest of the ride between trying not to be a backseat driver-he was so slow- doing deep breathing to relax and napping. I woke up to my driver shouting “Aero Puerto!” He swung around and approached the departing flights terminal, looked at his watch and rejoiced holding out his hand for me to high five.

It Will Be Soon

Today I woke up to another rainy morning, went back to sleep and dreamed of a huge green snake, woke up, dozed off again and when I finally dragged my body out of bed, I made a cup a tea and booked the first flight out of here. My time in Nosara has come to a close and tonight when I sang my final song at the Guilded Iguana, I cried. Being here has meant more to me than I ever could have realized and now with a few more weeks before I have to officially re-enter my world, I am feeling the need for a change of scenery, an energetic shift. I think I need a “middle ground” between Nosara and my life that is chomping at the bit for me to return to. So this morning when I woke up and found it was so easy to rearrange my plans, I did. I had imagined that my departure from here would be dramatic with a celebration that would incorporate all of the wonderful people I have met along the way, but I’m leaving the way I came, quietly and I am so grateful that I was able to see my friends who were out tonight and to hug and kiss them- until next time. I know it will be soon.

Transparency

I’ve been thinking about transparency a lot lately. It is a word that has surfaced over and over again in my recent journey to heal my marriage after my husband’s affair. At first the word transparency seemed to apply only to him. When we were in the middle of working through the pain and lost trust it was necessary that Dan become as transparent as possible in order for me to regain some comfort-trust, in the relationship. At first this was pretty uncomfortable because before the affair, we were used to quite a bit of autonomy with all kinds of things going on in our individual lives that we had no need or time to share. But after the affair, I needed to know what Dan was doing, who he was doing it with, what he was thinking. It also felt like I cared more, I wanted to know. It was hard, especially for Dan, but somehow he understood how the importance of being transparent was in order to come full circle with trust again and to heal. It was hard for me too, because I never considered myself the kind of person who “keeps tabs” on her mate- I always just trusted him. Now that we are well on our way to closing that chapter in our lives, I started thinking about transparency in relationship to my own life and how I move through the world. I don’t want to have secrets. Secrets feel like fear and lying. I don’t want to hold back or be ashamed of anything that I do or have done. By shining a light on my life and being transparent, I hope to invite others who share some or any of my experience to share their experiences with me. In doing that I don’t feel so alone. In fact I know I’m not. Before doing Kundalini Yoga this past Saturday night the instructor talked about transparency and how much our world has changed with social media and modern technology and communication. We know an awful lot about each other and we can use this knowing, this transparency to bring us closer; make us feel like the human family that we are. The instructor said, “Transparency equals freedom” Tonight at a lovely gathering of new friends over food, passion fruit margaritas and drumming, I spoke with someone who said everything we do is all out there anyway. Do we think that nobody sees us? Even if you don’t believe in god or a higher power, our highest self always knows. So this transparency to me is a calling to bring forth my highest self, to move in this world as if everyone can see what I’m doing, to be the kind of person I am aspiring to be, unashamed, alive and free.

