Project Koru-Costa Rica Part 2

As a reminder I am raising funds for Project Koru this Pink-tober. Please head over to my fundraising page
https://projectkoru.rallyup.com/d7c331/m/pearl/Member/Details and donate.
Help me reach my goal and send others like me to camp! Also if you have not read part one of this post it’s the blog post under this one. This is all referencing my time in Costa Rica with Project Koru last year, November 2023.

I had uneventful flights to Costa Rica. All of the campers had been connected on a WhatsApp group chat and were sharing their flight updates. We were instructed to meet at an outdoor lounge at the airport. I remember thinking to myself, ”What airport has an outdoor lounge? Couldn’t somebody just send me the name of it?”

After exiting my first ever trip through customs I found the cafe, where a few fellow campers were already, but with nobody in charge around. We all started hesitantly talking about ourselves. Typical small talk about how our flights went, who was from where. What we thought the week would be like. I tried to hold back a little bit—I didn’t want to have these people dislike me. 

We got picked up and headed on the hour-long trip to the house we’d be staying at for the week. The people in charge rushed to try and get us to the beach to see the last moment of sunset. I forgot that the sun would set so early this close to the equator. Then a little bit to unwind/unpack and meet our roommates before we headed into dinner. 

At first I was frustrated. Why wouldn’t they just give me an itinerary and break down what we were doing each moment of every single day? Who exactly are these people running this and do they even have any idea what the heck is going on? Is there really a plan in place or is this just some weird cult I’ve stumbled upon? I struggled to let go and trust. Why should I trust anyone or anything after everything I’ve been through, and kept going through. I made it to Costa Rica, but now what?

I headed into our first day of surfing on Monday morning, convinced I’d be the first up on a wave. I had trained with a personal trainer back in landlocked Nebraska. I knew what I was doing. I even had a fancy wetsuit from SHEIN to prove it. When the surf instructors told me the exact opposite of the personal trainer from Nebraska, I was perplexed. In Nebraska, I had been told to hop up fast! In Costa Rica, I was told to slow down, get my feet under me, and always look forward to where I wanted the board to go.

I fought the instructions the Costa Rican surf instructors gave me with every being in my body. I angrily pushed the surfboard into the water, convinced I knew better. While continually falling back into the arms of the pacific ocean’s waves, I thought to myself, “If they would just let me do this myself, I’d be fine!” and “If they would just give me a smaller board, I’d be able to do this.” But continuously, I fell back into the ocean while my peers were seemingly getting up easily. 

After barely catching one wave and being exhausted from fighting the instructions given, I called it a day. I cheerfully told my peers that I had a great final wave. “I stood up! Better stop while I’m ahead!!” I lied to both them and myself, convinced I was just struggling after a full day of travel the day before. 

Our second day in Costa Rica was spent completing one of many secret traditions Project Koru has. Again, we weren’t told where we were going or what we were doing. Thoughts of doubt and worry swirled in my ever-running mind. “How will I know how much energy to conserve if I don’t even know what we’re doing,” I thought while on the long bumpy ride to our destination. 

Once we pulled into our secret destination, I let out an exuberant “REALLY?!?! Is this what we’re doing?” Our camp leader Vi said yes while I let out a squeal of delight. Maybe if I just let go and allow these seasoned cancer survivors to show me the way I’d have more fun. 

On our third day in Costa Rica, we had our second surfing lesson. This time the instructors brought me an even bigger board! “What in the freaking heck!” I thought at first. How in the world am I going to accomplish this? But then I remembered that little voice from the day before: “let go and trust.” I hesitantly went out into the ocean.

 “Get on. Get on!” one of the instructors said to me as he grabbed the front of the board, turning it to face the shore while I climbed on.

 “Come back, come back.” He said, his way of telling me to move back on the board.

 “Okay, now you stand and look forward!!!!!” He yelled as he pushed me into the wave. 

