The Places That Raise Us

As I sit at my desk this morning, I’m finding it difficult to focus on the task at hand. My mind is still wandering back to the Osa Peninsula and the wonderful week we spent at Playa Cativo Lodge.

Each morning began with the call of the jungle announcing the arrival of a new day. The distant sound of waves rolling onto the shore. Rain falling on oversized tropical leaves. Life there seemed to follow its own rhythm, one shaped not by schedules and obligations, but by the natural world itself. It was a place that gently reminded you that sometimes we must bend to the elements that shape the world around us rather than expecting the world to bend to our needs.

Travel and activities were dictated by the climate and the tides. Buildings were open to the air, designed for the environment rather than sealed off from it. Meals changed daily depending on what was harvested from the garden or brought in from the Golfo Dulce. There was little man-made noise and few pressing obligations. At night, crickets and frogs provided the soundtrack while rain danced softly on the roof.

It’s funny, because in this environment, time becomes irrelevant. Nature is your biggest distraction. I noticed that my cellphone became nothing more than a glorified clock. My computer sat untouched for days. The absence of a continuous news cycle was refreshing. My muscles relaxed, my shoulders dropped, and the tension faded with each hike through the lush tropical jungle.

The conversations lasted longer and grew deeper. The connection to everything felt stronger. I was living as part of nature, not outside of it.

Where I grew up in rural Florida, life was much the same way. We lived with the seasons, and nature often dictated our routines. Afternoon thunderstorms were a welcome break from disking the fields. Family, friends, and community occupied the center of our lives. Birthdays, anniversaries, and dinner on the grounds after church were the events of the day. Mama’s homemade birthday cake. Grandma’s stories around the dinner table. The presence of friends, family, and neighbors were the presents.

Over time, development arrived, and little by little that natural rhythm began to fade. First, an orange grove turned into a subdivision. Then a strawberry field became a strip center. The dairy became a mall. One piece of progress at a time, an entire way of life—an ecosystem—disappeared, without anyone fully realizing what the future would reveal. Progress brought prosperity, but something valuable was lost along the way.

Perhaps that’s what first attracted me to Costa Rica and Atenas. When I visited, it felt familiar in a way I couldn’t quite explain. It reminded me of a simpler time and place that had become little more than a memory. Without realizing it fully, I wasn’t looking for something new, but rather looking to reconnect with a life that felt more natural to me.