In Part 1, talked about MOG antibody disease, Harry Potter smut, and why being yourself is the only filter that matters.

Part 2 is where it where the reinvention gets complicated — the book deal she wants badly, the gurus she’s done with, and what it actually costs to start from zero when you’ve already done it before.

Highlights

Wanting something badly doesn’t make it easy.

Sophia doesn’t pretend the path has been clean.

“I want a book deal so badly. I run into that conflict every single day, every word I write.”

She’s on her seventh novel. She has an agent. A Reese’s Book Club fellowship. Her last query had a 100% request rate. By every measurable standard, she’s at the top of her game.

And she still doesn’t have the deal.

So she asks herself three questions every time: Is it timing? Is it the market? Or do I suck?

She can only control one of those three. So that’s where she puts her energy.

Selling herself was easy, staying not so much.

Sophia can sell. That’s not in question.

She got a diversity scholarship to a counseling psych program. Left. Got a full ride to journalism school in New York. Left that too — after getting so sick from carrying 50-pound cameras as a 5’2” woman with no help that she coughed up blood.

What she took from all of it wasn’t failure. It was proof of concept.

She founded Wise Child Admissions Coaching, got kids into Ivy League schools early, landed a client a $100K scholarship. All because she knew how to get in the room.

“Huge part of traditional publishing — and self-publishing in a different way — is selling. And boy can I sell, baby.”

But she also learned something the pitch workshops don’t tell you.

Getting in the room doesn’t mean they’ll let you stay.

“People over-focus on selling because that’s easy to sell. Pitch workshops. But once you get that foot in the door, it doesn’t mean they’ll allow you to stay in the room.”

“Follow your bliss” is advice from people who can already pay their bills.

Sophia spent thousands on life coaches and guru programs that told her to redefine success.

“Stay away from that whole redefine success thing until you’re actually making money. And then you can start spouting that BS.”

She’s not abstract about it. She has infusion treatments every four weeks. Real bills. Real stakes.

“Only the top people making six figures off their Substack paid subscribers are going ‘follow your bliss, redefine success, stay in your own lane.’ I just want to be like: shut up.”

And the gendered version of it bothers her just as much. Gary Vee drops F-bombs and gives it to you straight. The woo-woo female version wraps the same advice in soft new age language and sells it to women at a premium.

Her actual advice: get your Maslow’s hierarchy first. Then talk about bliss.

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The algorithm is a fickle beast.

Sophia came back to Substack after six years off social media because publishers wanted to see a platform. Not because she wanted to be there.

“I would love to go back to the writing cave — ignore my best friends for a week — but I don’t feel like I can do that anymore.”

She has 15 days to three weeks before she drops out of the Apple and YouTube algorithms. The pressure is real and it pulls directly against the deep uninterrupted writing she does best.

She’s not pretending that tension doesn’t exist. She’s just living inside it and figuring it out in real time.

That’s what reinvention actually looks like from the inside.

Starting from zero is hard even when you’ve done it before.

Sophia has reinvented herself enough times to have a method. She calls it scorched earth: new website, new branding, new taglines, clean slate.

“I need that tabula rasa.”

She had a list of 500 to 600 people from a previous life in new-age astrology and life coaching. Lost it while she was blind and in a wheelchair. And then her ESP shut down her account.

“Constantly feeling like I’m Sisyphus and I’m back at the bottom of the hill pushing that damn boulder up all over again.”

She’s not sure scorched earth is the right method. But half-starts don’t work for her. She needs the blank slate before she can build.

Don’t blame yourself for starting over from scratch. That’s just how some people work.

Your darkest feelings are pointing at something.

Sophia doesn’t care about being positive. She wants you to be honest.

“Bitterness and spite and jealousy have been huge motivators for me. Just being so frustrated at my circumstances and then writing my way through that has fueled some of the most honest writing.”

Your darkest feelings are pointing at something.

“If you can radically accept all of yourself and all of your feelings, then you can accept all of your character’s feelings. And that will make you a stronger writer.”

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Closing Reflection

Sophia Chang is proof that rock bottom is just a starting point. Aerial acrobat. Wheelchair. Harry Potter smut. Reese’s Book Club fellow.

She’s still aspiring for superstar status. Getting there had nothing to do with being palatable. It had everything to do with refusing to stop.

Got a reinvention story of your own? Leave it in the comments.

Thank you Tomesha Campbell, Steena Hernandez, Meli’s World: Songs & Sketches, and many others for tuning into my live video with Sophia Chang!

Standout Reinventions is where I document what starting over actually looks like from my move to Costa Rica, to the memoir I’m writing about it, and the conversations with creatives who’ve reinvented themselves too.

wanted to be the most famous person on earth since she was three years old.

She became an aerial acrobat, a working actor, and one of the world’s first iPod silhouettes.

Then MOG antibody disease started firing lesions through her central nervous system. Her vision whited out. Her legs gave out. And somewhere in the middle of all that, she started writing Harry Potter fan fiction.

Sophia definitely lives up to her title of reinventor: she’s a Reese’s Book Club Lit Up Fellow, podcast host, and self-described purveyor of Books, Biceps, and no BS.

In this chat she talks about what real reinvention looks like when it isn’t a choice. When it’s just what you do to survive.

Highlights

Reinvention is a survival mechanism.

Sophia doesn’t romanticize the pivot.

“Reinvention isn’t any of this for me. For me, it has always been forced change. A lot of us are forced into reinventing ourselves by circumstance.”

Before the disease she was a certified pole fitness instructor, a screen actor, and an aerial acrobat.

Then her vision started whiting out, a little more each day, until it was gone. Then came the wheelchair and the question nobody wants to answer: is this my life now?

For Sophia, rock bottom was just the starting line.

Smutty Harry Potter fan fiction led to a Reese’s Book Club fellowship.

When her eyesight started coming back, Sophia didn’t reach for literary fiction. She wrote spicy fan fiction because it was the only writing that felt freeing.

The Harry Potter angle started when she realized there were no Asian characters other than Cho Chang. So she created another Chang and built out the lore from scratch.

Eventually the story drifted so far from the source material that she realized she was writing her own novel.

“I created so much original stuff that I realized this is no longer fan fiction. I’m writing my own.”

That manuscript beat out over 800 applicants for the Reese’s Book Club fellowship.

Being yourself attracts the right people.

After six years completely off social media, Sophia came back to Substack.

When new subscribers arrived from a summit presentation, she tried catering to them. She answered every question and adjusted her tone.

They still unsubscribed.

“If I’m going to get unsubscribers, I would rather go down in flames. I would rather lose them because I was myself unapologetically.”

She decided if someone can’t handle one honest episode, they’re not going to buy her book anyway. So she leaned into her full self.

Thank you , , , and many others for tuning into my live video with !

It’s never too late to get started.

Stop judging yourself for not being good enough. Not brave enough. Not talented enough.

Good enough for what? Are you sitting at a negotiating table at the UN making decisions that could change the trajectory of the whole world?

No? Then you’re good enough to bring your creative project to life.

Just get started.

Brave enough for what? Are you flying into space detailing your travels around the moon?

No? Then you’re brave enough to do the thing you’re scared of.

Just get started.

Talented enough for what? Are you performing in front of millions of people on the world stage?

No? Then you’re talented enough to build that thing you’re dreaming of.

If you are negotiating at the UN, flying off into space, or performing in front of millions of people, I applaud you. Also, why are you sitting around reading this? Go change the world.

If you aren’t, stop letting your fears and doubts get the best of you.

Just get started.

A small audience means no one is around to watch you fumble and fail.

A decent audience means you have people cheering for you to succeed.

A big audience means you can enroll others in making your dreams come true

Audience size doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is knowing you can reinvent yourself wherever you are.

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That’s why I started Standout Reinventions.

A year ago, my wife and I left behind everything we owned in Florida except for five suitcases, two carry-ons, and our dog Pookie, and moved to Costa Rica.

It wasn’t a perfectly planned pivot. It was a messy and terrifying leap, and one of the best decisions we’ve ever made.

This move changed how I think about life. We are not bound by our circumstances. We can reinvent ourselves at any stage of life.

We reinvented ourselves to fulfill our creative dreams when we moved to Costa Rica and I want to show others you can reinvent yourself too.

This series is where I am documenting that. The move. The lessons. The mindset shifts. And eventually I’ll share the full story as a memoir.

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What you’ll find in Standout Reinventions:

The series already documents much of our journey: what it looks like to leave what’s familiar, build something new, and figure out who you are on the other side.

But there are other pieces I left out of the journey like why we really wanted to leave and what circumstances led me to this pivotal moment.

That’s why I wanted to write a memoir.

This series will also feature others who have reinvented themselves. Because this isn’t just my story. It’s a story of how anyone can reinvent themselves.

If you’ve made a bold change: a move, a career shift, a creative leap, and you think your story could inspire others, I’d love to hear from you.

I am incredibly grateful to share my reinvention with you. Hopefully it will inspire you to change your own life too.

On Valentine’s Day of 2025, Anita and I made the boldest decision of our lives. Every great journey starts with a single decision, and on that night we decided to sell our house, and almost everything we owned, to become immigrants in Costa Rica.

We uprooted everything and began a journey that has reshaped our lives in ways we never imagined.

We’ve traded the comfort of familiarity for the thrill of discovery: diving into adventures that challenge us, and lessons we’ll carry for a lifetime. Through this process, I’ve learned so much about creativity, rest, and the delicate rhythms that make life beautiful.

Now, we find ourselves planting the seeds of new dreams. Like this journey, these creative pursuits will grow, transform, and evolve alongside us in our new home. To understand why this move mattered so much creatively, I need to rewind a bit.

Ten years ago I launched my original podcast, Cracking Creativity. I was also helping artists market their work, and I wrote a book on how to be creative.

For four years, I gave everything I had to build a creative business. But when my course launch failed, I walked away from it all.

I’m not saying all this for sympathy. I’m saying this because oftentimes things don’t go as planned. But it’s what you do afterwards that really matters.

Burnout hit me hard. I felt lost in a fog, unsure of how to move forward or rekindle the creative fire that once fueled me.

But by November of last year, I felt a flicker return. I decided to try my hand at building a creatively focused business again. Long before we moved, I knew I wanted to plant new seeds — ideas that could grow into something meaningful.

I was back in the groove and rediscovering my spark as a creative connector when the move disrupted everything. Once again, I hit pause on my projects, and uncertainty crept in. Would the connections I’d built still be there when I returned? Would anyone care?

At first, this fear consumed me, but then clarity took hold. I realized the journey itself was my story. I needed to write about this experience, about the challenges and triumphs of uprooting our lives and beginning again.

The months following our move felt like a constant state of transition. Every day brought new adjustments, and for a while, I struggled with guilt about not adapting quickly enough.

Why wasn’t I working on my podcast?
What happened to hosting Creativity Parties?
Are you going to publish to Substack?

All of that took a backseat for a few reasons.

1. I knew I needed to write about my experience and share it with the world.

2. I was in a brand new city where the only people we knew were our lawyer and real estate agent.

3. There is so much to explore and do around the city.

4. I am not fluent in Spanish so even every day conversations take a mental toll.

But over time, I realized that the best thing I could do was slow down. I needed to embrace life’s new rhythms with patience instead of shame.

Our Moving Journey

Writing this series has become one of my most fulfilling creative undertakings. It’s given me the space to reflect on what it means to uproot your life, to leave behind everything familiar, and grow roots in an entirely new environment.

Writing about this journey is not only a record of memories but also an exploration of resilience. Through it all, I’ve learned to trust the messy, imperfect process of becoming. And I’ve found peace in knowing that home isn’t just a place. It’s something you create.

Making New Connections

When we first arrived in Costa Rica, Nacho and Lorena were our lifeline. They guided us through every hurdle, from finding a place to live to navigating endless stacks of paperwork. Without their help, the transition would have felt insurmountable.

But once the dust settled, they were no longer part of our everyday lives. That means we needed to make new connections, something that’s never easy in a foreign country and unfamiliar community.

This is where Pookie helped open doors for us. In October, Anita posted in the community chat about Pookie’s 11th birthday party, and the response was both surprising and heartwarming. Eight adults and five dogs showed up to celebrate his birthday. There were unforgettable moments: Pookie trivia, human and dog treats (including a piñata for the pups!), and two cakes. It turned into a joyful gathering that allowed us to meet our neighbors and find some canine friends for Pookie.

Outside of our complex, I’ve also connected with Ticos, an affectionate name for local Costa Ricans, through a language exchange group chat. We’ve met in person a couple of times, and I regularly hop online to practice with one of them. Switching between Spanish and English has allowed all of us to improve in our new languages.

Anita and I hope to meet even more new people through volunteering next year. It’s a chance for her to meet new people, and for me to immerse myself in the local culture and improve my Spanish. Connections take time, but little by little, we’re finding our place in this community.

Exploring Costa Rica

Moving to a new city always comes with opportunities for exploration, but moving to a new country opens the door to truly unique adventures.

Costa Rica has already surprised and delighted us in countless ways.