My World According to Zena

Sunday, Domingo, a day of rest. I started my morning with yoga at the Nosara Institute with Danielle and afterwards came home and decided to do a little nesting. I cleaned, cooked rice and beans, made a salad, caught up my correspondence and took dips in the pool. My thoughts of yesterday traveled through my mind while I enjoyed the quiet and rhythmic movements of cooking and cleaning. Yesterday I woke up feeling energetic and ready for the day. Morning yoga with Karl was fun-Karl is somewhere in his early fifties, but looking like somewhere closer to thirty with a compact, muscled body clothed in nothing but baggy board shorts for class. He’s a total Venice Beach California guy and his classes are hard. There were about five people in the class who had never done yoga before, but they hung in there and tried everything Karl dished out. There was a lot of laughter. Afterwards I headed towards town, my backpack packed for the day. I ran into Schlomo on the street in front of his organic market, Organico. He was excited,they had just made fresh ginger candy and he was also high on the discovery of some new music. Schlomo is a Kundalini yoga teacher and he sings and plays devotional chants with his guitar. He was in the street because the day was so beautiful and his energy to “big” for the inside of his small market. He reminded me that there was a Kundalini class at the Yoga Spa, a retreat center high in the hills outside of town. For twenty dollars you get a ride out to the spa, a Kundalini class and a family style dinner. I told him I’d see him at four and continued through town stopping at Café De Paris for a coffee and mini quiche, the bikini shop to get fitted for a custom made suit, and Body Works to confirm a massage for my sciatica. When I walked down the steps from Bodyworks, I noticed the building next door was a doctor’s office. Curious, I walked in and inquired about the possibility of getting a shot to alleviate my sciatic pain. My friend Brenda the boxer told me that is what a lot of the yogis do, because apparently sciatica is a common issue among them. Five minutes later I was laying on an undressed table with my shorts down, the very young doctor asking, “When was the last time you had a shot in your butt cheeks? “ Me asking, “Are you a doctor?” He was and for thirty dollars I received a non-steroidal injection for my pain-no paperwork-fifteen minutes later I was on the beach. The day was perfect, dry and sunny. I gathered seashells, swam, read and wrote a little. At four I went to Organico Market to embark on a Kundalini adventure. People started gathering and by the time we were ready to depart we had three big vehicles full of people. The Yoga Spa is past town and on a piece of property that appears to be the highest elevation in the area. After a steep climb we arrived at a gorgeous facility perched along a cliff, panoramic views of the ocean and jungle canopy surrounded us. The rancho that we were going to practice in was a massive wooden structure with a tall peaked roof made of tightly woven palms, the wood floors and supporting beams were all hand hewn made of dark gleaming wood. We settled in and sat quietly for awhile, some of us peering over the precipice to watch monkeys eat leaves and hang from the trees. It was a first monkey sighting for some. Schlomo started strumming light chords on the guitar and then led us in a chant with just the word Hari. We moved into the sensual practice and fluid movement while the sun set on the horizon into the sea. Afterwards we all gathered in the outdoor kitchen where long wooden tables were set with placemats, cloth napkins and beautiful flowers and we shared a tasty vegetarian meal and good conversation. I jumped in the first ride down the hill so I could shower- I was still sandy from the beach- and dress for Gabby and Francella’s birthday. The party started at Il Basilica and was to move to La Banana and then the Tropicana. I heard the belly dancing music from the street and hurried into La Banana to catch the end of an exotic looking woman in full belly dancing apparel coming to the close of her routine. From the reaction of the crowd it must have been good. I had fun dancing with the girls for awhile and then realized the belly dancer was reading tarot cards after her show. I waited for on opening and sat down for a reading. With the cards shuffled and spread out on the table, Zena said, “Oh my, how emotional!” I just smiled. The first card representing me was justice. Zena told me she could see I was a strong and fair. The card over me signified a young man who was apparently causing me much strife. It went on from there with Zena telling me that this is a karmic relationship that spans many lifetimes and the negative cycle needs to be broken. She added that, “It is too hard for you, too much effort in this relationship to keep your balance.” The good news is the future projections had all of the best “love” cards in it. “So whatever happens” Zena said, “ It’s all going to work out for you, you are going to have the love you deserve” I skipped home in the dark kicking up gravel with my cowboy boots thanking the stars for such a good day.

Sing Breathe Rest Believe and Eat Pray Love Too!

