Siempre Esperando

< sigh >

You were probably just as exhausted from 2016 as I was around 11:30pm on December 31st. Amid all the horrific headlines, ridiculous memes, and news of celebrity deaths, it was a pretty tough year for a lot of people. I count myself among those affected by the throes of the previous 12 months.

Among many things, I...

• Moved to Costa Rica (in case you missed that)
• Endured 3 months of PCCR training
• Met some of the most amazing people in this world
• Ate cow tongue
• Ate cow tail
• Went to my first international soccer game
• Fell in and out of love
• Became a cat person (RIP sweet Molly)
• Survived my first earthquake
• Endured Costa Rica's first hurricane in over 100 years
• Rang in the 2017 with some of my Tico 31 fam

Puerto Viejo w/Dan, Tory, & Joe - 3 of the best folks I know.

One of the many, many other things that took place over 2016 was an uptick in my Spanish-speaking abilities. Combined with 3 months of language lessons during training, immersion in my site has gone a very long way in helping me sharpen my español. There are so many things I've learned about this beautiful language that I never, ever knew before coming here, and that's what I want to write about here. 

Not pictured: +/- 2,500 people and every star
known to mankind showing up just in time
for midnight on New Year's Eve.

As I stood on the beach in Puerto Viejo to ring in the new year among so many other anxious souls, I found my thoughts drifting to one simple Spanish phrase: Siempre Esperando. I've only now begun to fully understand the impact of it. See, I thought for the longest time that the word siempre only ever translated to "always." As it turns out, it can also be used to mean "still" - as in an ongoing action. I also thought that the verb esperar - especially in its progressive form esperando - always translated to "to wait/waiting" or "to wait for/waiting for," but I've learned that it can also mean "to hope/hoping." 

So, feeling the sand between my toes and the cool water from the Caribbean flow over and around my feet, I stared up at the stars - nostalgic as ever - and considered the enormous difference between both compound phrases made by those two words.

Siempre esperando... 

That night, looking back on 2016, I could have easily classified myself as still waiting. With everything that transpired over the last 12 months, I could have thrown myself into that category and said that I was still waiting for some specific things / outcomes / results / answers from last year - in other words, still waiting for some shadow of what I thought might've been. Perhaps it was a project that didn't unfold the way I expected. Or maybe it was a friendship or a relationship that turned out a little differently from how I'd planned. There were more than a few things that simply didn't go the way I'd foreseen, so one could make the argument that on that beach that night I was still waiting for something - anything - to give meaning or purpose to any number of the wild events of 2016. 

Then again, I considered, maybe I can take that small but crucial step that we're so wont to do and yet often fail in our attempts to accomplish: to look ahead. And so the other side of the concept behind siempre esperando could be always hoping, That is to say that, in spite of all the perceived negativity from last year's 366 days of ebb and flow (yes, it was a leap year), maybe I can say that I'll always hope for what is to come.

What an incredible difference between the two potential translations. 

[Just to clarify, I believe it's 100% okay to wait for some things. I feel most folks would agree that it all depends on what or who you're still waiting for, but there's nothing wrong with holding out for something good. That said, in some cases it's wise to simply let go and move forward - always hoping for something better.]

Wherever you find yourself as you embark on this new year, know that you're right where you're supposed to be. Whether you find yourself looking over your shoulder still waiting for something, or you've got your eyes on the horizon always hoping for what is yet to come, breathe easy knowing that everything's going to work out just fine.

 ... but if it doesn't, you can always come sit with me on my porch here in San Isidro. You and I will sip good coffee together as we wait until it does.

Pura Vida, my friends.

Lessons in Humility: José the Incredible

This morning I caught a bus to the capital city of San José. Tomorrow night, the United States men's national team plays here against Costa Rica in an important World Cup Qualifying match. I've got some other business to attend to tomorrow morning, so I chose to come a little early. I'm so glad I did.