Avenida 10, our favorite grocery store, always keeps us guessing with its unexpected finds and unique atmosphere.
Oxigeno feels like stepping into the future, with its sleek design and innovative spaces.
And Barrio Chino is an unbeatable spot for mouthwatering food and browsing all kinds of cheap wares.

San Jose also comes alive through cultural events that showcase its vibrant spirit.

At the African Cultural Festival, we celebrated the heritage that ties the country to its African roots.

Costa Rican Independence brought a torrential rain and the streets flooded with people full of pride.

And Festival de La Luz sparkled with holiday joy with its brightly illuminated floats, enchanting music, and a sense of community.

Beyond these celebrations, it’s the small moments that make this new life feel more grounded: catching a show at a local theater, viewing art at the nearby museum, strolling through La Sabana park. These quiet experiences help us feel like true locals.

Orlando was familiar and predictable, while Costa Rica surprises us every day. They remind us how curiosity and exploration are keys to a fulfilling life. I hope this sense of wonder continues to intertwine with our creative journey here.

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Navigating Spanish

By nature, I am deeply introverted. When I was a kid talking to strangers felt terrifying. I dreaded restaurants because interacting with waitstaff filled me with anxiety. Even making friends felt insurmountable. The world seemed overwhelming, and for a long time, I kept my distance.

Over the years, I’ve worked hard to step out of my shell. Improv classes taught me to embrace uncertainty. Joining a fraternity connected me to a supportive community. Hosting online events helped me find my voice in new ways.

But moving to Costa Rica, where I don’t speak the language fluently, has tested that confidence all over again. Communication feels daunting, and often I find myself retreating to old habits of silence.

Thankfully, Spanish is becoming less of a stranger each day. Through apps like Duolingo, Airlearn, and Unedo, I’ve kept up streaks that help reinforce my vocabulary.

Watching shows and singing karaoke with Anita makes learning fun. Slowly but surely, I’m at the point where I can understand a lot. Mastering conversations still feels far off, but with each small step, I’m building up my confidence again.

These challenges aren’t obstacles to my creativity. They’re necessary pauses that allow me to grow and adapt.

Before the move, I hit pause on my creative projects — not out of desire, but necessity. Our days were filled with packing tape, endless paperwork, and bittersweet goodbyes. That frenetic energy followed us across borders: new schedules, unfamiliar streets, and the daunting task of calling a foreign place home.

But when the dust settled, a quieter urgency emerged. I felt an aching hunger for creativity. Unlike before, though, I wasn’t trying to fill a void. I became intentional, asking myself not just what I wanted to create, but how collaboration could bring greater meaning to the work.

So I started planting seeds. Small ones at first. I brought back my Substack to write about this journey. Restarted my podcast with less polish and more heart. But the projects that surprised me most were the collaborative ones, the ones where I got to watch something bigger than myself take shape.

I organized submissions for the Global Zine Project, watching artists I’d never met weave their work into a beautiful compilation.

Marc, Nikki, and I hosted a Creativity Summit where the goal was actual connection instead of lectures or presentations. Marc and I also hosted a Book Summit to finish off the year.

And then there’s Standout Authors Unbound, where I get to spotlight writers from underrepresented communities. That one’s been quietly meaningful. I think helping other people tell their stories has helped me understand my own.

What might seem like a mountain of projects fits seamlessly into the steady rhythm I’ve found here. In Costa Rica, I’ve learned to listen to life’s natural tempo: to work when inspired, rest when needed, and know that creativity flourishes in both.

These projects are just the first seeds of what I hope will become an ever growing creative garden.

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Through this process, Anita and I have discovered so much about our creativity, and even more about ourselves. The most profound lesson we’ve learned is to trust in ourselves and in each other.

We’ve stopped trying to control every outcome, especially the ones beyond our reach. Plans don’t always unfold the way we plan. So the best thing we can do is trust in our ability to adapt, adjust, and flow with whatever comes our way.

Anita discovered this by becoming her own boss. She built a video/podcast editing business from scratch. And little by little, she went from not knowing where her next gig would come in the beginning of the year to being fully booked by the end of the year.

I’ve stopped fixating on the question of whether my projects will succeed or fail. It no longer holds the same weight. Instead, I pour my energy into what sparks curiosity and joy. Months ago I would have felt disappointed in the fact that we only had 8 attendees to our Book Summit, but now I recognize having such a small group allowed us to create a more intimate and personal experience.

Some things will turn out beautifully, others will fall apart. But embracing both rest and creation has showed me how to balance my life and my work. Giving up the need for control has allowed my creativity to flow freely for the first time in years.

One of the projects I’m most excited about is the anthology of stories inspired by moments that changed us. It’s a natural extension of the work we began earlier this year, and it’s finally taking shape as something tangible we can hold in our hands. It will be filled with stories that move people and remind them of the beauty in transformation.

My second project dives into fiction: the story of Radioactive Raymond, inspired by one of our GrimlyGala dolls. It’s a gritty tale set in a small, forgotten town, and it explores belonging, and survival. Writing it has been incredibly fulfilling, and has me exploring what it means to endure, to hope, and to reimagine what’s possible.

But the most rewarding part of these projects isn’t the end result — it’s the process itself.

It’s about my ability to follow my curiosity.
It’s about my openness to things I don’t feel qualified to do.
It’s my willingness to do things even if they aren’t successful.

That’s the biggest change in me since June. Instead of waiting for the “right” moment to work on what fulfills me, I’ve opened myself to a world of creative possibility. All I need now is the courage to keep pursuing it.

There has been a sense of finality about our move from Florida to Costa Rica. In June we uprooted everything and it profoundly changed our lives.

Remember that first day I wrote about? Pookie snoring, coffee brewing, the cool breeze through the sliding door? Those moments that felt surreal and new?

Now they’re just Tuesday.

And that vision board we made with mountains, creative work and community has transformed from dream to daily reality.

We’ve gone from asking “Wouldn’t it be amazing to live here one day?” to living our answer.

I am filled with new creative purpose. My podcast seeds are sprouting again. The writing flows more naturally here. Even learning Spanish feels like part of the creative journey we came here for.

This journey has been one of countless lessons, and through it all, I’ve learned that when you open your heart to change, the world opens itself up to you in return.

But as one story concludes, another begins. Our creative roots are finding new soil. Our community is growing. Our adventures are just beginning.

I’m no longer amazed that we live here now. I’m amazed at what we’re building here. And I can’t wait to share what comes next.

Pura Vida is not just a greeting anymore. It’s the life we’ve chosen.

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I want to end this series by acknowledging all the people and things that made this journey possible. I know every journey requires the help of the people around you and I know I could never have done this alone.

Anita – Anita is not only the rock that holds me up, she is also the partner who has done it all with me. Without her, there is no move to Costa Rica. I am blessed to love her and be on this amazing journey with her.

Pookie – Pookie is more than just our dog, he is a pivotal part of our story and journey. He gives us comfort and joy every single day and he has made this move extra special.

Our Families – This journey would not have been possible without the support of both of our families. They not only helped us pack, move, and store stuff for us, they have also been completely supportive of following our dream and helping us make it happen.

Friends – Our friends were crucial in supporting us with our move. Our business friends have been the constant that made all our creative work possible. And our new Costa Rican friends have made moving here less lonely.

Neighbors – A special shoutout to Aaron and Carolina for helping us every step along the way. They helped take so much stuff off our hands and watched Pookie when we had to make those trips to Tallahassee. I’d also like to thank our new neighbors in Costa Rica who have helped us adapt to our new home.

Bonnie – Bonnie helped me get my first house, helped Anita and I get our home together, and helped us sell our home. She was amazing the entire way. She is not only a fantastic realtor, she is an even better friend.

Mike, Nacho, and Lorena – It’s funny how someone I never met before helped us find the key pieces in our move here. Without my brother introducing us to Mike there would be Nacho and Lorena. Without Nacho and Lorena we would be at a complete loss here. They have made our move here as seamless as possible.

Everyone else who helped us along the way – There are so many unsung heroes who helped make this dream come true. I can’t possibly name them all, but you all know who you are. Thanks for everything you did to make our new lives possible.

If you’re standing at the edge of something, I’m curious what it looks like from where you are. Share your story in the comments below.

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

Currently Reading: The Final Chapter: Planting Creative Roots in Costa Rica

We’re in an interesting place in our immigration journey.

We’re US citizens but we don’t live in the US.

We’re living in Costa Rica but we aren’t residents.

We’re in this strange limbo again, caught between two worlds.

Before moving to Costa Rica, Florida was always home. For forty years it was the place I returned to after every trip. But once we moved, the center of gravity shifted.

So when we flew to Puerto Rico in late August, I realized something unexpected. I wasn’t going home to Florida afterward. I was returning home to Costa Rica.

That moment made the trip feel like an anchor point in this chapter of our lives. Not because of everything that happened during the visit, but because everything we were navigating made so much more sense once we left and came back.

And luckily our first exit trip was to a place Anita once called home. Her parents’ house in Caguas.

It felt like a gentle middle ground. Not the life we left. Not the life we were still figuring out. Just a pause long enough to breathe before returning to the life we’re building.

And what we thought would be a simple family visit became the perspective shift we desperately needed.

The morning of our flight to Puerto Rico gave us an unexpected first.

Anita likes coming home to a clean house, so we spent most of the night tidying up before our early flight. We planned to get to bed early, but of course that didn’t happen.

I fall asleep easily in almost any situation. Anita usually needs time to wind down. So when I was jolted awake around midnight by her panicked scream, I knew something was wrong.

The room was shaking. Metal beams groaned like they were swaying.

“Whoa, it felt like the whole building just moved,” I said.

“It did. I was still awake… everything was moving,” Anita replied. “Now I’m definitely not going to sleep.”

“Try anyway. We have to leave soon,” I mumbled, and promptly fell right back to sleep.

It was our first earthquake in Costa Rica. Little did I know this physical tremor would mirror the internal shift Puerto Rico would create in us.

As you already know, I’m not a big fan of airports. They usually pull out the worst combination of fluorescent lights, frustrated travelers, and people shouting directions no one listens to. But San Jose’s airport surprised me.

Maybe it was the blessing of an early flight, maybe it was just Costa Rica being Costa Rica, but we walked into security and the line was basically nonexistent. In less than fifteen minutes we were through. No barking TSA agents. No people breathing down your neck. No frantic dumping of laptops and liquids.

It felt almost old-school — like the version of airports we all vaguely remember before security became unbearable.

A little taste of Pura Vida right when I needed it.

The main reason we went to Puerto Rico, aside from visiting Anita’s family, was the Bad Bunny concert during his residency. And because this wasn’t just any concert, we decided we had to show up looking like we belonged in the moment. That meant a trip to Plaza Las Américas.

I’d been wanting to go ever since hearing about it on the La Brega podcast. That in addition to a limited-time Bad Bunny popup store, and it felt like the perfect excuse.

The second we pulled into the parking lot, I was shocked. Every spot was taken. Cars were looping around the lot. It reminded me of Costa Rica’s malls — always full and alive.

Inside, the energy only intensified. Storefronts were draped in Puerto Rican pride. Flags everywhere. People hunting for outfits, accessories, or anything that said “I’m ready for this concert.” It felt less like shopping and more like a shared mission.

“Is it always this busy?” I asked Anita.
“Yeah… but not like this,” she said, taking it all in.

That’s when it clicked. Bad Bunny’s residency wasn’t just a series of shows. It was Puerto Rico proudly declaring their love of Borinquen. Every store in the mall was displaying pride, joy, and belonging.

The only downside? The popup line snaked through an entire section of the mall. By the time we found the check-in area outside, they were already booked for the day.

But honestly, things still worked out. I found a great shirt for the concert, and we ended up having a relaxed buffet lunch before heading out.

It reminded me that when things don’t go how you imagined, it’s okay. You just adjust, breathe a little, and let the experience unfold.

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One of the other perks of being in Puerto Rico was getting time to work on our creepy doll shop, GrimlyGala.

If you’re new here, GrimlyGala is a project Anita and I started back in 2023. (You can read the origin story if you want the whole backstory.) What started as a weird little creative experiment somehow turned into a universe of its own.

During our week and a half there, we painted, photographed, and packed 15 new dolls — which means we’ve now made over 100 of these creepy creations. Leaving Florida didn’t mean leaving the project behind. It just means the workflow has a different backdrop now.

And honestly, it lit something up for me. In my new home creativity is thriving. I’m even in the middle of writing a long-form story about one of our dolls. The idea grabbed hold of my brain and hasn’t let go. I can’t wait to share it when it’s ready.

The main event of our Puerto Rico trip was the Bad Bunny concert. His residency wasn’t just a celebration of the island. It was an economic boom. Estimates say it brought in over $700 million and pulled in tourists from all over the world who wanted to understand why he loves this place so much.

And the magic started before you even stepped inside the arena. Outside, anyone could join the party.

Food stalls served Puerto Rican classics.
Music so people could dance to their heart’s content.
And even a temporary tattoo station to show off your pride.

But inside… was something else entirely.

When we were figuring out where to go to reset our Costa Rican travel visas, we actually checked other nearby stops on Bad Bunny’s world tour. Tickets anywhere else would’ve been cheaper and way easier to get. But we both knew seeing him in Puerto Rico, in Anita’s home, would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So we took the chance.

