I Found Home In a Third World Country
And finally said goodbye to a materialistic life.
I had it all. Almost. I mean, the big house in the posh neighbourhood I left a few years ago along with the unhappy relationship but aside from that, I had a pretty good job. I had a nice apartment. I had a great SUV that I loved, I had enough jewelry to open up my own store. Coats and purses, shoes and boots. I had lots, I had everything.
So you’re probably wondering why I left. Sounds like I had a sweet life.
The materialistic life was a colourful one. It was beautiful. Nice things to show off. Big house to entertain in (with my ex). Super SUV to get around the town in to get back and forth to a job that I hated to buy things I didn’t need to put in my nice apartment (after the ex)that was too expensive for its own good. Only to realize at the end of the month, I had more bills than I had money.
Damn, fucked up again. Was I ever gonna get the budget thing figured out? Not likely. Not as long as I continued to live this materialistic life, that’s for sure.
There has to be a better life than this.
And there was. I found it in the spring of 2015 when I ventured off on a volunteer mission to Costa Rica for 3 weeks. It had been 1 year since I left my relationship and I was finally starting to do things I’ve always wanted to do. Things that I never could. It was time. It was time to discover this life of mine and this world, to see what all it had to offer me.
There had to be something better than this shit hole town in Northern Ontario where it snowed for too fucking long and was cold and expensive and SO unprogressive. There had to be something better and I was determined to find it. And I did. And off I went to a third world country.
I found something amazing in a tiny poor town in Costa Rica. A town where everyone smiled, no matter what. A town where people really were just happy to have a roof over their head, a shoddy one at that time but at least it existed, some food on the table and family to love them and laugh with at the dinner table. I saw happy people and smiley faces without jewelry and cars and fancy homes.
This was foreign to me. How can this be?
Three weeks in and I got it. I finally fucking got it.
There’s no place like home.
Nope, there’s no place like home, if you know where home is and the purpose it is supposed to serve. I didn’t know where home was but I was willing to go find it. I knew it wasn’t Sudbury. It was comfortable but that doesn’t always mean home. It just means you are here, you live here, it’s well known, it’s safe and this is where you stay.
It was time to bolt, and really find home. Where does my heart want to go? What’s calling me? Where do I belong?
I desperately longed to find a place and call it home.
I desperately wanted to belong somewhere. A place where my heart was happy.
I just wanted to be “home”.
Everyone goes on and on about home and here I was at 52 years old still with no “home” to call my own.
And for my next trick….off to third world countries!
Upon returning back to Sudbury from Costa Rica it was clear to me what I had to do. It was time to get rid of all my shit, ALL my shit and head back down to Central America. I wanted to be happy like all these people were. I wanted that sweet simple easy life. The simple life where everyone was just happy to be alive. Smiling, loving and simple. I totally understood it now.
I got rid of all my shit and started my online search. Where was I going this time? And how was I going to pull it off? I knew right then and there, the next place I went to, wasn’t going to be for 3 weeks. I was gonna be there for the long haul. I knew it and felt it in my heart of hearts. It was time to go. I didn’t know where or when or how, but I knew it was going to happen.
And it did. I called out to the universe and the universe answered back in colour. The universe found a home for me and I was more than willing and raring to head there. As fast as I could.
Honey, I’m home!
October 2, 2015 I plopped my bags down in Panajachel, Guatemala. I was unsure. It was poor, stinky, dirty, hot, loud and busy. I had two suitcases. 53 years of my life was stuffed into 2 bags. I was happy. Scared, but happy.
And so my life began. As the days unfolded, it dawned on me. It was very clear to me. As I walked down the streets lined with vendors, old ladies smiling, kids playing, young men selling jewelry (no thanx, none for me). The sites, the sounds, the smells (yes even the dog shit). The energy was alive and beautiful. So beautiful.
I was home, in a third world country. With nothing but two suitcases. My heart was full. So full.
Por favor, una margarita?
Peace and Love
xo iva xo