The only two buses that go directly to San José from my site leave at 3:30 in the ever-loving morning and 2:00 in the afternoon. The latter arrives around 8:30PM in one of San José's many 'red zones,' so it's never a great idea to take that one. I chose to delay a little bit and took the 7:30AM bus to Liberia, and then I grabbed the 10:00AM direct route to San Jose.

As I stowed my bag beneath the hulking monstrosity of a bus out of Liberia and climbed the stairs, I checked my ticket to find out where I'd be sitting for this little jaunt. Seat number 51. Hmm. A window seat. Well, okay. I'm not the biggest fan of window seats, but at least it's the very last row, so I can lean my seat back more than normal. I squeezed into the last row and shifted over to the window seat, placing my backpack down between my legs in anticipation of a full house. I reached down to grab my headphones, and, the moment I looked up I was met with a sight that - to be perfectly and ashamedly honest - I wasn't happy about. There before me, storing his tattered coat and Dora the Explorer backpack in the overhead area, stood a gentleman easily into his sixties in a weathered and stained button-down, a ragged pair of slacks, and a filthy, decrepit pair of ancient penny loafers.

Settling into his coveted aisle seat, he turned to me and flashed a smile that I was not expecting. He had some of the whitest, straightest teeth I've seen on a Tico since I got here in February. He extended his hand, greeting me and saying, "Hola, my name is José. How are you today?" in some of the cleanest, purest English I've heard from a native. It took me a moment to collect my thoughts, what with all the differing facts floating around in front of me. Here was this man who appeared to have just gotten off the back of the truck after a full day of work in the field, and yet his teeth were as perfect as his command of the English language (or at least basic greetings). I was dumbfounded.

"Uh... excuse me," I uttered, "Hello, José! It's nice to meet you. My name is Dakota. I'm well, thank you. How are you?" I shook his calloused, leathery hand. His grip was firm, as one might expect from such a character. He maintained eye contact with me, with his eyes peering into mine beneath the edge of his wide-brim hat. After providing a firm handshake and a hearty report on his day to that point, he leaned his seat back, took a deep breath and set his hat down on his knee. As he ran his wrinkled fingers through his hair, a coy smile crept over his face.

He looked over in my direction and promptly asked if I was married. (NOTE: Costa Ricans are very open and forward. I have been asked this and other rather forward questions by complete strangers many, many times) I took off my headphones and smiled, shaking my head to signal in the negative. He looked genuinely sad at my response, so I explained that I'm currently serving in the Peace Corps and that it doesn't lend itself to being married or getting married during the process blah blah blah. He said he understood, and there was a brief pause. I could tell he was asking for a reason, so I channeled my inner Tingo (For those of you playing at home, that's a cross between Tico and Gringo, the names for a Costa Rican and a US citizen in-country, respectively) and asked him if he was married. Another long, deep sigh. He look at me, and I watched as his eyes welled up with tears and his mood changed rapidly. "I was. A long, long time ago. Still am, thank God."

Okay. There go my reading plans for this trip. Somehow I could tell this was gonna be one hell of a story, and I was legitimately interested. I took out my headphones, rolled them up, and stored them in my backpack so as to demonstrate to my new friend that he was working with my full attention. Then José went on to tell me one of the most riveting, heartbreaking, yet hopeful stories I've ever heard someone tell.

I'm going to do my best to share it with you.

Years ago, José worked for his father-in-law on a farm in Guanacaste, the northwestern province in Costa Rica. He lived with his wife, Lilian, in a house on the farm's property.  In exchange for a place to live and a small allowance for basic necessities, José worked from sunrise to sunset six days a week, performing all kinds of maintenance on his father-in-law's farm. However, after years of failed crops and smaller and smaller returns, the entire operation came to a sudden and tragic halt. Lilian's father decided to sell his property - all of it - meaning José was out of a job and, unfortunately, a home as well.