Best decision we could have made.

I avoided spoilers so I could take the whole thing in fresh. And wow. The show wasn’t a concert. It was a love letter.

A mountain and flamboyán tree set the stage for traditional Puerto Rican sounds.
The casita celebrated his trap and reggaeton roots.
Video vignettes with Señor and video calls with Concho.
Cameos from local artists.
Messages on the screens about history and identity.
Even the camera-necklace lights synced with the music.

Every detail was intentional, and every detail was for Puerto Rico.

And then there was the legend himself. Bad Bunny somehow holds the energy of the biggest artist in the world while still carrying himself like someone who’s just trying to make something beautiful. He can have an arena dancing nonstop… and then bring everyone to tears a moment later.

Two moments hit me hardest:
When he asked the entire arena to put their phones away and just be present.
And when he broke down himself because the emotion was too much.

Throughout the night, I felt the pride of the Puerto Rican people. Even as someone who isn’t Puerto Rican, I felt it in my chest. That’s what transcendental artists do — they make you feel belonging.

After the show, Anita turned to me with the question she always asks:
“How do you feel?”

“That was the best concert I’ve ever been to. I’m ecstatic and exhausted,” I told her. “You?”

“I feel at home,” she said quietly. “And sad I’ll eventually have to leave.”

And that’s where we were again — back in the in-between. Building a new life in Costa Rica while still missing the places and versions of ourselves we left behind. The feeling comes and goes. But we remind ourselves why we left in the first place: so we could build a home and a life we intentionally chose.

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Our trip was full of little moments that felt just as special as the big ones.

We wandered through Old San Juan with its vintage charm and colorful buildings.

We took the ferry to Vieques, where wild horses roam like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

We had a soup-making party with abuela which was just as cozy as it sounds.

And of course, we made Walmart and Costco runs so we could stuff our suitcase with all the things we can’t get in Costa Rica.

All of it gave us exactly what we needed. Family, connection, and a break from our new routines. It felt like a mini vacation and a family retreat rolled into one, the kind of reset that quietly powers you through the next stretch of life.

All these moments in Puerto Rico gave us a much needed reset that fuels our need for more adventures in Costa Rica.

Our last stop in Puerto Rico was the airport, where we met an unlikely foe.

If San Jose’s airport felt like a breeze, San Juan’s felt more like a boss battle.

We arrived a few hours early, feeling confident, and walked up to the ticket counter.

“We’re here to check in our bags,” Anita says, handing over our passports.

“Do you have proof of exit?” the agent asks.

Anita pulls out the residency submission papers from our lawyer. The agent barely glances at them.

“You still need proof of residency or an exit ticket,” he says, handing everything back.

So we step out of line, walk over to the entrance, open our phones, and start searching for flights.

After a few minutes of scrolling, we find tickets to Medellin in December. Colombia has been on our list since Lorena told us how magical her recent trip was. And the holiday lights in Medellin? A total dream.

We book the flights, take a breath, and get back in line.

Round two.

We hand him the passports again, and show him our shiny new exit tickets.

“Great,” he says. “Let’s weigh your luggage.”

He lifts the bag. It’s under the weight limit.

A sigh of relief… but short-lived.

“Any other bags?” he asks.

“We have personal items — my mom has them so we didn’t have to carry them around,” Anita says.

He gestures toward the bag sizer. “Go ahead and check them.”

We try and fail spectacularly.

“You still have some weight left in your luggage,” he offers, trying to be helpful.

But in that moment, he is absolutely the villain in our story.

So we walk back to the entrance and start the Great Repacking. Everything in that suitcase had been perfectly stacked, aligned, and zipped. Now it looked like a tornado struck.

Twenty minutes later, we’ve swapped, shuffled, compressed, and Tetris’d our way into a new configuration. We return to the counter for round three — thankfully our spot at the front was still saved.

Moment of truth.

My backpack barely fits the personal-item check.

Anita’s fits by the grace of the travel gods.

Then we lift the suitcase onto the scale.

“It’s slightly over,” the agent says.

I mentally scream.

“But not enough to charge you extra.”

He slaps an overweight sticker onto the bag. “You’re good to go.”

Just like that, the boss battle is over.

Maybe he wasn’t a foe at all. Maybe he was just guiding us through a chaotic mini-quest we didn’t know we were on.

We head to security, exhausted but relieved, ready to go home.

Sometimes the tiniest problems feel huge when you’re in them but they are actually guiding you exactly where you need to go — in our case back home.

Just defeat the boss, collect your loot, and move on.

Fun fact: That Medellín flight we booked to get past the airport check? The airline canceled it without a reason.

So now we’re visiting my family in February instead.

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Puerto Rico was the reset button we didn’t know we needed. It helped us step outside our rapidly changing lives and remember why we chose this new chapter in the first place.

Somewhere between the family dinners, the concerts, and the chaos of the airport, I realized I was starting to miss Pookie, our new routines, and the weird little adventures that come with living in Costa Rica.

Letting go of our old life gave us space to build a new one.

Puerto Rico reminded us of our roots.

Coming back reminded us of our dreams.

We don’t feel stuck between worlds anymore. That trip didn’t pull us away from our new home — it pointed us back to it. And unlike returning to Florida and its familiar routines, coming back to Costa Rica feels like a creative exhale.

Now comes the part I’m most excited about: shaping the creative life we came here to make… one brave choice, one new routine, and one wild idea at a time.

From a Global Zine Project to a Creativity Summit to the fiction I’m writing — all of it feels possible here.

Have you ever had to reset after a long stretch of work? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: Planting New Creative Seeds

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Currently Reading: Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

Moving to Costa Rica has come with its fair share of surprises. From grocery price sticker shock to residency paperwork challenges at every step. All the little things that remind you you’re not in your old life anymore. But overcoming all those challenges has made this place feel more like home.

Once we finally settled into a rhythm here, we were finally able to show Anita’s parents the new lives we are building here. Their visit ended up being one of those weeks that sticks with you: two big communal meals, another trip to La Fortuna, and showing them our favorite spots in San Jose.

Having her parents here felt like a milestone. It was a shift from “we just moved to Costa Rica” to “we live here now.” We were no longer the newcomers needing guidance. We were the ones providing it.

The day Anita’s parents were arriving, we had a dinner planned at our apartment with them, Lorena, and Nacho. This was our chance to show her family the wonderful people who helped us get settled here.

That meant a trip to Avenida 10, our chaotic but beloved grocery spot, because they had everything we needed for our dinner.

While we’re grabbing some drinks from the boba shop inside the store Anita gets a message.

“My parents just landed. They will be on the way to the apartment soon,” she says.

“I guess we better wrap up then,” I respond, between bites of the boba pearls.

When we left, we thought we had enough time to make it back for their arrival but we must have miscalculated. Now we’re in a mad dash to the finish.

We scramble from section to section grabbing what we need: plantains for mofongo, cups, plates, and drinks. We even have to do a small ingredient swap since they don’t have chicharron — a shocking discovery!

“They’re 15 minutes away, we’ll have to hurry and take an Uber back” Anita says while we’re waiting in the checkout line.
“We don’t really have a choice, we’ll get there when we get there,” I say trying to calm her nerves.

After checking out, we pack up all our supplies into our trusty cart, and head outside.

Usually this is the point where we would go to the shuttle area and get a free ride back. But today we don’t have that luxury.

A few minutes later our Uber arrives. It only takes 10 minutes to get back.

When we arrive, Anita’s parents are patiently waiting in the lobby.

“How long have you been waiting?” Anita asks.

“Just a few minutes,” her mom responds.

Anita always wants to make a good impression as a host. Even if that just means being there when her parents arrive from the airport.

That’s one of the things I love most about her. She always wants to put her best foot forward. She’s going to be an incredible owner of a bed and breakfast.

Having Lorena and Nacho here has been such a gift. Even after finding our home and guiding us through the residency maze, they didn’t just disappear. They kept checking in, offering advice, and reminding us we weren’t figuring out this new life alone.

So that first night, when Anita’s parents arrived, it felt right to bring everyone together. We made a big Puerto Rican dinner including mofongo and flan. We also filled the table with stories of how we met Lorena and Nacho, how they helped us through the early chaos, and all the tiny things that made settling here possible.

That dinner represented something important. When we got here, we didn’t know anyone. Now that we’ve spent so much time with Lorena and Nacho, our connections feel deep enough to call them family. And the apartment wasn’t just where we live now. Surrounded by all these people, it felt like we were truly hosting in our home.

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The next night brought a completely different vibe. That’s when we got the rental car for our trip to, you guessed it, La Fortuna.

At this point, it’s basically a rite of passage for anyone who comes to Costa Rica. My parents went with us back in 2023, and now it was Anita’s parents’ turn.

We’d just finished an incredible lunch of Olla de Carne, a traditional Costa Rican soup, at Lorena’s house. And she was kind enough to drop us off at the rental center afterward. Everything was going smoothly—until it wasn’t.

While we’re filling out the paperwork, the guy behind the counter looks up and asks for the driver’s passport.

We all glance at Anita’s dad.

No passport.

So Anita’s mom has to rent the car.

No problem. She signs the papers, grabs the keys, and we all pile in for the short ride home.

Halfway there, Anita leans over and whispers, “Record this. We have to send it to Grace.”

I pull out my phone, film a quick clip of her mom driving, and send it to our group chat.

Seconds later, Grace replies:

“Why is she driving omg?? That’s dangerous!”

We can’t stop laughing.

A few minutes later, we pull safely into the parking garage. When we get back to the apartment Anita’s dad sends the rental company his passport via WhatsApp, and just like that, the Great Driver Crisis of 2025 comes to an end.

There was another mini adventure the next day — this time involving food. This was one of those moments Anita’s parents would share in some of the frustrations of living here.

During lunch with Lorena, she told us about a great spot to eat on the way to La Fortuna. So that’s exactly where we’re headed.

We pull up to a parking lot a block from the restaurant and make our way over.

“Looks like it’s not open yet,” Anita says, peering through the gated entrance.

“We can walk around and find a spot nearby,” she adds.

It’s a Saturday morning, so the square is full of people. But as we walk block by block, the only thing we find is a McDonald’s.

“Let’s just head back to the car and drive to another breakfast place,” Anita’s mom suggests.

Back at the car, I take on my usual role as food scout.

“There’s a Denny’s nearby,” I say, knowing Anita’s dad loves their breakfast.

While scrolling through the menu, I’m shocked by the prices.

“Regular breakfast items are 10k colones. That’s about $20 for a Grand Slam,” I say in disbelief.

“Nevermind then. See what local options are nearby,” Anita replies.

A few minutes later, I find a restaurant just down the road. Anita puts the name into the GPS, and we’re on our way.

When we arrive, we’re surrounded by warehouse buildings.

“I don’t think this is right,” Anita says, looking at the map.

We circle back. Still nothing.

That’s the thing about Costa Rica. Google Maps aren’t always up to date or accurate. Sometimes you’ll end up lost among warehouses… or inside a residential building looking for a craft store. (A story for another day.) But you learn to live with it — Pura Vida style.

At this point, we’re all thinking the same thing.

“Forget it,” Anita says, laughing. “Let’s just go to McDonald’s.”

And that’s how we ended up getting our first taste of McDonald’s in Costa Rica. Just remember, if you’re ever in a situation where things aren’t working out as planned, you can always turn towards something familiar for comfort.

After a very unmagical breakfast adventure that ended at McDonald’s, the next day brought a completely different surprise. That’s the thing about Costa Rica, there’s always a surprise in store.

That’s when we came face-to-face with a 15-foot grandma on a restaurant roof.

If you drive around La Fortuna you are bound to find it. The restaurant sticks out like a sore thumb.

There are a lot of reasons to pick a restaurant. A giant grandma on the roof shouldn’t be one of them. But sometimes you just have to trust your gut.

I wasn’t expecting much. I figured it was going to be one of those cool theme, mediocre food, deals. But the moment we stepped inside, I was pleasantly surprised.

The whole place is open air, and by the time we reach our table at the back, we’ve got a panoramic view of a hotel tucked into the trees.

The menus are shaped like Abuela herself. I immediately spot the french toast. It arrives looking like something you need to post immediately on Instagram, and thankfully it tastes just as good.

But the real magic happens upstairs.

Our waiter appears and offers to take us to the rooftop. We follow him up the stairs, not expecting much… and walk straight into a full garden.

Fruit trees labeled with wooden tags.

A spread of ornamental plants I’ve seen all over Costa Rica.

It feels like stepping into some kind of hidden rooftop farm.

Our waiter tells us stories about the plants, how the garden came to be, and of course, the tale of the giant Luisita statue. Apparently she was imported in pieces and assembled right here on the roof. I love every minute of it.

Then he points to the stairs along the statue.

“You can actually climb up to the top,” he says.

The moment I’ve been waiting for.

I ask Anita if she can go down to the parking lot to take pictures while her mom and I climb to the top. When she snaps the photo, I’m grinning from ear to ear.

Standing atop that quirky statue, I realized how much had changed. Just months earlier, we would have been too intimidated to venture off-course. Now we were confidently finding hidden gems to share with others.

