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When you’ve spent most of your life in neutral, every moment carefully curated to minimize pain and maximize pleasure, what actually happens is you end up in a space that is more akin to numb than anything else. Ironic really. Then one day, if you’re lucky, something wonderful happens: the shit hits the fan. And you are presented with a choice: keep living life on ice, or begin the painful thawing out process and actually start living. Cut to 10 years later and I’m living out a bucket list item in the middle of a Costa Rican jungle, a few days into a 7 day surf/yoga camp run by the amazing crew at Shaka Beach Retreat. The day had started much like the previous ones: an alarm clock of monkeys and birds gently coaxes you out of sleep. A little snack to get things going. The mood perhaps a bit muted given the hour, but an underlying buzz of anticipation. And then you’re off to paradise where you spend a couple hours playing in the surf led by amazing instructors Danny and Ale. Back to base for the most delicious, hearty breakfast your stomach can handle. Siesta until yoga. Maybe catch some rays on the beach. Or grab a quiet spot in a hammock and let your mind wander to the sounds of the jungle. I had chosen to grab a little snooze that afternoon in my room, dozing in and out to the sounds of distant thunder. Suddenly, I’m flung from sleep by a crack of thunder that is now directly over my head and what sounds like a thousand golf balls hitting the roof. It is POURING! And immediately I know, I need to be outside! It’s the kind of rain that’s falling so hard it bounces off the ground and gets you again on the way back up. The kind of rain where you really needn’t be in anything else but your bikini or birthday suit, you’ll be soaked so quickly. I step outside and it’s like stepping into a warm, wet hug. An embrace given not only by the rain but by the very jungle around you, at once both completely enveloping and yet giving you all the room you need to move freely within it’s lush, green hug. The ultimate nurturing. In my excitement, I’d forgotten to put on shoes, but it was perfect because it forced me to slow down. I had to take my time walking down that little dirt road to Playa Hermosa. Pick my steps deliberately, carefully. Forcing me to slow down to a pace where if I listened just so, I could almost hear the squeal of delight from the trees as the water kept tumbling harder and harder from the sky. The grin plastered across my face knew exactly how they felt. And then I’m there at the water’s edge. The roar of the ocean in my ears. The cool, dark sand between my toes. Streaks of lightning keeping surfers out of the water. And the rain. The lovely, warm, pounding rain. It’s all just too beautiful and the emotion spills out of me like the water spilling from the clouds above. So much pain. So much hurt. So much beauty. All blending seamlessly with the water making it’s way back to earth. There were more than a few of us there, standing on that beach that afternoon. Quiet. Reverent. Some under the cover of the trees, others on the beach letting the rain wash over them. All waiting patiently for the storm to pass, as it always does. Waiting for one more chance to catch a final wave before heading home to dinner, family, friends. Ever patient, ever respectful, ever thankful for the storms just as much as the sun. That day on the beach gave me a gift I will hold onto forever. Because even now as I type this, as the dull, never-ending drone of traffic and people drift through my city apartment window, I can close my eyes and immediately be transported back. To the place I didn’t expect to find, that something I didn’t even know I was looking for: my happy.