The Shape Of Blog To Come -- The Costa Rica Diaries, Volume 1

“And I don’t wanna be an old man anymore
It’s been a year or two since I was out on the floor
Shakin’ booty, makin’ sweet love all the night
It’s time I got back to the good life.”
~~ Weezer, 'The Good Life'



A fresh start:



Pura Vida.

Pure Life.

This is a Costa Rican expression. THE Costa Rican expression. And it does my job for me: it sums up an entire culture of people – their attitudes, their values, their perspective -- in simple, precise language. Costa Rica is the New Zealand of Central America. Costa Ricans (ticos) live life with an intensity that would shatter most people withered by Western sedatives, such as television. Our instincts are not honed; our understanding of nature extends as far as the Discovery Channel. Ticos face legitimate elements of survival on a daily basis. They are engulfed in intense heat. They are surrounded by Jungle and Ocean. Nature is Savage, and you either embrace it, learn to love it, or you perish. It will not be tamed.

Pura Vida, indeed.

And in visiting Costa Rica, we become swept up in this culture of Life. Maybe basic instinct kicks in when people visit here. Our instincts may not be honed, but they are still present. We learn to respect the Jungle, and become curious about its mysteries. Our Fear of snakes and spiders and scorpions and crocodiles melt away in light of discovery -- our understanding of the Jungle and how it works. Understanding is key for knowledge, knowledge is key for respect, respect is key for understanding. The educational process cycles like life itself. The Ticos are faced with this life cycle every day, and they accept that nothing is permanent. Rainforests can be destroyed with the flick of a single match. Likewise, a single life, above all else, is only a temporary condition. Appreciate it while you have it.

Pura Vida.

Or perhaps their attitude is contagious, the way yawning or laughter or love are contagious. This is the disease of discovery, of total immersion, of true experience. This is what I crave, and that lust is satiated. I am a Changed Man, but this process is inescapable when immersed in a new culture. If that scares you, it should. We all need shaken up. We need our perspectives warped and twisted, then kneaded flat, then warped and twisted in a whole new direction. This keeps us from becoming stale, narrow-minded, isolated, afraid. It is our salvation from the deadlocked bigotry of Old Age. This is perhaps the most brilliant aspect of human nature: those who are most inflexible are the most vulnerable change. The slightest gust of a New Wind puts cracks in our brittle realities. Experience reminds us that discovery is a comfort, not a stress. It is the triumph of Wisdom over Fear. We avoid becoming the Old Man of Weezer's song. It is the Good Life. This is one way in which society reflects biology: stagnant is death.

Pura Vida.

Mahalo.

And suddenly, I am Costa Rica’s answer to a young Hunter Thompson, or Che Guevara. Not in terms of talent, or political passion, but just as lost, just as willing to embrace whatever Savage events befall me. Pura Vida becomes my rally cry, my mantra. It is my final thought before downing a bottle of rum on a moonlit beach. Before climbing into cars traveling on roads unfit for my worst enemies. Before diving into waterfalls. Before chasing goats. Before flicking the scorpions from our scrap piles. Before asking people to tell me their stories, so that I can experience their attitudes, their approaches to this wild life.

Pura Vida.

This is my New Slang, my adopted motto, plagiarized from an entire country. And this is why I went to Costa Rica. Indeed, to volunteer, to help, to give. But also to take. I am greedy for growth, a glutton for change, a lecher for stories and memories, both mine and others. I can only hope that what I gave was enough to provide a balance. But I am Selfish, and my personal growth seems of far greater value. I left Columbus in a slump, I needed a new direction, an outlet. I wanted to get back to the good life. Or maybe I just needed new stories – something to write for Reader Consumption. And I mean that with no disdain. I am paid a hefty ransom for the memories I hold hostage in my head. Whether that ransom comes from a publishing company, or an ego-stroke from a friend, I am being rewarded. And being rewarded for a personal passion is a rare and wonderful thing. So now, for your Reading Consumption, here are the tales, the Rampant Ramblings, the flashbacks of a strange and wild journey. These stories are not in Chronological Order. Or any other sort of order. This is the madness of my memory, that creative stimulant, the journalist’s Muse. Wisps of reality, culled from crosswired currents: neurotic neurons, damaged dendrites, severed synapses. Vivid, yet imperfect. There is no order here. This is Verbal Anarchy. And I hope you enjoy every second of it. Because I sure as hell did.

Pura Vida.

~ Sketch E.