We never used to fall for a gimmick. But sometimes you just have to trust the pull and follow it. You never know what’s waiting at the top of the stairs.

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There were also plenty of small moments during Anita’s family’s visit that stuck with me way longer than you’d expect. These were some of my favorites.

At Baldi’s hot springs, one of us lost a towel during dinner. Anita’s parents spent the rest of the night bringing it up, even though the lost-towel fee was only $10.

Grace arrived the same day we had brunch at Abuela’s restaurant, so we killed some time at the mall next to the airport. Pookie had his own adventure there. He pooped on the floor of Circuit City and refused to walk near the escalators because he could see the ground through the glass walls.

While eating at an ice cream place called Pops, a cockroach sprinted across the floor. We headed straight for the exit.

At Fabrica, a restaurant Nacho recommended, we ordered a few pizzas. They turned out to be flat-crust style, and Anita’s dad didn’t want to eat them because you couldn’t fold the slices. Watching him try anyway had all of us laughing.

With each place we took Anita’s parents, I noticed our evolution from wide-eyed newcomers to confident guides. I also realized you don’t need extraordinary moments for them to matter. You just need the right people next to you while they’re happening.

And there have been plenty of other moments here — cultural festivals, new routines, our favorite spots, and slowly getting comfortable with Spanish. All tiny pieces of building a life here. I can’t wait to share those too.

Have you ever gone from being guided to giving guidance? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: A Long Awaited Trip

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Currently Reading: Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

One of the hardest things about moving here was no longer being close to family. I had three different cousins I could visit within an hour’s drive. My direct family was only a three-hour drive away, and they would come into town every few months.

But now that we live in an entirely different country, it’s hard to see any of them. It’s strange how distance makes you notice the small things you took for granted like spontaneous dinners, weekend drives, and familiar voices close by.

Luckily, the same can’t be said for Anita’s family. Since her sister, Grace, is a flight attendant, she is able to visit whenever her schedule is free.

Grace can also get her parents discounted tickets through her airline. Which means we have been lucky enough to see all of her family a few times since we moved here — including the trip we made to Puerto Rico.

When you’re far from home, it helps to remember what drew you there in the first place. Even before we moved here, Costa Rica had already left its mark on us.

During my first trip to Costa Rica, our destination was always clear — the thermal springs at La Fortuna. It’s an amazing city in the mountains on the northern side of Costa Rica with a spectacular view of the Arenal Volcano.

Anita showed me photos from her bachelorette trip, and my mind was blown:

There were cascading waterfalls mixed among the towering trees and plants.
There were bars within the springs so you didn’t even need to leave the water to order.
There were breathtaking views of Arenal Volcano in the background.

It looked like a small slice of paradise.

Still, the moment we stepped into the lobby of Baldi, I realized photos could never do this place justice.

After checking in and getting changed, we walk into the first of many pools.

I walk underneath a rushing waterfall and feel the warm water cascade over my whole body. That was the moment I knew.

“One day we’re going to move here,” I say, half-joking.
“I think you’re right,” Anita replies, taking me more seriously than I took myself.

I guess we were both right, and I’m still not over the fact that we’ve made the biggest, most life-changing move of our lives.

Back then, La Fortuna was just a fantasy — something we swore we’d return to “one day.” Turns out, that day came faster than we ever imagined. Every day I am grateful we are finally in a place where we feel at home and at peace.

Grace returned to visit us in mid-June with her boyfriend Jonathan. And there was one place we knew we needed to go when they visited. That place, of course, was La Fortuna.

So the night after they arrived, we packed our backpacks in eager anticipation of the trip. We were finally returning to the place that made us fall in love with Costa Rica.

We could already picture the clouds rolling over Arenal as we soaked in the warmth of the thermal waters.

Remember when I described a serene scene where Pookie is on a kayak with us? This was his first real taste of Costa Rica — and it was filled with other firsts too.

It was his first time traveling outside his new home of San Jose.
It was the first time he’s ever sat with us at a restaurant.
And it was his first time in a boat on the water.

After a three hour drive, where Pookie spent much of the time either sleeping or sticking his head out the window, we arrive El Castillo — a town just outside La Fortuna.

When we were planning the trip, we wanted to find a place near Lake Arenal so we could go kayaking at the lake while waiting for the Airbnb to be ready. We just didn’t know how Pookie would handle it.

After getting our life vests and paddles, we walk down the rocky path to the dock where the kayaks are tied up.

Anita gets into the kayak and gets settled. Then I hand Pookie to her. He looks concerned, but he’s under the influence of the pill, so he quietly lays down in a little nook in front of her. Finally I get into the front seat, and we paddle out into the lake.

When we lived in Florida, this was a moment we only ever dreamed of. We are traveling with Pookie, going to restaurants and having water adventures with him. He is with us along the way instead of eagerly waiting for us to come back home.

“Can you believe this is our life now?” I ask Anita as we take in the volcano in front of us.
“I never even imagined it,” she says, petting Pookie lovingly.
“I could really get used to this,” I say contemplatively.
“Me too,” she responds as we turn the kayak back around.

This moment at the lake marks the first time I’ve really felt free.

Free from the nine-to-five grind.
Free from divisive politics.
Free from keeping up with the Joneses.

This was the life we imagined from afar: simple, slow, and finally our own. And even now, I remind myself not to take it for granted.

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There are a few other stand out moments from our trip to El Castillo and La Fortuna — other than the thermal springs of course. The first are the spectacular views from both the Airbnb we were staying at in El Castillo and a lunch spot nearby. The other was an unexpected taste of nature.

El Castillo is a town that sits along the edge of Lake Arenal and Arenal Volcano. It’s the ideal place to be wowed by the majesty and nature of Costa Rica.

Both our Airbnb and the brunch spot we visited, La Ventanita, had the most spectacular views of the lake. It looks like they could have been taken straight from the pages of a travel catalog.

“One day we’re going to have an Airbnb like this,” Anita says as we take in the view of the lake.
“I hope so,” I replied.
“I know we will,” she says with finality.

After everything we’ve done to make this dream real, I can’t help but believe her.

The other memorable moment from our trip involves a mini roadside detour. While driving back and forth from La Fortuna to El Castillo we kept seeing these striking pink bananas growing along the roadside.

“Are those edible?” Anita asks.
“I’m not sure, let me look,” I say, pulling out my phone.

After a quick search, it turns out they are edible, but aren’t really recommended because of the large seeds.

“They are edible, but they say it’s not worth eating,” I say.

But curiosity gets the best of us. So as we’re leaving El Castillo to drive back home to San Jose, we make one small stop.

“Over there,” Grace says, pointing to some pink banana plants.

Jonathan pulls over and Grace and Anita get out to grab the bananas — while I try to constrain Pookie as he barks at them. After a few minutes of struggling, they return to the car, hands sticky with sap, but with the treasure we’ve all been waiting to try.

Grace sets her phone on the dashboard, everyone starts prying open their bananas, while I’m still struggling with mine.

One by one they split open the peel and take a bite – as I watch their reactions.

“This is awful,” Grace says.
“I don’t think they’re ready,” Jonathan chimes in.

Anita takes a bite then makes the face of someone who’s just eaten a raw potato. I look down at my unpeeled banana and decide against tasting it.

“They’re probably not ripe yet,” I say.

Everyone gives me a look that says, Thanks, Captain Obvious.

We still don’t know whether those bananas sweeten as they ripen. Maybe that’s part of the fun — not knowing, but staying curious enough to try.

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After enjoying some family and relaxation time, we dove head first into completing our residency paperwork. Along with registering with the embassy, there were a few other items on our residency application to-do list.

Get our fingerprints taken at an intimidating police station. Check.
Get our passport sized photos taken in a tiny store across from the embassy. Check.
Establish a Costa Rican bank account for proof of funds… that one took a while.

Our journey opening a Costa Rican bank account as foreigners was a test of time and patience. We even gave our many trips to banks a name: the “Tour de Banks”.

The day we were checking out our different apartment options with Nacho, we asked about his experience with banks. He couldn’t help but laugh. “Just make sure you set aside a whole day,” he chuckled.

Boy was he right.

Going to the bank in the US is annoying but pretty straightforward. Most times you are in and out within minutes or at most an hour.

Even when I was gathering all the paperwork for my proof of income and bank account balance, it only took 30 minutes to get everything I needed.

I never thought I would miss it so much.

A few weeks after we arrived, Lorena got us an appointment at a bank nearby. It’s morning so we should have no problem wrapping up before lunch — or so we thought.

The entrance of the bank has a security guard. Only one person can enter at a time and each person is wanded as they pass through. After passing through security we sit in the first row of chairs in front of the teller booths.

There’s a line of people waiting on the side to talk to someone about their accounts. That line, we learned, is always full. Good thing we aren’t here for that.

A few minutes later we are called up. That’s a good sign. Maybe Nacho was exaggerating the all-day bank trips.

Lorena comes with us to explain our situation. That’s when the mountain of paperwork began.

I am handed over a dozen or so documents to read and sign. Luckily I can read enough Spanish to understand them.

After filling out all the forms the teller tells me I need to deposit some money before they can open the account. Unfortunately I exchanged all my dollars at the airport so I need to withdraw money from the ATM.

I walk outside and find the ATM marked with the dollar sign and withdraw $20. Then I head back inside to give the teller the money.

That should be it I think. But now it’s Anita’s turn. She fills out the same forms and hands them back to the teller.

At this point it’s already been a couple of hours. Surely we’re done now. The woman takes our paperwork to the back to start processing it. And now we play the waiting game.

Ten minutes pass.

Twenty.

Thirty.

“Why are you playing with that?” Anita says pointing at the umbrella.

I’ve been slowly peeling off the layer of dirt on it.

“Just doing something to pass the time…” I say.

An hour or so passes, and finally after about four hours at the bank, the account is set up and we are free to go. Freedom never felt so simple — just a breath of fresh air and the promise we didn’t have to fill out one more form.

Unfortunately our freedom was short lived. Our stops at banks were just beginning.

After that first marathon session, our “Tour de Banks” continued with increasing frustration. We returned multiple times to the original bank: once for our cards and twice for the residency letter they couldn’t seem to produce.

By this time we were regulars. We even joked about asking for stamp cards for all our visits.

That’s when Lorena, feeling the frustration along with us, suggested a new approach: “There’s another bank near the embassy that deals with immigrants regularly.”

This meant transferring funds between banks, yet another banking adventure, but it was worth trying. So we made one last trip to our original bank and transferred our money over.

Now we were finally ready to get the bank letter certifying our funds.

This trip was not as long or as memorable as the others… thank god. And an hour or so later we finally have the last document we need to submit our residency application.

“That was so much better than the other bank,” I say as we are walking back to the car.
“This bank is close to the embassy so they know exactly what they’re doing,” Lorena says.
“We’re just glad the Tour de Banks is over,” Anita says with relief in her voice.

This wouldn’t be our last trip to the bank. We had to go back to fill out some missing paperwork, and went to another branch to pick up a card, but we are finally free of the never ending trips.

If all these bank trips taught me anything, it’s that starting over in a new country isn’t supposed to be simple. It takes patience, perseverance, and learning to see obstacles as part of the story.

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A few weeks later Lorena comes to our apartment with our final paperwork for submission. We exit the lobby and greet her happily.

“These are the last papers for your residency application. Everything has been translated already. You just need to give me power of attorney for submission,” Lorena says.

After looking over the paperwork, and triple checking all the information, Anita and I both sign the document.

“Gracias! We couldn’t have done this without you,” Anita says handing the documents back.
“Gracias, we’ll see you in a few weeks for dinner,” I chime in.

After our goodbyes Lorena puts the documents into her folder and drives off. As Lorena drove away with our paperwork, I couldn’t help but think back to those early days in Florida — researching, dreaming, and wondering if we’d ever actually do it.

Back in February, we made the decision to uproot our lives and start over again in a new country. We’ve gone through so much since then:

Months of planning, packing, and selling our stuff.
Endless to-do lists and stacks of paperwork.
Driving across Florida, and dozens of trips here to get all our documents in order.
And many eventful moments along the way.

Now we are officially applying for residency.

It’s a process you’re told is long, bureaucratic, and full of roadblocks, but it’s not something you can ever imagine until you’ve gone through with it yourself. As Anita and I are walking back to the apartment we exchange smiles.

“I’m so glad that’s over,” Anita says, feeling the weight of the process fall off her shoulders.
“Me too, let’s get some cake to celebrate,” I say.

We’ve accomplished so much in such a short time. Now all we can do is wait for approval.

Until then, there’s much more in store for us including more family visits, a trip to Puerto Rico, and finally getting back to creative work. We are finally exiting our initial settling phase and really starting to put down our roots. For the first time, it feels like we’re not just visitors figuring things out — we’re home.

What were the moments like after your creative leap that felt like settling in? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: A Week of Family Fun

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Currently Reading: Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

The time has finally come for us to return the rental car. Having a car for the week has been essential in getting us settled in our new home.

It made moving all our stuff from the Airbnb to the new apartment a breeze.
It gave us the chance to buy all of the essentials.
And it allowed us to get all the money we needed for the apartment.

It’s been an essential sidekick in our moving journey.

