Welcome back, friends!
Back where? you ask, confused. You didn’t go anywhere. I went somewhere.
You know, for a person who generally doesn’t like going out, meeting new people, trying adventure sports without an ambulance and a stretcher waiting nearby, spending money, or getting out of my comfort bubble, sometimes I really surprise myself. And then regret it a little.
On Sunday, March 16th, I woke up at 3:30 AM, drove two hours to the airport, hopped on a plane to Costa Rica, took a puddle jumper from San Jose to Tambor, rode in a taxi for an hour, and arrived at my destination: a women’s surf and yoga retreat in Santa Teresa.
And I went by myself. Let’s all do a little victory dance about that, shall we? First of all, I managed to wake up at three in the morning, because that’s disgusting and who does that? Oh, this girl. Secondly, I put my faith in people I had never met, and we all know that people are idiots. Thirdly–and this is probably most important–I tried a sport I had previously sworn I would never try because I used to be terrified of ghost sharks for crying out loud, and I would be setting myself up to look like a fat seal for some actual goddamned sharks.
Surprisingly, I didn’t see a single fin following me. No teeth devoured a chunk of my leg or my board. I didn’t even see one dolphin, for chrissakes and dolphins are my favorite goddamned animal. I saw one fish off of our beach, and I think a romping doberman swallowed it hole.
So, as usual, my crazy fears were a bit unfounded. Though I will always be afraid of sharks when I surf, at least I know to punch them in the face, or, if they’re tiny, to grab them by their nose and turn them upside down, whereupon they promptly fall asleep. (I am nothing if not a wealth of disaster preparedness.)
But that’s when something you should be afraid of sneaks up and forcefully pulls your pants down in front of that cute guy you like (or is that just me?).
Towards the tail end of my trip (I really hope you’re picking up on all the clues I’m putting down), I became closely acquainted with Pépe, an outdoorsy chap. He is a close friend of another really great friend of mine, Frank.
Yes, friends. I had another close encounter of the bathroom kind. Or several of them. Pépe and I became intimate in a way that I had only ever done with one other Porcelain King.
See, I contracted some kind of super-powerful stomach parasite that decided that I didn’t need food to survive, and gut punches are perfectly adequate means of saying I love you. That’s kind of what I imagine pregnancy will be like.
I returned home and became reacquainted with a much older john, one that I lovingly refer to as PeePaw. He doesn’t work as well as the other johns I’ve known over the years, but he tries hard. Ugh, God, that’s disgusting. I’m so sorry for that.
Now I’m on some heavy-duty antibiotic and if I’m not better by tomorrow…well, let’s just say I’ll probably be on a heavier-duty antibiotic, and maybe I’ll invest my money into a company that supplies adult diapers. Hopefully they make some cheekini ones. A girl can dream, right?
The point is, sometimes you have to live big without being afraid of everything. Sometimes you have to fly by yourself, go on a trip by yourself, meet some great people, eat some contaminated food, and shit your brains out for a week. Don’t worry that it might happen, because that will prevent you from having the kind of adventure you should have. Know that it will happen, and steel yourself (and your intestines) for some whole new experiences.