In the wake of this rough turn of events, José and Lilian decided that it was best for him to travel to the U.S. to try and find a job and, hopefully, earn enough to move Lilian up there with him and finally start a family. In the meantime, Lilian would stay behind and help around the house with whatever the next step was in the lives of her parents, waiting until José sent back for her. Eventually connecting with a construction company in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, José hit the ground running and found himself way ahead of schedule. Then came the unthinkable.

In a letter from his beloved Lilian, he read the horrible news of a car accident that she'd been involved in. Apparently on an unusually rainy summer day, Lilian's father lost control of their vehicle and crossed the median, plowing into an oncoming truck at a high enough speed to eject both her and her parents onto the highway. Her father was killed instantly, and she and her mother were taken to the emergency room. Her mother passed away that same night. Lilian would be paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of her life.

As José recounted this part of the story, tears rolled down his face freely, and I put my hand on this stranger's shoulder in some attempt to bridge the cultural gap. He apologized profusely, and I could only muster "Tranquilo, tranquilo. Está bien, hermano." He gathered himself and continued.

Upon receiving the dreadful news, he panicked. He was completely helpless to be there for his wife in the single greatest moment of need she could endure, and he felt horrible. He tried to make arrangements to return immediately, but he had trouble with his visa. The Costa Rican government, for reasons unknown to José, was claiming that he was unable to re-enter the country with his current papers.

He was on an island of despair and had no way to get off of it. He wrote to Lilian incessantly, as often as he could (this was, of course, before the days of emails and text messages), trying his best to encourage her and keep her spirits high as he sorted out the issues with his return to Costa Rica. Despite his efforts to reach out, he never heard back from her. Not one letter. Fearing the worst, he frantically tried to contact anyone and everyone who might know her status, but it was all for naught. No one knew anything. It was as though she had disappeared.

After seven months of waiting in despair, the Costa Rican government finally allowed José to re-enter. As he made his return trip plans, he let his employer know of his impending departure. To his dismay, his boss informed José that he would be forced to fill José's position if he chose to leave. Without a second thought, José chose to continue on back to Costa Rica. He purchased his flight, boarded the plane, and landed in Alajuela. Almost an entire year had passed since he left Costa Rica with hope and opportunity, only to return home in the wake of a tragedy with no clue where to find the love of his life.

Upon arriving back in Guanacaste, José followed up with many of the same individuals he'd reached out to from the U.S., but there was no news of Lilian's status nor her whereabouts. He described the feeling he had at the time as that of being in a field at midnight with no light and eyes shut. "I had no way to know where I was, what direction to go, or what to do. I was completely alone."

José then described his years of alcoholism and drug addiction, leading to a short stint in prison and a brief stay in a clinic. Once he was clean and able to begin coping with his heartbreaking loss, he decided the only thing that made sense was to continue with his previous plan. He arranged for a loan through a friend he made during his clinic stay, and purchased airfare back to Texas to search for another job in construction.

As had happened before, José found himself very fortunate to land a job with decent pay, and he was back on his feet in no time. After a few months of hard labor, he decided to invest his time in something else, and he began taking night classes at a local high school offering English as a Second Language to the numerous members of the working class Latino community. It turns out, English came easy to José (I jokingly mentioned I wish his language came as easily to me as mine did to him, to which he flashed his brilliant smile and laughed aloud), and he became fluent in a few short months. Time flew by, and José continued working until he was able to secure his papers and decided to stay in the U.S. indefinitely.

You couldn't imagine the smile on my face as I listened to his account of the successes José worked so hard to achieve in those tough times. The months turned into years, and he eventually bought a small house in the suburbs, and accepted a promotion to foreman. He began to lead a crew on smaller jobs in downtown Dallas, and things were going wonderfully. He was happy with his work and proud to be a homeowner in the United States. He chose, however, to remain single, holding out hope that one day he would someday be reunited with his love, Lilian.