But before we can return the car, there’s one more adventure in store. Remember the patio furniture set we bought to decorate our sanctuary? It turns out one of the chairs is broken — another hiccup in our pursuit of creating a home here.

The exchange process is short and smooth. We’re in and out in fifteen minutes — a welcome reminder that sometimes things can be simple in Costa Rica.

There’s still a couple of hours left until our car is due back.

“What do you want to do while we still have the car?” Anita asks.
“I’ll look on the map and see what’s around,” I reply.

I look around the map and remember there’s a Chinatown downtown.

“Chinatown is only 10 minutes away from the rental place, we can try going there,” I tell Anita.
“Sounds good,” she says agreeably.

We stop to fill gas on the way, then start heading towards Chinatown. That’s when we’re reminded how much we hate driving in San Jose.

There are people walking out in front of traffic, unworried about getting run over.
Cars still parked along the road. Hazards on.
Cars weaving in and out of traffic. Horns blaring.

By the time we reach Chinatown Anita is over it. “I don’t want to go anymore and worry about parking,” she says.
“Yeah I forgot what a nightmare it is to drive around here,” I say looking at the gate as we drive by.

A few weeks later we finally made our way over to Chinatown. We are devastated when we see the prices of everything.

It’s SO cheap. We could have saved hundreds of dollars if we had come earlier. But now we know, when we need something for the house, check Chinatown first.

After our short Chinatown stop, we arrive at the rental car place and there’s just one thing left to do. We pop open the trunk, pull out the chair, and walk inside to wait for an Uber.

“I am so glad I don’t have to drive anymore,” Anita says relieved.
“Yeah, we won’t have to do that again for a long time,” I say.

A few minutes later our Uber arrives. We put the chair in the trunk, and get inside.

Twenty minutes later we arrive back at the apartment. I slide open the balcony door, place the chair in its rightful spot, and sit down with quiet anticipation.

Our set is finally complete. This balcony, our personal sanctuary, is becoming the retreat we envisioned when we chose this apartment. It provides us a front row view of the concerts across the street and a little place to relax and unwind.

The breeze hits my face, carrying the smell of rain in the distance, and for a brief moment it feels like everything is in place except...

“These need seat cushions,” I say.
“Of course they do,” Anita laughs.

I guess our sanctuary isn’t quite done yet. But that’s the beauty of building a new life. It’s always a work in progress. Each small improvement brings us closer to feeling at home.

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Apartment upgrades on one side, pet-parent realities on the other. It all blurred together into this season of settling in.

And poor Pookie has to be over it by now. After a handful of visits back in Florida, another one was the last thing he wanted.

But he has rashes all over his body. There’s no avoiding it.

Luckily Anita is able to find a vet that’s only a 20 minute walk. And if it weren’t for the actual vet visit itself, he would have had a great day.

On the way there we stopped by one of our favorite breakfast spots and gave him a little treat.
We also stopped by a park across the street where he could sniff to his heart’s content.
And on the way back he even got his first grocery store experience – albeit while sleeping.

When it’s Pookie’s time to get checked we hope for the best.

This is definitely one of those moments that would be extremely difficult to navigate without Anita. I can handle everyday situations in Spanish pretty well. But understanding and communicating in medical terms is a whole nother ballgame.

The vet diagnoses Pookie and after a few minutes tells us there’s nothing to be worried about. Pookie had an allergic reaction, and just needs to take some medicine twice a day for the next week. With the help of her assistant she gives Pookie an allergy shot and a chewable pill.

Then the vet hands us his medication and we’re off.

Any emergency vet visit is a stressful situation. Going to a vet in a new country for the first time adds an additional layer of stress. Luckily for us our experience here could not have gone better — and for that we are extremely grateful.

The day of our embassy appointment I remember there are actual documents we need to print for them to certify. I double check the site to see what they actually need from us. That’s when I see it.

Buried in the mountains of text there is a link that says:
Complete the top half of the first page of this affidavit. With the word affidavit linked. This was the document we needed, and they made it nearly impossible to find.

Now we have another issue on our hands. We don’t have a printer.

The first place we think to go is the security office of the apartment building. Surely they have a printer we can use.

We walked down the stairs near the pool and walk into the security office. (Quick aside: remember that keycard issue we had? We fixed it by getting our faces scanned by this office. Now we get in just by showing our faces.)

Anita asks the main security person if we can use their printer for a document. Big negative.

We walk out of the office and start thinking of where we can go. I Google printing places nearby and look for some spots. Meanwhile Anita is texting our lawyer asking her if we can use her printer.

There’s only a couple of hours until our appointment and these are the documents we need to get certified by the embassy.

As we’re getting ready to walk to a nearby printing place, Lorena texts us back.

“Lorena’s going to print them and drop them off,” Anita says relieved.
“What would we do without her?” I say, thankful Lorena is helping us.

Fifteen minutes later Lorena drives by and hands us the documents.

“I printed a couple of copies just in case,” she says. We would in fact need one of those copies.

We thank her as she drives off. Now it’s time to get an Uber and head to the embassy.

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We’re back at the fortress but this time we’re here with a purpose.

Before I can press the buzzer a woman greets us and asks the purpose of our visit.

“We have an appointment at 1pm.” I say.
“Come on in,” she says, escorting us inside.

Before we head through the security checkpoint, they tell us that we can’t bring through any electronics. If we need a locker, they have them across the street. My stomach tightens. What if we’ve left something behind? What if this ruins the whole appointment?

Just when we think we’re clear, there’s another obstacle in our way.

We cross the street, rent a locker, and place our watches and phones inside. Then head back to the embassy.

After passing through the initial security scan and a preliminary screening, we are escorted to the main embassy building. I was shocked when I walked inside.

I was expecting a chaotic, bustling room with a long line. But there were only a handful of people waiting ahead of us. Only three of the dozen or so counters were staffed. Relief starts to creep in, but my heart is still racing.

Even though we have an appointment and there are very few people around, I can’t help but feel stressed about the whole situation. What if we came with the wrong paperwork? Is it even possible to get another appointment without waiting another month?

As we’re waiting, I can’t help but hear about everyone’s situations around us. One woman is here because she needs an emergency passport for her flight the next day. The man ahead of us appears to be getting paperwork together for his late wife.

As I’m contemplating the relative simplicity of our situation, we are called up to the window.

“Buenas tardes, how can I help you?,” the woman at the window asks.
“Buenas tardes, we are here to register with the embassy,” Anita responds as she hands over our paperwork.

After looking over the paperwork for a few moments, she explains one of the sections was meant to be filled out by the office. Normally this would be a panicking moment, but luckily Lorena gave us extra copies of the forms. We move over to the side to fill out the form again. Then hand them back to the woman.

“Gracias, we just need to process these. We’ll call you back when it’s ready,” she says.

We walk back over to the chairs to wait.

“I hope everything is good now,” I say to Anita.
“It is,” Anita reassures me.

At the window ahead of us is a couple with their baby. They’re here to get a passport for her.

We didn’t say anything to each other, but Anita and I look at each other. This is exactly what our children will need to do if we have them in the future.

After the couple wraps up, we are called to the same window. The man has our completed paperwork in front of him. After some explanation he begins our certification.

“Do you certify that all the information you’ve presented is true?” he asks.

“I do,” we each say.

“Welcome to Costa Rica,” he says stamping our paperwork.

At this moment two things are going through my head.

One –- we are at the point of no return.
Two — compared to the US, this is calm. Weird, but true.

It’s a strange feeling being in a place where you’re still learning the language, where you have no family to lean on, where you’re starting over.

But comparing our deer in the headlights first days to now, we can see how far we’ve come.

Each adventure, each obstacle overcome, becomes part of our new life here. And bit by bit, the pieces fell into place, and for the first time we could actually feel ourselves settling in.

From panic about getting through customs with Pookie to confidently navigating vet visits.
From crashing at our temporary landing spot at Secrt to creating our balcony sanctuary.
These are the memories that mark the beginning of our Costa Rican chapter.

Of course, our adventures didn’t stop with embassy stamps and patio chairs. Between the bank tour and family visits, we were constantly learning the ropes. But every little victory, like finally arranging our balcony just right, reminds us that Costa Rica is starting to feel like home.

What were the moments like after your creative leap that felt like settling in? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: We Have Some Visitors

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Currently Reading: Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

Staying curious sounds poetic, but in Costa Rica, it’s also code for we’re about to be tested again. Power outages. Embassy headaches. A drugged-up Pookie on the way to the vet. Every day is a new experiment in patience and perspective.

But we are also slowly settling in. Finding our rhythm. Getting comfortable with our new lives.

We are becoming walkers and explorers.
We are getting accustomed to the great weather — minus the daily rain.
We are helping Pookie adapt to his surroundings.

That’s just how life is. Even though we are doing new and exciting things, you eventually start to settle down and build a routine.

And just when we think we’ve adjusted, life tosses us another curveball.

Those curveballs started coming almost immediately. Our garage and keycard issues weren’t the only hiccups that first month. June also came with a string of small power outages.

For a week or two, we’d wake up without power or lose it randomly during the day. Luckily, the outages were short, usually just a few hours, but they still threw us off.

Anita went upstairs to the coworking space which still had power.
I sat close to the window and used the mercado’s wifi from across the street.
At one point we both went over to the sister tower and worked in their coworking space.

Our conversations went a little something like this:

“Is it out again?” Anita asks from bed.
“What do you think?” I say laughing.
“Of course,” she laughs back.

It was a crash course in flexibility. It’s also something you’ll never find in any travel or self-help book.

You might be wondering how Pookie has been adjusting to his new home. On the surface, his life has been great.

He gets to spend all day with us now that we work from home full-time.
He gets to run around all the dog parks to his heart’s content and he’s made many new friends.
He gets to explore the city and a fair share of sights and sounds.

But not everything has been sunshine and rainbows. In many ways, Pookie’s story mirrors ours — full of obstacles and finding his way through them.

When we first arrived, we thought we were finally done with our residency paperwork. We’d already jumped through so many hoops back in the U.S., from birth certificates, to FBI checks, to banking info, you name it.

Boy, were we wrong.

Turns out, we were only halfway there. We still had to register at the embassy, bounce between banks, and get our fingerprints and photos submitted.

Thankfully, we had Lorena by our side. Without her, we’d be up the river without a paddle and probably still floating there.

One of the most important, and confusing, tasks was registering with the embassy, and we had the hardest time figuring out what they needed from us. So, in true “let’s just figure it out” fashion, we decided to go there directly and talk to someone.

At the US embassy in San Jose, we discovered there’s no onsite parking, a fortress-like gate, and only one way in: the call button.

“Buenos dias, how can I help you?” the woman asks.
“We need to register,” I say, still unsure what’s required.
“Set up an appointment online,” she tells me.
“Thanks,” I say dejectedly.

Another roadblock — seemingly endless.

I pull up the embassy website to sign up for an appointment. After navigating a maze of options I finally find it.

“The next available appointment isn’t until July, and there are only two openings all month,” I say to Anita.
“Well book the next one,” she says matter of factly.
“That’s a month away. I wish they had something earlier,” I complain.
“There’s nothing we can do about it. Things will work out,” she says, full of wisdom.

We’d have to wait until July. Defeated, we walk across the street for lunch.

There we find a tiny restaurant full of people. We grab some lunch specials and devour them — not a single grain of rice left on the plate. It’s still our favorite spot when we’re in the area.

It’s just another reminder that living here means endless surprises and sometimes stumbling into small joys along the way.

Bonus tip for finding amazing food anywhere you go: follow your nose and look for a mom and pop spot full of people. That’s how we’ve found many of our favorite restaurants here.

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It’s Sunday night.

We spent the whole afternoon in Chinatown.
We found the perfect outfits for the Bad Bunny concert in Puerto Rico.
The whole day has been great.

At least for us. For Pookie, not so much.

Pookie has been licking his paws like a puppy possessed. This happens occasionally, especially when his summer allergies flare up. So we grab his inflatable doughnut, which acts like a cone, and place it over his head.

A few minutes later we are greeted with a sound no one wants to hear. BLECH. Pookie has just thrown up.

“Honey, Pookie threw up!” I yell at Anita from the bedroom. “Grab stuff to clean up.”

We noticed a few bites around his eyes earlier in the day but thought nothing of it. But now it’s time to investigate further.

I lift his shirt up.
He has rashes EVERYWHERE.

Anita comes back with paper towels and disinfectant spray to clean up. I start frantically looking up how to deal with his rashes. The best solution in this scenario was giving him an oatmeal bath.

After cleaning up, Anita gets to work in the kitchen while I hold Pookie to prevent further licking.

Our kitchen goes from tranquil to madhouse in seconds.

The sink’s water is ice-cold, so we heat a half-sink’s worth with two pots and a giant measuring cup. Meanwhile, Anita blends oatmeal in the food processor.

When the water finally heats up, we pour it until the sink bath is warm.
Anita scoops in the oatmeal.
I ease Pookie inside.

The sink isn’t tall enough to soak his whole body, so we pour cups of warm water over him for ten minutes.

After Pookie’s soak is done, I sift out all the ground up oatmeal from the sink while Anita dries him off. Pookie is not a fan of baths, so he’s just happy to be done.