This time I listened and actually stood up! It was for a brief moment in time, but I stood up before falling in. I actually stood! “I could maybe do this!” I thought to myself.

Quickly, while blowing snot and salt water out of my nose, I headed back out. I pushed the back of the board down into the wave so the front could propel over the incoming wave that wasn’t meant for me and towards my instructor. Another step towards trusting. 

Again and quickly my instructor grabbed the board, turning it towards the shore, this time saying “You have to look forward. Board goes where your head goes. Now up, up, up!” I was unsure if he meant get up onto the board, look up while surfing, or both. 

This wave, I stood even longer! I was able to do it! I took that wave all the way into the shore, before I had to fall off back into the ocean off the board. “How is this even possible!?!” I thought to myself. I took a moment to soak it in before heading back out to my instructor once again. 

“Nice wave!” He exclaimed while grabbing the board to point it towards shore. “Feels good, no?” He asked, while I laid out on the board, proud of myself after receiving this external validation. While he pushed me off, I got too proud and stuck in my head, I didn’t look up and fell once again into the ocean before standing.

Resurfacing and frustrated, I heard him yell “you try again!” while motioning with his hands to come back out towards him. I was exhausted and water logged. “Look up. You have to look up,” he said, shaking his head while I got back onto the board. 

This time I looked up. I kept my head up. I stayed present. And I did it. I really did it. And then I kept doing it. Time and time again, I kept going back out, letting go, listening, and standing up. Riding the wave into the beach. A sense of ease and peace came over me. I became one of those cancer survivors I was so envious of way back in 2022. A land-locked, chill, surfer folk. 

On our final day in Costa Rica, the waves weren’t as good, but I was full of zen. I had learned to embody the surfer folk Costa Rica pure bliss pura vida vibe. I was calm. I was cool. I was collected and rested. Just be here, just be present in this moment. I still had so many doubts about my future in front of me, but it didn’t matter as much. I had made it to Costa Rica. 

As waves were slowly coming, I paddled out to my old friend the surf instructor and waited. I was still a bit anxious though. I wanted a good wave to ride. I had tried a few times that morning to get up without help. This was to be my last waves in Costa Rica for the foreseeable future. I wanted to get as many as I could. 

Once I reached my instructor, there was another lull in the waves. All of my old frustrations started to come back over me. I wanted things to be a certain way. I wanted my answers right now. I think he sensed it. He said his old “up up,” but then added to it “now wait” he said as he held up both hands in a stop motion. 

I looked at him puzzled—universal look that crossed our language barrier. He understood and saw it all. He looked directly at me and said “For you…we wait for a good wave.” I looked at him and gave a half nod, not fully understanding the life lesson he was trying to teach me. He said it again, with a calmer, softer voice and understanding. He saw through me, into my soul, he said again, “For you we wait for a good wave.” And then he (and the sea) let me sit with that thought for a few minutes. In the silence of a calm pacific ocean, things started to make sense. My life, in that moment, came into focus. 

For so long I had been fighting with the sea and world around me. I kept trying to take waves that were not meant for me. They were too small, nobody could ride them. Some were too tall. Some too fierce, required skills I didn’t possess. I needed to wait for my wave. I needed to watch, to listen, to feel out the ocean and trust it to provide, before trying to stand on a wave that wasn’t meant for me.

In Costa Rica, on that last day surfing, I realized I had been fighting with the world back home. Trying to stand on waves that were not meant for me. I wasn’t waiting for my opportunity to arise. I needed to slow down and observe the world around me. Sometimes it’s okay to wait. We’re meant to wait, so we can make those life realizations in the middle of the pacific ocean or in the middle of a corn field in land locked Nebraska. Waiting allows us time to process our feelings, heal when we need to, and relearn our bodies. Waiting allows the world to come into focus, really feel out the opportunities presented, and find our own waves. Being in Costa Rica made me realize I needed to slow down. I needed to take time to heal before I headed off to my next adventure, an adventure that was all about listening and seeing, a life of being a nomad.