I had a feeling, at this point in his story, that something was about to change again, and, unfortunately, I was right. At the end of 2015, José was on his way home from work and arrived to find his home up in flames. He still has no idea what the cause might have been, but it was almost completely lost. The fire department was unable to salvage much of anything. The following day, as José walked among the wet ashes of his hard-earned home, he heard a familiar voice from out by the road. It was his mailman, whom José had developed a friendship with. He was astonished to see the horrible scene, and he got out of his truck to comfort José. After a few moments of consoling José, the mailman announced that he would need to get back to work. José thanked him for his time and kind words, but, just as the mailman was about to pull away, he remembered that he had a letter for José. Surprised, since he never received much other than bills and typical junk mail, José said he sprinted to the mail truck to take the letter from the mailman's hand.

The next part is a little unbelievable, but I stared at José's face and listened all the same. The letter was from Lilian. She had, after some 25-30 years (the dates were a bit fuzzy for José), finally tracked him down through some friends who had also moved to the Dallas/Fort Worth area. They remembered having seen José's name in an ad in the paper, and put Lilian in touch with his boss. Small world.

Instead of calling, Lilian explained in the letter that she preferred to write down the story of what had happened in order to control her emotions. After the accident, she woke up a few days later in the hospital, realized what had happened, wrote the letter to José, fell into a deep state of depression, and was eventually admitted to a mental hospital on San José. Unknown to José, she spent years there going through all forms of counseling as well as physical therapy to acclimate to her new physical limitations.

Because of the informal nature of their marriage in rural Guanacaste, there was no official record stating that Lilian was, in fact, the wife of José. Therefore, when José returned after the accident, there was no way for him to know or for the Costa Rican government's record to show where Lilian had been moved to. She, in the meantime, worked hard to overcome the mental trauma that followed the accident, and eventually moved back to her small town in Guanacaste years later. Because of the nature of José's work back then, his address was something of a moving target, and Lilian was simply unable to locate him.

At the end of the letter, after telling her side of the story, she closed by saying that she still loved him and wanted to be with him, as long as he would still have her in her broken state. (I may or may not have been leaking from the eyeballs as I listened to that part) José, wiping tears from his own eyes, explained to me how, in the wake of losing everything in the fire, he lived on the streets for months as he continued to work, saving every penny he didn't spend on food and shelter for his return flight. Today, José was on his way to San José from the Liberia airport, and he was heading for Lilian's aunt's house outside of Heredia.

I've been in the presence of some incredible and awe-inspiring people in my life. I've learned from wise, deep people. I've felt the raw emotion from some of the most heartfelt souls I could ever have the pleasure of meeting. Taking nothing away from them, the man that sat next to me on the bus today, although ragged and tired, has the biggest, strongest heart of any human being I think I've ever met in my entire life.

I felt completely wrecked inside. Just a few short hours earlier, at first glance of José, I made an entirely incorrect judgment call. There I sat, throwing out my embarrassingly shallow opinion of this man, and I was a fool to do so. Even now, as I sit down and write this out, I'm a little overwhelmed with emotion. I feel like I don't deserve to have heard this man's story.

José gathered his backpack and coat from the overhead storage area, and we waited next to one another on the curb as the driver unloaded each bag from underneath. I collected my bag, waited for José to get his, then turned to face him. His face was so bright, despite years upon years of doubt and defeat. He stood upright with his shoulders back. I stuck my hand out to say goodbye, but José set his bag down and - a bit to my surprise - threw both arms around my midsection and pulled me in for the best bro-hug I've ever had in my life. I thanked him for sharing his story with me, and he, still wiping tears, said "You are welcome. I hope that you find love in your life as I have found it in mine." With that, José gathered his things and walked away. He didn't ask for money, didn't ask if I'd check on him, none of that. He was kind enough to share his story with a stranger - a Gringo, at that - and go on about his way in the hopes of reuniting with Lilian.