The oatmeal bath helped for now, but a vet visit was inevitable and would have to wait until tomorrow.

When the whole ordeal is over it’s 2am. We’re ready to sleep, and Pookie is too. So we give him a piece of ham with his calming pill wrapped inside. Pookie drifts off, and at last, so do we.

It felt like chaos then, but looking back, every chaotic moment helps us find our rhythm — and somehow, it starts to feel normal.

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Power outages, embassy confusion, even 2am oatmeal baths are all reminders we’re still learning. But somewhere between all the chaos, Costa Rica starts to feel less like a test and more like home.

Of course, there’s more to these stories: our official embassy visit, Pookie’s vet visits, and a punch card’s worth of bank visits test us all over again.

How have you adapted when life throws curveballs your way? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: Resolutions to the Chaos

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Currently Reading: Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

Monday to Friday: work, cook, tv, repeat.
Weekends: breakfast, Goodwill, gardening.

Occasionally an adventure, but mostly… routine.

Our biggest break from the routines were Discovery Fridays where we’d find a new restaurant we’ve never tried before.

It’s not that we hated our routine. It just felt stale and safe.

That feeling of home we discovered at the dog park hasn’t disappeared. It’s just evolved. Home here isn’t just about comfort and routine. It’s also about expecting the unexpected.

In Costa Rica every day is a new adventure. You would think not having a car would limit what we can do, but when you live in a big city there are endless things to explore.

Each corner a new cafe. Each week a new set of events. Each neighborhood its own flavor.

And, as we are about to find out, in Costa Rica, every day comes with a surprise—and not all of them are fun. But before we go into all that, we have to talk about our new home.

I’ve already mentioned all the great things about our new home: the gym, the pools, the coworking spaces, the three dog parks, and restaurants 100 feet away.

But just because we love our new home doesn’t mean it doesn’t have its flaws.

The day we got our key to the apartment, we also got our keycard access. This gets us in and out of the garage and the building’s entrances – at least it’s supposed to.

Even that first trip to Walmart as new residents of the apartment didn’t go as planned.

The parking garage has a bridge to the living areas of the complex on the third floor. That floor also has shopping carts to get your things across the bridge.

We enter the elevator, hit the third floor… and nothing. Great.

We press the help button. “We’ll send someone right over,” they say.

We can get to the ground floor without the key, so we ride it down to meet the attendant there.

Anita explains the situation. He escorts us to the third floor. We grab our carts, and takes us back up to the sixth floor. Victory… kind of.

Carts full to the brim, we head back to the elevator. No luck. Guess the keycard really doesn’t work.

As we fiddle with the buttons, the elevator starts descending on its own. Through some stroke of luck, it lands on the third floor. We push the carts out, cross the bridge, and finally reach our apartment.

I breathe a sigh of relief—but the parking garage isn’t done testing us yet.

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One of our favorite things to do in any new country? Go to grocery stores.

Sounds strange and boring, right? But grocery stores can tell us so much! They’re like stepping into a cultural time capsule.

Funny enough, this tradition started right here in Costa Rica.

At grocery stores every aisle gives you a glimpse into how people live there.

Instead of plums and blueberries, it’s mangos and papayas. Instead of Doritos and Ben & Jerry’s, it’s plantain chips and Pops ice cream. Instead of cajun and BBQ, it’s sazon and adobo.

So it should come as no surprise that we’ve spent a lot of time exploring supermarkets here.

Each trip feels less like an errand and more like a tiny adventure.

During our apartment scouting trip, our realtor’s partner pointed out a grocery store called Auto Mercado.

“You should shop there. It’s very nice inside. You can find almost anything you need,” she said as we drove by.

So of course, that’s where we went for our first big grocery run.

And yes—Auto Mercado did have everything we needed. But with every item we tossed into the cart, our excitement turned into quiet panic.

“This is going to be expensive,” I muttered, dropping a giant bag of rice into the cart.

“Yeah, but our fridge is empty. We need to stock it,” Anita reminded me.

We braced ourselves. But nothing could’ve prepared us for the total.

The clerk read it out. I did the conversion in my head.

$450.

I knew it would be a lot. But that much? In Florida, we could fill our fridge at Aldi for $100.

Only later did we learn Auto Mercado is basically Costa Rica’s Whole Foods. Suddenly, it all made sense. We weren’t prepared for Costa Rican prices when we first got here, and we’d unwittingly chosen the premium option for our first shopping trip.

Now we only stop by when we need something special—just a couple of things we can’t find anywhere else.

But stocking the fridge was only one piece of the puzzle. There was still more to figure out.

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Our apartment came pretty well decorated since it used to be a short-term rental. But one space felt empty, almost forgotten: the balcony.

Which is ironic because the balcony overlooks the bustling market across the street. And every Friday and Saturday night, live music drifts up from below. All we have to do is slide open the door and we’ve got a front-row seat.

So we decide to turn it into more than just a balcony. We want a little sanctuary. A table, a couple of chairs, some plants. A spot to sit, sip, and soak it all in.

That mission takes us to Novex—part hardware store, part home goods, part treasure hunt. Think Lowe’s meets Kohl’s.

We wander the aisles and fill our cart.

“This place has everything we need,” Anita says as we put a stick fan into our cart.
“Everything but what we came for,” I joke back.

Our cart is full of things we don’t need but not the one thing we came for. We’re ready to give up when we spot it.

A wooden table set with two seats.
Perfect size. Perfect look. Perfect price.

Into the cart it went.

At checkout, the cashier gives us a knowing smile. She pointed at the set.
“You can put that back. Someone will bring you a box from the back.”

We pick up the furniture and awkwardly return it to the display.

A few minutes later, a man appears with a large box in a shop cart. Our balcony set had officially arrived.

What we don’t realize is that one of those chairs is about to become its own story.

Remember that fun elevator story? Well, the very next day had another surprise waiting.

The morning we head to Novex, the garage elevator is out of order. And the stairs are locked from the inside.

So our only option is to trek three floors up the garage ramps just to reach the car.

“At least we’re getting some exercise,” I joke.

Anita doesn’t laugh.

Fast forward to the return trip. The elevator is still broken. Which means not just walking three floors but pushing shopping carts up and down those ramps.

By now it’s clear: our move here is anything but mundane. In Florida, we searched for ways to shake the routine. Here? The routine shakes us.

And just when we think we’ve got things figured out—the prices, the furniture, even the elevators—Costa Rica finds other ways to surprise us.

We wouldn’t want it any other way. Because sometimes the best kind of home isn’t the one without problems. It’s the one that keeps you awake, alive, and curious.

What early lessons have you learned from a major life change? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: Life Keeps Throwing Us Curveballs

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Currently Reading: Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

After all the ATM chaos, after Grace left, after the luggage detour… we pulled up with $2,400 tucked in an old instant coffee container. The hotel ATM worked perfectly.

A much needed turn of events in our obstacle ridden journey. It was the first sign that maybe, just maybe, we were adjusting to this place—and it was adjusting to us.

Nacho and the condo owner’s agent are waiting for us at the front desk area of the complex. They escort us to our new home – smiles on all our faces.

The agent goes over the apartment inventory and the paperwork for our lease. I read and sign each document.

Back in the States, paperwork felt like drudgery. Here, every signature felt like a small victory I wanted to remember.

Anita pulls money out of the old coffee box and counts... $1,200 for Nacho and $1,200 for the owner. Then hands each their portion.

I look over at Anita smiling. We can both feel it. After all the headaches, all the letting go, all the adrenaline of the past few days – we finally had what we’d spent months working toward.

We have a new home!

With the help of our realtor and the owner’s realtor, we bring in all the luggage we packed into the new apartment. Just another sign of how generous and helpful people are here.

As we get ready to continue our errands, it dawns on me. In just 24 hours we went from not knowing where we would be staying beyond the week to officially being the new residents of a spectacular new home. And unlike our Florida househunting experience this couldn’t have gone smoother.

It’s the perfect place to settle down and start our new lives. But first it’s time to pick up some stuff for the new place and bring Pookie to his new home.

Keys in hand, we stepped back out into San Jose, ready for whatever came next.

One of the biggest shocks from my short time here isn’t the weather. It isn’t the sights and sounds. It isn’t even the new language. Although those things are all new to me.

The biggest shock so far was going to Walmart in Escazu.

Walmarts in Florida are completely packed – no matter what time you go. They are also unorganized, chaotic, and have the cheapest prices.

Stepping into an American store in Costa Rica felt strange. But the reason became clear as I looked around…

This Walmart was not packed.

It was clean.

It was calm.

And it was kinda expensive.

“Is it weird I kinda like it here?” I asked Anita.

She looks at me shocked. “But Walmart is one of your least favorite places,” she replies.

“I guess it isn’t here,” I chuckle.

Our trip there was one of the most disorienting things we’ve encountered so far. But it allowed us to grab all of our apartment essentials in one place.

And as if Walmart wasn’t disorienting enough, our next stop took us even further into American déjà vu – Johnny Rockets.

We didn’t even last a week without getting our fill of Americana. It felt like we were standing with one foot still in Florida and one foot now in Costa Rica, still adjusting to everything. A feeling that has become less frequent as time passes.

I guess it’s just a part of getting readjusted to our new lives here.

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Back in Florida, Pookie had everything he could ever want.

He had a yard he could roam free in.

He had a “wife” – my cousin’s dog – who he shared many adventures with.

He had neighbors who took care of him when we went away.

He had it all.

So we were worried about how he would adjust to his new home.

And that was one of the deciding factors for choosing our new apartment. It has three amazing dog parks he can go to:

One down by the river with bamboo swaying above.

One right outside our building and down the stairs.

And one that feels like a little adventure every time you walk to it.

We figured if it has that many dog parks, it’s bound to have a lot of friends for him to play with.

It’s finally time to pick up Pookie and our remaining luggage – our last moments at Secrt.

It’s bittersweet leaving Secrt. It gave us a comfortable landing spot as we get readjusted here.

“Pookie’s locked in the bathroom!” Anita shouts.

“What?” I say, thinking I heard her wrong.

“Yeah, look,” she says wriggling the door handle.

“Shit!” we both say in unison.

It’s not opening. We must have accidentally left the lock on when we put him in the bathroom.

We scramble around thinking of what to do.

Do we call the front desk?

Do we have to get a lock pick?

What do we do?

But then it hits us. I don’t remember who thought of it or who actually opened the door, but we slide a card into the slot next to the door’s lock and it clicks.

Pookie darts out like nothing happened. Maybe Costa Rica was teaching us to let go of the small stuff and keep moving.

“Thank god that worked.” I say.

We grab our remaining luggage and items from the fridge. I lift Pookie up, place him into his travel carrier, and place it on top of our last remaining luggage.

“Thanks for everything,” Anita says to the apartment as I lock the door. “Yeah, thanks for everything,” I repeat.

I get off at the sixth floor with Pookie and the luggage and Anita continues down to the lobby to check out.

Saying goodbye to Secrt wasn’t just saying goodbye to a rental—it was goodbye to the in-between, the place that caught us while we found our footing. Closing that door meant opening the next chapter.

Now came time for another test – how would Pookie adjust?

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Our first trip to the dog park with Pookie was magical.

To get there we have to descend down a few sets of stairs.

Past the playground and the pool deck.

Filled with laughter and splashing.

Along the path that curves alongside one of the towers.

A small dog greets us from the balcony each time we pass.

And a final set of stairs that leads to peace and tranquility.

As we enter the park and let Pookie loose, a wave of relief and tranquility rush through my body.

From ATM runs to bamboo swaying softly overhead.

From traffic fumes to the sounds of a rushing river.

From an endless to-do list to a cool breeze flowing through my hair.

Watching Pookie run free, it hit me:

Adjustment isn’t instant.

It’s hundreds of tiny, beautiful moments.

I turn to Anita and say. “This feels like home.”

Anita nods in agreement, “I think you’re right.”

That tranquility doesn’t last forever. There are issues with banks, with the embassy, and even with our new complex.

Even with the headaches—ATM runs, driving hassles, embassy issues—life was good. Adjustment is messy. But as the bamboo swayed overhead, I thought: this is a pretty good place to do it.

What was it like to have a new start? How did you adjust to your new reality? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: Break from the Routine

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Currently Reading: Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

In the US the process for getting an apartment is multiple steps. It involves getting background and credit checks, showing proof of income, and having a down payment for rent. Here, Nacho simply asked when we wanted to move in. The trust-based system was refreshing but also slightly disorienting.

We were expecting the process to take a lot longer. We didn’t think we’d need to get that much cash in less than a day.

Without the cash in hand, there’s no apartment. No keys. No home.

No time to waste.

Down to the garage.

Into the car.

Six floors spiral down.

I remembered seeing an ATM machine at the apartment complex we were applying for – so that was our first destination.

We arrive at the complex.

Park the car.

Walk up to the ATM.

And there it is.

A sign that we weren’t looking forward to but should have expected: Maximum withdrawal per transaction $200(USD).

“Two hundred dollars?” I stare at the sign in disbelief.

“Per day? Are you kidding me?” Anita says, tapping the screen.

“This isn’t going to work. We need...twelve times this amount,” I mutter, calculating quickly.

