Getting Away from a Good Thing
Recently, I bought a ticket to Costa Rica and didn’t tell anyone. I booked myself a bed in a shared room in a hostel on the beach for $11 a night. I didn’t research the coastal town I was going to. I didn’t check my bank account or calendar. I didn’t ask permission.
My sudden decision to get out of dodge felt like fight or flight response to the placid flow of my 27 year old life. Everything is going seriously well for me this year, and it terrifies me. I married the love of my life who supports me in my passions, holds me accountable to our shared goals, and makes me laugh every day. We moved out of the city and found a surprising surplus of joy in the simplicity of small town life. We bought a cabin in the woods — a dream we didn’t think was achievable for at least a decade. I have a dream job fighting for repro freedom in our capitol and across the state. I even got a dog! I’ve wanted a dog for years, and now I finally have one!
And yet, I feel a childish resistance to the steady pace our days have acquired, a knee-jerk reaction to mix things up or mess things up before they get too stale. My life, work, family, home all bring me great joy and contentment, but I’ll always be happiest en route.
I’m wanted to claim a little piece of myself, for myself. I’m wanted to prove that I still can go, if I so choose. I wanted to have fun, god damnit!
So, I’m going to Tamarindo in May.