Yesterday a good friend of mine forwarded the NY Times review of the movie, Eat Pray Love based on the best seller by Elizabeth Gilbert. Eat Pray Love is the story of a woman’s journey to find herself after her marriage ends in a divorce. The book came out during the time my husband and I were dealing with the unraveling of my husband’s affair with another woman. The trauma and stress of that experience resulted in me suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome and anxiety attacks-something I’d never come close to experiencing before and I hope I never will again. During this time it was difficult for me to focus enough to read fiction and it was next to impossible to watch, read and listen to anything remotely related to infidelity, mid-life crisis’s, etc. I had to walk out of the movie, Waitress, that I went to see with Dan and my Grandmother. So I did not open the pages of Eat Pray Love until I was on a little more solid ground and even then I identified with the story and the main character a little too closely and was a little envious that I could not “globe trot” for nine months at that time trying to figure out my life. All in all I found the book a good, light read and I devoured it in a day or two. The review talks about how unusual it is for a woman in a Hollywood movie to be concerned with herself, her creativity and spirit and not focused on finding a mate. The happy endings in most mainstream movies involve the woman getting the man with all happiness ending at the altar. I have had a lot of people comment on my writing and the similarity between Elizabeth Gilbert’s journey. I think it is every woman’s journey, every “humans" journey- our quest to find our individual selves outside of anything else. Here in Nosara, I talk to people, men and women, everyday who are doing exactly what I’m doing. I’m glad such an inspiring story is actually going to reach the masses. Perhaps we can all be encouraged to share our stories with each other, all the real, raw stuff that actually makes up a life. Leaving for my two month journey to Nosara, Costa Rica, I talked to a woman who acts as a coach for me sometimes, she is a Jungian therapist and life coach and has been invaluable to me in regard to bouncing my ideas off of her, sharing my thoughts and feelings- and in return I receive very pragmatic and wise guidance- mostly she just helps lead me to my own truths. I was sharing with her the fantasy that I had about meeting another man in Nosara, one who would sweep me off of my feet and take me away from my reality. This fantasy bothered me on several levels, first why does it have to be a man, a knight in shining amour to save the day? To rescue the damsel in distress? I think as women we are so preconditioned to that kind of outcome. I’ve always considered myself a woman who is strong and independent. I want to break free from that inclination, the belief that all will be right with the world if the right mans comes along. Another reason this concept bothers me is I don’t believe any other man can fix this. I know the man I’m married to loves me and I also know he is human and like all humans, we make mistakes. I truly believe that building a foundation on the goodness that exists-if it does indeed exist- is better than jumping into the open arms of a stranger. Even so, before I left I had this feeling come over me that I wanted to bring condoms with me on my trip. Again, it was just a thought but it bothered me and I thought it important enough to share with Dan. Dan’s response amazed me. He understood how I felt and told me he thought the condoms were a metaphor, a symbol of how free I needed to feel during these two months alone. Condom as metaphor. Who knew? I think my husband is very wise and his perspective helped me to put my feelings in the right place- I packed just one, the metaphorical one.

Another Day

I watched the sunset at Guiones Beach and the tide was high, leaving just a few hundred yards of sand for those of us gathered there as spectators for the sunset or for the surfers- the waves tonight were massive. Watching a surfer slice through the middle of a pale grey wall of water I calculated the wave was over twice as high as the person riding it. My friend Catherine arrived with a bottle of wine and two glasses and we sat on a blanket taking it all in while sipping a nice Malbec and getting to know each other. I had just taken a restorative yoga class at the institute with Jane earlier and felt really open and energized- a feeling I have not had since Dan left. I’ve been really struggling with the sciatica in my right leg and it has definitely cast a bit of a shadow on my experience here. At a time when I could really use the cooperation of this body, it has decided to rebel. The positive aspect of dealing with a chronic pain in a “yogi’s world” is that there are a lot of practitioners who want to help, give suggestions for stretches and massage you every day. The flip side of this is that some of these yogis believe pain in the body is a message from the soul, Jane in particular telling me, “Your issues are in your tissues” Yikes. I prefer to think of my yogi friend Yali’s advice telling me that it is blocked energy and you just need to keep the “prana” (life force) moving around. So I’m moving it around and trying not to give my discomfort too much attention. There are way too many other things that deserve it. After the sunset Catherine took me to her house and made a homemade pizza, with chicken, mushrooms, olives, onions and three cheeses. She is an artist and a fine painter, her work displayed throughout their home. Her recent paintings are studies on waves and bring to mind several of the local Outer Banks artists who have mastered the wave on canvas as well as the board. Catherine began surfing during a transitional time in her life, right after turning fifty after fully recovering from breast cancer and dealing with a broken heart. Now her heart is fully healed and she has a wonderful relationship with a beautiful man and her fifty plus body is sculpted and toned from her daily surf sessions. Like many of us who live creatively, she does what she can not only to make ends meet but to live fully in her environment, selling jewelry, paintings and teaching. The more I learn about this place and the people, who make their home here in Nosara, the more I realize that it is not so different from where I live on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Arriving home, I had a brief talk with Dan who is in Denver to play at the Mile High Festival. We both agreed that this was a really difficult week for both of us after our week of “total immersion”. Eleven days left of my journey before I return home. I’m going to concentrate on keeping that Prana moving around and staying open to the endless possibilities in every day.