Issue #40: Where to Put One’s Feet by Jeff Benson
by Jeff Benson
I just returned from the Machuca Valley. It was my fifth trip, and with each visit, the area feels more vibrant than the last. To wit, I stepped out my front door for a walk, and by the time I returned, my social calendar was full. I scored a spot in varsity volleyball, made dinner plans, and—fitting this place’s transient nature—was invited to a going-away party for James.
James and his family first started coming here around the same time mine did. But whereas my visits to the Machuca started tentatively and have only become more substantial over time, James and company had an initial instinct to make a real go of it here.
We mourned James’s imminent departure while celebrating the man himself by eating lots of meat (no points for guessing who hosted) and watching a documentary on Filipino kali boxing starring James, Zach, and Anton’s black eye. And then the toasts began.
I rarely find toasts interesting, but one stood out to me. A guest recalled being warned upon coming to Costa Rica that there were snakes and insects everywhere. A new danger with each footstep. Then he saw James walking shoeless no matter the terrain, never bitten or injured because he was confident and present with each step. Here was a man who knew in each moment where to put his feet.
I do not know where to put my feet.
I get anxious each time I meet a newer community member and am asked to explain my relationship to this place and, specifically, where I live. The answer: here, there, nowhere, everywhere. Meanwhile, the friends I have made in Costa Rica can only guess as to whether I will ever settle into the life being constructed for me.
Like many others, I feel stuck in a limbo of my own making. I straddle here and someplace else as I try to untangle the complications presented by money and work, kids and school, friends and family. I am keeping my options open—tiptoeing around a decision so that I don’t have to put my feet down in the grass where it’s dangerous.
But there’s a danger in that, too, of course.
The other day, I was talking with a friend I’ve only just met, and I found myself giving excuses for why I don’t live here full-time. I mentioned my daughter. She loves her school in the States, hates the spiders and scorpions here, and devolves into tears upon hearing the dreaded words “Costa Rica.” I’m reluctant to pull her away from her home so that she can be part of my dream. Maybe, I think, we’ll split the difference—and share time between there and here. Or maybe we’ll do full-time. Or maybe it will be just a nice place to visit once in a while.
But this new friend told me a story about facing a similar resistance with his own daughter. His family had spent a few years living out of suitcases before discovering Costa Rica; when they landed here, he recognized it as home. His daughter, meanwhile, began to miss the “home” they had left and spent long periods FaceTiming with friends abroad. But once his family made the decision to be here, she did too. She let her past life float away, and she embraced the new one.
Hearing this, I realized that my daughter can’t put her feet down here—or anywhere—until I do. She’s on tiptoes.
Coming to this realization doesn’t mean we’ll ultimately stay in Costa Rica. We may ultimately choose to balance like Jamie and Ange do. Or we might go all in. Or just visit. All choices are valid as long as you, well, choose; we can’t be in the present if we are floating in indecisiveness. We will get to the future not by straddling the past, but by being mindful in each present moment of where we choose to put our feet.
Epilogue
I wrote this piece the morning after James’ celebration. Later that weekend, James shared a message that ended with a quote from a book called The Hagakure, which explains the samurai philosophy:
...a person can go anywhere he likes by means of simple cerebration. Intuition based on sincerity and moral guidance leads one back to the bedrock. It has nothing to say about either time or profit, nor does it advocate wasting time with vague contemplations of the Void. One lives in the world and reacts to things around him. The question is where one plants his feet.
About Author: Jeff is an off-and-on LEV resident who spends much of the year in Reno. When he’s not dipping his sandals in the Machuca or Truckee rivers, he writes about crypto, film, sports, business, and (occasionally) where to get good marmalade in Northern Nevada. You can subscribe to his movie blog at Big Film Energy.
Awesome piece.