“What now?” Anita responds.

We pull out $200 each then walk back to the car and tell Grace about our situation.

“There’s an ATM at the hotel I stay at for work across the street,” she says matter of factly.

That’s Grace, the human Swiss Army knife. Always ready with the right tool—even if that tool is simply knowing where the next ATM is.

So we head over to the hotel, which despite being across the street, requires driving in circles to get to. Another classic example of driving in San Jose – and certainly not the last we would encounter.

We enter the hotel lobby. Cool air. Dim lighting. The ATM is tucked away in one of the side corridors.

Luckily this ATM does not post a daily limit. But that doesn’t mean things will be easy.

Anita tries to pull out the rest of the money we need. Hearts pounding with each processing second.

The machine gives an error: This machine does not have enough money for this request.

So she tries a lower amount. Relief. The money comes out.

Now it’s my turn. I try to withdraw the same amount as Anita. And can you believe it? We are met with a familiar message: This machine does not have enough money for this request.

Okay… I put in a smaller amount. The money comes out.

Looks like we’ve run the machine dry for the day.

After two ATM trips, we have enough for half the money we owe. The sun is down, and we don’t want to risk getting large amounts of money at night. The rest will have to wait for tomorrow.

But we didn’t let that minor hiccup stop us from celebrating. After getting back to Secrt, we go downstairs and order a few cocktails. “Salud!” we say in unison – a toast to finding our first home in Costa Rica.

We soak in the atmosphere of the urban jungle as we plan out how to get the rest of the money we need.

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The next morning brought two big changes: Grace’s departure and the return of our elusive fifth piece of luggage.

It sucks to see Grace go. Our Swiss Army knife is heading back to the States. But she’ll be back in a few weeks with her boyfriend – and this time she’ll get the chance to enjoy her time here.

Dropping off Grace also gives us the chance to pick up that fifth piece of luggage that was left behind in Miami. The journey to retrieve the luggage wasn’t much of a story, but what I discovered when I looked at the tag was – it somehow made its way through San Salvador!

I’d love to know how it ended up there and found its way back.

Did it stay in Miami and get routed through there?

Did it go there and have to make its way back to Miami?

Did it accidentally get sent there and then get sent to San Jose?

I guess we’ll never know, but we’re glad to have it back. A funny thing about that luggage was, every time we needed something from our luggage, it just so happened to be in luggage five.

It became a running joke in our first few days in San Jose. Just one of those things you have to laugh about to keep you from getting worked up for no reason.

That luggage was the perfect metaphor for our move: strange detours, but somehow it all works out in the end.

Our next stop is to the bank to get the rest of the money we need for the apartment. It’s on the way back from the airport. There will still be light outside. It should be no problem.

But as you know, very little in our journey has gone to plan. For one thing, there’s so much traffic. Traffic in San Jose doesn’t care what time it is. Morning, afternoon, night—it’s always there.

And then…

We miss the turn.

Recalculating…

Fifteen minutes lost.

And of course—we’re funneled back into the same bumper-to-bumper mess

“Welcome to San Jose,” I attempt a laugh. “Where every missed turn costs you twenty minutes of your life.”

As we approach the exit again – we make a decision. We won’t get off at our intended exit. We’ll just go to one of the banks downtown that has an ATM.

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We should have known better.

Sun in our eyes. Vendors shouting. Exhaust fumes and honking horns everywhere. It’s the same area we’d gone to for money on our first day.

We’re still a couple blocks away.

“I don’t like this,” Anita says quietly, her eyes scanning the street.

“The bank’s just another block,” I counter, though I’m feeling the same unease.

“Not worth it,” she shakes her head. “Not with that much cash…”

Our eyes meet in silent agreement before I nod. “Hotel ATM it is.”

As we get back to the parking lot, it must have seemed strange to the parking attendant – we were gone for maybe a minute – but he didn’t say anything.

We are stressed about the whole situation, but we have faith that the hotel will have the money we need so we can get the apartment. Keeping the faith has been one of our greatest assets through the whole process.

It’s decided.

Back to the hotel.

Back to the ATM.

We pray it has enough to finally get us a home.

What situations put you up against enormous pressure? How did you make it through? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: A New Start

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Currently Reading: Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

Just because we’re in Costa Rica now doesn’t mean our work is done. We’re just getting started.

The most important thing on our checklist is finding a new home. We’re staying at Secrt for the week, but we have no plans beyond that.

Finding our house in Florida was an adventure of its own.

We wanted something with a big yard.

We wanted it for a decent price.

And we wanted something we could grow into.

At first glance it seems like a reasonable list of requirements. That is until you realize this was at the height of the housing frenzy. Houses were being listed and sold in days.

We looked at so many houses in 2021. In fact, we almost gave up. After seeing what would be our future house, we didn’t even put in a bid. What was the point if it was just going to sell later that day?

The following day we got a message from our realtor, “Are you going to put in a bid?”

“It was such a nice house. We thought there was a bidding war already,” I replied.

“Well, their realtor is asking if you’re interested. So if you want it, put in a bid,” she responds.

So we went to the portal and submitted our bid. At this point we aren’t counting our eggs before they’re hatched. We are so used to getting bad news.

A couple days later we got the most beautiful message from our realtor “Congrats! You’re homeowners.”

Over the years we turned that house into our dream home. It had bold colors, decorations galore – a little touch of us in every room. We thought we would live there a long time.

But you know the end to that story.

We just finished a wonderful breakfast at a cafe just steps away from the Airbnb. This is one of the great things about our location in San Jose. We don’t need to go very far to find anything.

Another advantage of being this close to Secrt is, we don’t have to rush back before our realtor comes to pick us up at 11am.

After wrapping up breakfast, we make the leisurely trip back to our room. A half an hour later we get a call from our realtor. He’s almost there. We can start heading down.

As we start heading towards the elevator, the lights shut down and the emergency lights turn on. The power is out!

During moments like this there is often good news and bad news. The good news is, if we left any earlier we would be stuck in the elevator. The bad news is, now we have to walk down 21 floors. We have a schedule to keep and we don’t know when the power will come back on.

We were also in a hurry to find an apartment. We didn’t want another house hunting experience like the last time. So we start our descent down to avoid any delays.

It seems like a never ending stairway. We pass multiple groups of people, some are huffing and puffing their way up — an unenviable task. Others are on their way down like us. We hear curses and shouts.

By floor 10 I’m convinced this stairwell is actually an endless loop. Luckily Pookie isn’t with us or I might be carrying him too.

But we are on a mission.

There is no time to despair.

If we don’t find a home this week, we’ll have to figure something out.

After what seems like an eternity we finally reach the bottom. In the coming days our legs will feel like noodles, but for now our adrenaline keeps us going.

Nacho is waiting with a smile when we finally emerge – sweaty and exhausted. “Ready for some apartment hunting?” he asks, as if power outages and stair marathons were just part of a normal day. Maybe here, they were.

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We see three places, each with its own charm.

When we see the first apartment, we immediately fall in love.

It’s in a much calmer part of San Jose.

It’s higher in the mountains and it has a cooler climate.

It has a nature trail we can take Pookie on.

And it has multiple rooms which makes it easier to have visitors.

We are almost immediately sold. The fresh air, the calm, and the near silence makes it feel more like a retreat space than an apartment.

If the first apartment had the tranquility we were seeking, the second apartment had convenience.

It has a gym, basketball/soccer field, and sauna.

It has two pools: one for exercise and one for lounging.

It has restaurants, a salon, and a mini market.

It has coworking and relaxation spaces on the top floor.

And it has three dog parks for Pookie to run around in.

The striking architecture and pristine condition of the complex makes it feel like a modern self-contained city.

This makes our choice harder. We love both of these places and can see ourselves living there.

Our final stop for the day is a familiar sight. We are back at Secrt so we know most of the advantages already.

It has an amazing top floor and lounge area.

It has a heated pool and a nice dog park for Pookie.

It is next to the wonderful little cafe we went to earlier.

And it is a place we already know we like.

It’s also conveniently located near the amazing Mexican restaurant Nacho took us to for lunch.

By this point, it felt like choosing between three ice cream flavors we already love — pistachio, passion fruit, and coconut. You can’t go wrong, but you still have to pick one.

Unlike our past troubles finding a home, our trouble here was picking from many good options.

When Anita and I first decided to move we wanted to qualify under a different visa. Instead of applying for a rentista visa, which is similar to a digital nomad style vista, we wanted to apply through the investment visa.

We contacted a legal team that specializes in the investment visa early on. They were very persistent in trying to get us to fill out all the paperwork involved with that process. If applying for a rentista visa was hard, the investment visa was probably much harder.

We felt good about that process until we explained the situation to our realtor, Nacho, who told us he could get us in touch with one of his friends who was an immigration lawyer – just in case we had questions. And believe me, we had a lot of questions.

You might remember Lorena from before. She was the one who told us about importing our stuff from Florida.

After discussing our plan with her, she was very blunt with us. “You might want to reconsider the investment visa. It requires a lot of money, and if you don’t like Costa Rica, you are pretty much stuck with a company here,” she explained.

Basically, the investment visa is like getting married to Costa Rica on day one – a commitment we weren’t ready to make yet. So we decided to change paths and apply for rentista visas.

We told her we were ready to move forward. We didn’t sign any contracts or pay her up front. She was helping us in faith that we would pay her after we submitted all of our paperwork. That’s when we knew we found the right lawyer.

Our initial plan when working with our realtor was to buy a house from the start. We knew we were coming for the long haul, so why wait?

But after some discussions, we decided to spend at least the first year in San Jose. This would allow us to do all our paperwork and other tasks in the capital instead of driving back and forth. We would also be able to walk everywhere instead of needing to buy a car.

Through even more research we learned that buying a house in Costa Rica was not an investment like in the US. Once you buy it, you pretty much own it for life. So instead of rushing into the situation, we decided to spend the year really looking for where we wanted to go.

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Back at Secrt, Anita and I are weighing our options. “The mountain place has that peaceful vibe we wanted,” I said. “But the convenience of the second place. It has everything we need and three dog parks for Pook...” she countered. We went back and forth, weighing tranquility against convenience, retreat against community.

As if the universe were eavesdropping on our conversation, we get a call from Nacho. “Someone else is interested in Apartment B. If you want it, they are looking for a down payment (one month’s rent) today.”

My stomach tightened. Were we about to lose out again, like in Florida? But this time felt different—instead of scarcity and competition, we had options. We weren’t desperate; we were choosing. And somehow, that made the decision easier – let’s do it.

“We want to reserve it but we don’t have a bank account yet,” we told him.

“I can send the owner the money now and you can pay me back tomorrow when you give them the first month’s rent.,” he responded.

This would have been unthinkable in the United States. Just like with the lawyer, we had no contract with him. We had only meant over a few calls online. Can we trust someone we met for the first time?

But somewhere along the process we decided to just have faith that things would turn out. I guess Pura Vida is starting to rub off on us already.

“Let’s do it,” I said.

“Great. We’ll all meet at the apartment tomorrow at noon,” says Nacho.

And that’s the start of our journey to come up with $2,400 in cash in less than 24 hours – the game is afoot.

What’s a really difficult decision you’ve had to make? How did you decide what to do? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: The Hunt for Cash

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Currently Reading: Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

The ride to our Airbnb is smooth and uneventful. Pookie is still under the influence of his calming meds and doesn’t make a peep. We never told the driver we had a dog with us, and he never mentions it. It feels like we’ve gotten away with something.

The car pulls up to the front of a tall building. A guard is waiting behind a gate ready to let us in.
He pulls open the gate, says “Buenos días,” and we maneuver our luggage towards the entrance – at this point we’re luggage pros.

Everything about this condo is shrouded in elegance and mystery — fitting for a place called Secrt.

The entryway has three blue doors:

• A tiny one.

• A human-sized one.

• And a giant one with an oversized handle, propped open like it’s daring us to enter.

We walk through it.

As we enter the lobby, we’re immediately transported into a new world. Striking decorations everywhere. Dark walls lit up with neon accents. Pops of color pulling our eyes in every direction.

Off to the side of the front desk is a bar and lounge. Just like the rest of the ground floor, it’s moody, atmospheric, and full of carefully chosen plants that make the whole place feel like an urban jungle. The next day we’ll be sitting there sipping our first celebratory cocktails.

The check-in process is smooth and simple. The man at the front desk hands us keys and tells us to go down the hallway on the left.

We walk towards the hallway, turn the corner, and see that it’s blocked off. That’s odd, but we keep going. Just as we reach the end of the hall, a door magically slides open. Our jaws drop.

There are many tiny surprises like that at Secrt Sabana. And this is just the beginning.

The quirkiness of Secrt is found in every detail. Instead of the usual door numbers to mark your room, the numbers are inset inside of a hallucinogenic plate.

We find our room, open the door, and are treated with a spectacular view of the city. Exploring the rest of the building and city are near the top of our list, but for now it’s time to crash.

Four hours of sleep the night before and a full morning of travel left us completely wiped.

When we wake up from our naps, it’s time for food.

We head down 21 floors to the ground, pass the security guard, and walk a few blocks to a mini market. After grabbing some supplies, we come back up to whip up a simple meal – or so we think.

