Our plane touched down at San José at 1 pm and we made our way through familiar lines and aimed towards home.

It had been a combined business pleasure trip for me — teaching and family gathering. For Frank, a Canadian who rarely ventures back into North America it was an opportunity to meet my family. Together, we were experiencing our first real trip as a senior couple. We had been in Seattle for just two weeks.




Standing in the customs line we were exhausted. Depleted. The Tico chatter and activity at the airport was welcome, even soothing but I felt disoriented – like a time way back in 1955 when I stepped out of the little vintage motorcar named ‘Toady’ on that original dark ride at Disneyland called Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.




Why did I feel so shaken? What had happened during this trip that affected me so completely?







The trip was filled with the usual ups and downs. But there was more. After the incredible joy of reunions and the elation I always feel when teaching watercolor my energy dipped and I began to feel heavier, weaker. I withdrew.




I noticed a few lingering fearful thoughts in my mind — talking-head ‘news’ from airport television monitors and newspaper headlines. This time the announcements of terrorist alerts and war had been replaced by fearful rhetoric of doomsday forecasts for economic collapse, credit defaults, debt ceiling crisis and austerity cutbacks to social security, medical care…




Pretty soon I projected the universal fears onto myself and began to notice and focus on the things in my life that were not okay — which now included me. As I looked around I saw stores filled with clothes or furnishings or sauces from all parts of the world. Fancy new car models I didn’t recognize passed me on the freeway and obvious wealth dotted my surroundings like exuberant splashes of bright colors on a neutral painting.




In comparison I began to feel less, old and poor. It got worse once I became fully in gear with my fear. A simple traffic misunderstanding ballooned into a police matter. An old back injury reappeared.



Meanwhile, Frank who is normally positive and adaptable became easily agitated, even frantic by the fast pace on the freeway and the overabundance of things available in the shopping malls and grocery stores. By then it felt like we were fully aboard ‘Toady’ plunging through the opening doors into the darkened interior of ‘Toad Hall’ with the piped in theme music adding a surreal accent.




“We’re merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily on our way to nowhere in particular!”







Propelled through rooms echoing scenes from Wind in the Willows, the ride was startling from start to finish. Doors opened suddenly. Signs popped up just ahead. The car veered just before crashing into a policeman with a hand raised in a Stop gesture.




And then, toward the end of the ride I remember seeing the signs, “Go Back”, “Detour”, “One Way” just before we crashed into a courtroom past a judge and into a jail cell just seconds before turning into complete darkness and coming face to face with the bright light of an oncoming train!




From the perspective of a 13 year old and the technology of the fifties, this ride was somewhere in the midst of bizarre, unnerving and terrifying.




Our senses overloaded and with no good way to replenish ourselves, we did the best we could. It would take nearly two weeks back in the relative calm of southern Costa Rica, surrounded by nature for us to regain our balance — together and separately.




Why did we feel so off balance? Why are we more comfortable with a simple life in Costa Rica? Why do we feel like we have plenty here when, by North American expectations we don’t? And why do things seem to just fall into place for us here?




Living in Costa Rica has shown a way to live more effortlessly.




Life in my Tico neighborhood moves along more slowly and spontaneously with most things getting attended to when the need arises. When I moved here I had a choice. I could keep my American identity in place – with all the things I was supposed to have and to do or things I was supposed to worry about or protect myself from. I found it more comfortable to adapt to the ways of my neighbors.




I found my best days were calm and peaceful, unfolding as they do, prompted by moment-by-moment intuitive nudges. I may wake with one thing to accomplish for that day noted and underlined on my To Do list. Then, the day moves on and unfolds in most unpredictable ways.







A neighbor waves and we talk briefly, which gets me thinking about someone or something else that might become a new project. After a few hours working on the computer, I go out to make a cup of coffee. A new bird flies through the outdoor kitchen/studio and I go to the bird book to identify it and while I’m there looking at it, I think about a painting I’d like to do or an article to write.




I spot a sloth in a distant tree and get out the binoculars and then let my view wander over the city below and find myself thinking about larger views, bigger issues, a new article. I often move through the day in this moment-by-moment discovery instead of a plan. You might say that this sounds either like I have nothing to do or I am losing my mind but I’m finding that I feel really good by the end of such a day. I don’t feel depleted.




I’ll admit that it is not an easy thing to just allow my intuition to guide me through instead of the To Do checklist… But the best part is that the critical things actually get done while I meander. My unfolding days have contained enough watercolor workshops, planning and writing to enable me to earn enough to build what I’ve needed. I began to get it.




My job was to be conscious – to pay attention to the messages from my intuition and to stay alert to things like signals and signs. Then I could make decisions from a position of excitement. Not from a position of fear.




So how does this work? Stay tuned for Part II and evidence that there is a lot more out there in the guise of coincidences and serendipity!

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Written by VIP Member Jan Hart who is an American artist/teacher/writer living simply in a little Tico house above San Isidro de El General in southern Costa Rica. Jan has built a studio and two cabinas at her home and offers watercolor workshops and adventure opportunities described on her www.JanHart.com website which you can see here.




Jan’s workshops are open to all levels of experience and include opportunities to see and experience the life she lives. Her book, The Watercolor Artist’s Guide to Exceptional Color is a widespread favorite among watercolor painters and published in 5 languages.




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