Based on what little information I have in regards to travel times and Costa Rican geography, I'm guessing by now José has found his beautiful Lilian. I cannot fathom the emotion that's being shared in these moments. Years upon years and miles beyond miles of separation, finally together again after so much pain and hurt.

Odds are good that I'll never see him again, but I will never, ever forget that man. And the moral of the story? Hell if I know. I started this day thinking I had a good idea of how it would go, but here I sit with a deepened understanding of determination, belief, faith, and love. José's words, uttered mere hours ago, are still resonating in my mind and in my heart. I hope I find love in my life as he has found in his. I hope we all can and do.

Here's to you and your beautiful bride, José, wherever you are. Thank you for sharing.

Love y'all.

El Amor

So I have news.

I've met someone!

I know, I know. MANY of you jokingly mused that I was only joining Peace Corps to travel abroad and meet the love of my life, and, well... it's happened. The truth is, I actually met her a long time ago, but we've only recently been reunited. I saw her for the first time in nine years this past February, and let me tell you. She was elusive for the longest time, but now we have been reunited. It's been an incredible pleasure to get to know her all over again. I want to tell you a little bit about her, though.

~ Oh my, how she brings me great joy. Every day I get to see her, she appears more and more beautiful than the previous.

~ I love to be with her, to explore with her, to just spend time with her, and to get to know her more. When I look at her, I see nothing but pure beauty. I am utterly taken by the way she moves, the way she looks in the light, and the way she appears in the moonlight.

~ Her very spirit illuminates mine. As I spend more and more time in her presence, I garner a new appreciation for her love of people and her fellow man. It is purely infectious; I am different after encountering her and her affection for mankind.

~ As I ponder what has transpired to precipitate these circumstances, I opine that I have done nothing to merit this serendipity. She is everything I could have ever hoped for - the definition of a dream.

~ This chance reunion has not been without its own struggles. I have endeavored to acclimate to her temperance, and there have been more than a few challenges during this process. I have grown within myself, however, and I count it a blessing to have walked the path with her to this point.

~ As time marches on, and I reap the daily benefit of knowing her, I set my gaze on the horizon and think about the future with her. Will this last? Will I find the joy that I seek in her? Or will I spend only a short time in her presence, only to move along and find another love?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        

I'm quite certain that some of you have, by now, correctly guessed that I'm not talking about a woman. The truth is, I'm falling in love with a place. I'm falling in love with a culture. I'm falling in love with a way of life. 

I'm falling in love with a country, and her name is Costa Rica. 

La Luna

Tonight I had the joy of playing a little fútbol in the yard with my new host family. At one point, I turned to reach the ball behind me and noticed my shadow on the grass. Mind you, it was well past sunset and we were in the yard between two houses. I was caught off guard until I looked around and up at the night sky. There, in all its beauty, hung the moon. Not just any moon, mind you; no, tonight we were treated to a full moon - "La Luna Llena," as they say here. I was awestruck by the light from the moon, and then I was caught up in the notion that, in fact, there was no light from the moon. It's very simply just a reflection.

The sun, sitting some 93 million miles from the surface of the moon, somehow illuminates one entire half of the moon, causing it to, in turn, brighten the night for us here on Earth. This phenomenon blows my mind every single time I ponder it, and tonight was no exception. I also considered how this applies to my own life.

I'm here in San Isidro de Aguas Claras to (hopefully) do great things, and I fully intend on dedicating my next two years to this endeavor; however, I am just one person. What I see unfolding in and around me is far less my own efforts and abilities, but rather the reflection of all the incredible people I've been blessed to meet and know in my lifetime. This post is, very simply put, meant to celebrate those people, and it's been a long time coming.

It starts, as always, with my family.

My mom, Diana, is just wonderful. Despite countless bouts with my stubborn, hard-headed manner, she and I are still as close as ever. She's been with me through virtually every difficult time in my life, and she's always been my biggest fan. I would not be the man I am today without her love, patience, and example. I miss her like crazy!

Momma!

My dad, Harry, is my guru, my go-to, and my sage. He's always got an answer for whatever issue with which I find myself wrestling. Ever since I was a kid, his nickname for me has been "Bud," and I've only recently come to realize that he is, in fact, one of my best friends. The amount of wisdom and guidance he's unconditionally offered me in my life is immeasurable. Without his help, I know in my heart I would not be here serving with the Peace Corps in Costa Rica.

Pops! (War Damn Eagle)

My big sister, Bree, is easily one of my favorite people to have ever existed. There's no way to fully describe the ridiculous nature of our brother-sister-ness; just trust me when I tell you it's a lot of fun being her little bro. She's been through a slough of junk in her lifetime, but you'd never know it to look at her. She's got a smile that would melt the coldest heart. The way she loves her son - my nephew, Aidan - gives me hope to know and understand how to be a parent if one day I'm blessed with children of my own.

Bwinney!

Then you've got all the people who've been crazy enough to call me their friend for a long, long time.

My oldest friend, Mr. Christopher Terrell, is as good as they come. When I was born into this world without a brother, I was offered a wonderful alternative in this guy. From the olden days of solving detective mysteries in the neighborhoods to more recent adventures such as our 3AM bonfire discussions of women, faith, and everything in between, my life wouldn't be complete without the brotherhood I've shared with this guy. His kindness and adoration for his fellow human being lead me to believe his influence on me will only serve to greatly improve my own experience here. That said, I can't wait to see him again, whenever that may be.

Hermanos siempre.

My boo, TC Bodiford. This freaking guy. Who knew when I met him at a recruiting event at my old college we'd be the pair of foolish buddies we are today? The list of inside jokes would stretch from Tijuana to Boston and back again a thousand times over. Recently wedded to his beautiful bride, he seems to be settling into life, but I'll never forget the days of yore when we traveled around the world and all the hilarious and heartfelt moments we shared therein. Truly, TC has left his unique mark on my life, and I'm grateful for his heart and his spirit.

Chowin' hard with my boo in Uganda

My bro from the younger days, Ryan DeLaune, has seen it all with me. From fishing illegally at Scenic Hills Golf Course to discovering the hard way what a tonsil is, we laughed and cried our way through adolescence together, and I'm thankful for the example he set and still sets for me. He's neck-deep in ministry alongside his wife Rachel, and they're blessed with a beautiful daughter, Emmaline. At times I can hear Ryan's fun-filled spirit echoing through my own laughter, and I think on what his own life has meant to mine.

Sipsey 2006 with Ryan!

My northern br'h, PJ Tiemeyer, the king of Extroversion. If you ever wanna see something funny, throw the two of us in a car and send us on a country-wide, week-long road trip. I have no idea how to even approach an accurate description of our friendship; all I know is that PJ often times represents everything I'm not, and I actually really dig that. We balance each other out. I'm single and living in a foreign country, while PJ is married with three kids and lives and works in the same city in which he was born. There are so many good things about both of our lives, and it's pure fun to heed the differences that exist between us. I feel like we both take a measure of joy from the contrary nature of each other's lives.

PJ and family, from my last visit up to Michigan!

My main squeeze, Saro Azizian, who really does kind of seem like me in an Armenian body. I do wish I could grow a beard like he can, though. Saro and I have been friends since around 2000, maybe a little longer, but what's important is his big-brother influence on my life. Countless times I've vented to him about some pithy issue I'm struggling with, and he always seems to start out with the same phrase: "Well, I'm not gonna tell you how to live your life, but..." and then comes the wise way in which I should live my life. During the days leading up to my departure for service, Saro carved out some time and made a special trip to visit me down in Pensacola, and he helped - perhaps more than he realize(d) - to set my heart at ease in the face of a two-year commitment to serve with the Peace Corps. I'm so happy to have him in my life.

Me, PJ, Saro the Dude, and Chris
enjoying some good ol' Krispy Kreme donuts

Then there are all of the people who I've met since this Peace Corps journey started. First there's Mr. Edwin Lugo, or Mr. Ed for short. If you'd asked me back in April of last year what kind of Spanish practice I would have before coming to Costa Rica, I would have probably told you I'll read a textbook or fiddle about with Duolingo or some other app a few times a week, at best. All that changed back in May of last year when I walked into Ed's office. I was only looking for some help with my current insurance policy. Little did I know I was about to meet one of the biggest sources of encouragement prior to my departure. It started innocently enough: after wrapping up my quick review of my policy, Ed cordially asked if there was anything else he could do to help me. Having detected his Latino accent (as if it was that hard to hear... Haha), I took a second or two to ponder what I wanted to say next. I sheepishly asked if he'd ever possibly consider helping me sharpen my Spanish skills. To my great surprise, he agreed, and we started meeting that same week. Every, single week we met after that, from May to the following February, with Ed faithfully showing up every time to sit with me an hour or two at a time and patiently suffer through my gringo misunderstanding of his native tongue. He was and is so much more than a Spanish tutor; he has become my friend. I know in the deepest part of my heart that his willingness to dedicate a huge part of his time to helping me has and will continue to permeate throughout this community. If you're reading this, Ed, thank you. You're incredible.

Stately, as always.

My Language/Culture Facilitators, don Armando and Elena, have most definitely played a massive role in my integration process into this beautiful country. Despite my introversion and shyness, they both succeeded, in their own ways, in pulling me out of my comfort zone with patience and understanding. They made Spanish make sense, and through my experience with my training community host family and what's transpired so far here in Aguas Claras, I can see how much of an influence they've both had on my language abilities. I'm super thankful for their efforts, de fijo.

Host sister and mom w/Armando!

Spanish class w/our teacher, Elena!

Speaking of my training community host family, I learned so much about Tico culture from Doña Elsa, her daughter/my host sister Melissa, and the rest of their wonderful family (Marvin, Raquel, Elena, Josue, Hansel, and Robert... whew.). Although I only got to spend three months with them, the impact they had on my life is and always will be a part of who I am. It blows my mind to consider how much change occurred in my heart and my mind over those twelve weeks in that house. We laughed, we cried, we danced, and we shared our lives with one another. I will visit them, and I will visit them often. They were and will forever be my first Tico family.

My training community host mom, Doña Elsa!

Then there's my CED program team, don Luis, Vinyela, and Evelyn. These guys. Oh man, where do I even start? From Vinyela's hilarious teaching antics to don Luis' vibrant morning greetings, these folks made our Tech classes a blast. I learned so much from them, not just about how CED works within the confines of Peace Corps, but also how it interlaces with life here in Costa Rica. Day in and day out, this team was vigilant in teaching our group the best known practices to not only work with the community but to become part of it, and I've already seen a lot of the lessons they shared with us play out into my new life here in Aguas Claras.

Shenanigans, I tell you.

Of course I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my own Peace Corps group, Tico 31. This group of complete strangers in February has rapidly become my family. From late night dance parties and frolicking on the beach in Manuel Antonio to sweating my soul away in Puerto Jiménez with my Tech-week buddies, the twelve weeks of training would have been nothing without this special crew. It's an absolute honor to be a part of this group, and, as I took part in the swearing-in ceremony on Wednesday, I was so proud of what we represent. As we parted ways the next day, I took account of all the incredible relationships I've been blessed to cultivate with so many from this group, and, while it's bittersweet to say goodbye, I know that we're all going on to so many great things. I can't wait to hear how everything unfolds for each of us.

Tico 31 CED!

There will undoubtedly be more people to add to this list as time marches on, but for now, these folks are the ones to whom I'd like to give thanks. Without your love, patience, guidance, wisdom, and joy, I would be lost in this place; however, because each of you has shared a little bit of yourself with me, I promise I'm going to try and reflect it in this community over these next two years.

Here's to shining bright.