The apartment has a detached two-burner cooktop and some pots and pans. We put water on to boil eggs, but minutes later… nothing. The water is still cold.

Okay, let’s scramble instead. We swap the pot for a pan. The oil sizzles. That’s when we realize it’s an induction stove. And only certain pans work with it.

After we scramble up a quick breakfast, we’re ready to move on with our day. There are so many little hiccups like this throughout our journey, but they make the experience all the richer.

Now that we’re recharged, it’s time for our next mission: pick up the rental car and finish some errands.

Luckily for us, Grace has volunteered to keep Pookie company while we get the car.

One of the first things we learn about driving in San Jose: it’s not for the faint of heart. Drivers here are fearless.

Cars park wherever they want, hazard lights flashing. You have to swerve in and out of lanes with little notice. If you don’t move the instant the light turns green, people blast their horn. And motorcycles? They appear out of nowhere, weaving right beside you.

And of course, this is where we need to go pick up the money I never got at the airport.

Every downtown is a little rough around the edges, but here I also had to factor in the language barrier. I can understand a lot of Spanish, but when it comes to responding? That’s harder.

Anita drops me off at the exchange and parks the car on the other side of the road. Hazards on, nerves high.

I stand in front of the window. No one is there. Ten minutes pass. Still nothing. Anita calls to say she has to circle the block – she’s not comfortable sitting in traffic.

More waiting. More nerves. What if they’re closed? It’s Sunday. What if I can’t get the cash?

Finally, someone shows up. After a phone call and some paperwork, I walk out with colones in hand. Relief floods in. But not for long. I’m standing on the sidewalk, pile of cash in my pocket, and no idea where Anita is.

Meanwhile, she’s having her own mini adventure. Later she tells me how stressful it was trying to navigate San Jose traffic solo. Eventually she pulls up, I hop in, and we drive back to Secrt as fast as we can.

At the time? Stressful. Looking back? Just another funny story. One of those “first week abroad” moments that now feels like part of the adventure.

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Two more little outings cap our first day: Walmart and Soda Tapia. Our first grocery haul. Our first official meal in our new home.

The most remarkable thing about these trips? How unremarkable they were. Aside from a few wrong turns, they were the calm we needed after a whirlwind of a day.

After another long and eventful day, it’s nice to let the calm sink in. We get to relax, unwind, and relish the fact that we actually did it.

This moment has been years in the making and it feels like the perfect beginning to our new lives. A beginning with many more adventures yet to come.

What was the day like when you finally made your creative leap? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: Finding a New Home

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Currently Reading: Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

I have never been more relieved to feel the wheels touch the ground and hear the screeching of brakes as the plane pulled into the tarmac.

This is the beginning of my new life in a new place, and unlike my life for the past 20 years, I have no idea what’s coming next.

Our first true test comes at the immigration line. I’ve never been anywhere on a one-way ticket.

My heart is beating fast.
My palms are sweaty.
I feel the nerves inside my body.

Even though I’ve been to Costa Rica a few times before, this time feels different.

I walk up to the immigration agent and he asks for my passport and proof of exit. I hand him my passport and pull out my phone to show him my ticket to Puerto Rico.

I look at him nervously.
He hands the phone back to me.

And then, the most beautiful moment. I watch as the agent stamps my passport and says “Welcome to Costa Rica. Pura Vida.”

A sigh of relief and on to our next task.

We walk to the luggage carousel and wait for our bags. One. Two. Three. Four.

The luggage stop coming out of the conveyor. Wait, where’s number five? The fifth one never comes.

I open the Find My app on my phone and see the fifth piece of luggage is still in Miami. We’ll have to get it another day – just another item for our new to-do list.

One thing I know we’ll need, now that we’re in a new country, is cash. We know most places take credit cards, but some don’t.

So I look over at the currency exchange booth. It’s still early. No one is there yet. Luckily there’s a currency exchange machine right next to the booth.

I walk up to the machine and put my bills in one by one.
Coins tumble down the chute.
The machine spits out a receipt.

We’ve hit another snag. The receipt tells us this machine doesn’t have the required bills. We’ll have to go downtown and get money there. It wasn’t the end of the world, but it did add an unexpected stop to our schedule. It was just another reminder to go with the flow and trust things will work themselves out.

Our final step inside the airport is going through luggage scans and showing the agent our paperwork for Pookie.

We had a couple of concerns here. We knew importing our possessions required an itemized list but we didn’t know if we had to declare anything in our suitcases. We also didn’t know if Pookie’s paperwork was exactly what we needed. It was done by the vet, so it should be good, but who knows.

We place our luggage on the conveyor belt.
Walk to the other side of the machine.
And wait nervously.

I take a deep breath and watch anxiously as the agent stares at the monitor. Meanwhile Anita is waiting to present Pookie’s documents.

The suitcases arrive on the other side of the belt. The agent doesn’t mention anything about them – we’re good to go. First obstacle down.

Now for Pookie’s paperwork. Anita hands Pookie’s paperwork over to the agent and he starts scanning the documents. After the actual plane ride, this was our second biggest concern.

Are the documents good?
Are we missing anything?
What happens if they don’t accept them?

As Anita is walking away from the customs agent, our hearts drop.

“You’re missing a paper,” says the customs agent.

Anita walks back nervously and the agent starts talking to her. Luckily we weren’t missing anything. Anita just resized documents to fit on fewer pages.

Crisis averted.

We grab our luggage and head quickly out the door before they change their minds.

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We were originally planning to rent a car for the entire week while staying at the Airbnb. That would allow us to get our luggage to and from the airport and to our eventual new home.

But the flight delay completely ruined those plans. When I canceled our car rental the night before we decided to wait until we got settled at the Airbnb. That way we wouldn’t have to drive all the way back to the airport to return it.

More on our adventures with the car to come.

Once out of the airport we quickly get to action.

We buy our cell phone data plans.
Cross the parking structure with all our luggage.
Stuff the entire elevator with our things.
And go up a few floors to the rideshare area.

Then we order an UberXL and pray it can fit everything:
- The three of us
- Our four checked suitcases
- Three carry on bags
- And Pookie in his carrier.

The driver pulls up and starts Tetrising all our stuff. We start to worry.

The big luggage fills up the back quickly. Our carry on’s are stacked on top of each other in the back seat. We get in and put our backpacks on top of our laps and Pookie’s carrier on top of that.

After a few minutes we get everything in. Not an inch to spare.

It’s at this moment we realize the universe works in strange but beautiful ways. If that fifth piece of luggage arrived as planned, it wouldn’t have fit. We would’ve needed another car.

As the Uber drives away, we watch the mountains pass by us, and wonder what new adventures await. For the first time in a while we can take a break and relish this quiet respite, but as we know every day brings new challenges. And if there’s anything we learned during this whole process, it’s that we can handle anything that comes our way.

What were the moments like right after you made a creative leap? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: We’ve Finally Arrived

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Currently Reading: Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

It’s a few hours before our flight is supposed to leave.
We’re feeling good about everything.
We just got our exit trip tickets to Puerto Rico.
Now we can relax.
Or so we thought.

Then it happens.
Something that completely shakes up even the best-laid plans.
Something we all dread when flying.

We get an email notification with the subject:
IMPORTANT! The departure time of your flight has changed

As if that wasn’t bad enough. Our flight changed from 11pm to 4am the next day!
Your flight is now scheduled to depart from Miami International Airport at 04:00.

Delays are annoying no matter when or where you’re flying. But a delay until the wee hours the next day, when you are flying to another country, with all your possessions, and your dog in tow? That’s an entirely different level of stress.

I might usually be the stoic one, but this time around, it was Anita's turn.

Airports are one of my least favorite places. Everything about them makes me uneasy. I even dropped my laptop at the Copenhagen airport and shattered the whole screen there.

I start rambling out all the things we need worry about:

Should we leave at our regularly scheduled time?
Should we leave in the wee hours of the morning?
What do we do with Pookie that many hours at the airport?
What do we tell Anita’s sister, who’s also helping us with this trip?

Meanwhile Anita is sitting next to me cool as a cucumber. She is texting her sister about the situation, and they get right to action.

Grace is already at the airport where she’s able to physically go to the airport hotel, and check their availability – my earlier attempt looking online went nowhere.

While I’m still frantically running scenarios through my head, Anita and Grace coolly book the hotel room.

Anita turns to me calmly and says “Grace found a room available at the airport hotel. We are going to book it.”

I finally calm down. All that self-inflicted stress gone in an instant. I’m so glad Anita and I are doing this together.

We really are the perfect team — picking each other up, balancing each other out.

Sometimes I hear people complain about their partners. “We always argue,” they say. Honestly, I don’t know what that’s like. I can’t remember us having a single real argument.

Moments like this remind me how good I really have it.

Bzzzztttt. Ugh. The dreaded sound that means it's time to get up. I usually snooze it at least a couple of times.

But theré’s no time for that today. Even though we only got a few hours of sleep, it’s time to go. Ít’s 1am and our flight leaves in three hours.

We went scouting the night before to see where we could get a quick breakfast. The only thing open is a 24 hour Subway. Not really my idea of breakfast but it will have to do.

After finishing our subs, we make our way over to the check-in counter. It’s in another terminal so we have to push all of our luggage across the terminal.

Anita and I are pushing two checked bags.
One of my check bags has my carry-on bag sitting on top, the other has my backpack.
Anita’s checked bags have her carry-on and Pookie’s carrier sitting on top.
Grace has the last checked bag with Anita’s backpack on top, and her own carry-on bag alongside.

I wish I could’ve heard the thoughts of the people who were watching us. It must have been a sight.

If that weren’t embarrassing enough, Pookie starts going crazy inside his carrier.
He’s spotted another dog, and he’s not having any of it.

This is the thing we feared most when flying with Pookie. How do we control his barking when nothing works under the best of scenarios?

Luckily, Grace just happens to have a blanket in her arsenal. So we quickly throw it on top, and just like that the barking vanishes. But we need to have a better plan for the flight itself.

When we arrive at the gate, it’s around 2am, but there’s no one there to check us in. An hour goes by and finally gate agents arrive. We only have an hour to get through security and to our gate before the flight leaves.

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We’ve made it through security and it’s time to give Pookie the other half of his pill.

We go to one of the mini markets.
Buy a string cheese.
Stuff the pill into the cheese
He gobbles it up.
Let’s see if that works.

Pookie’s relaxation medicine is a little miracle in a bottle. Part dachshund, part chihuahua, 100% barker — and yet, with one tiny pill in a piece of string cheese, he melts into dream land.

Weeks later, it would come to the rescue again, not for barking this time, but to calm him after an allergic reaction made him itchy and miserable.

But for now, it’s just helping him get through a flight we’ve been dreading for months. He slept like an angel the entire way.

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We are landing at the San Jose airport. And it’s been one of the smoothest flights we’ve ever been on. After all the struggles, hard work and delays, we are finally here.

The thing we worried about the most, Pookie’s behavior on the plane, was not an issue at all. We’re finally here. The day is still young and there’s so much to do!

How were you feeling the morning of your big creative leap? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: We’ve Finally Arrived

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Currently Reading: Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Settling In (Pt. 3): Everyday Moments That Make This Home

Settling In (Pt. 4): The End of the Beginning

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

After Orlando, there was one final stop before we left the country: my parents’ house in South Florida — a place that never felt permanent, but always felt like home.

They moved into the house when I was in college, and for the past 20 years, it’s been my touchpoint between travels, jobs, and life changes.

This time, it would be the last stop before everything changed.

I've been lucky enough to have family living only a few hours away, so I've seen them a lot. But now we face one of the downsides of upending our lives – not being able to see them as much.

My parents’ home is also home for my brother and his family. This is one of those cultural differences where multi-generational living is pretty normal, and not a mark of shame.

It’s a fitting last stop before we fly off to Costa Rica.

Just like we did in Orlando, we gave ourselves one final ritual: a food tour of our favorite South Florida spots.

Part comfort. Part farewell. Mostly a way to say goodbye wrapped in something familiar:

• Pat GoGo – sushi and Thai we still haven’t matched anywhere

• El Rinconcito – a Colombian spot my parents had raved about nonstop

• Crazee Mario’s – Indian-Italian fusion dreams and tikka masala pizza

Each bite was its own morsel of goodbye.

We didn’t know what to expect from the food in Costa Rica. On past visits, nothing really stood out.

But things changed once we moved.

• Típico: the unexpectedly perfect breakfast: rice and beans, eggs, plantains, cheese, sausage, and corn tortillas — all with Costa Rica’s famous coffee.

• Casado: our go-to lunch or dinner: rice, black beans, plantains, salad, a tortilla, and your choice of protein.

And beyond the traditional meals, we quickly found ourselves surrounded by global options just steps from our door.

It’s not the same food we left behind. But little by little, it’s becoming a new kind of comfort — one that nourishes more than just our bodies.

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It’s one thing to move from city to city within the same state.
It’s another thing to move from state to state.
It's an entirely new ballgame moving from country to country.

You have to make sure you have a place to send all your mail. (Interesting aside: Costa Rica does not have a physical mail system for letters)
You have to figure out what to do with all the stuff you aren’t bringing.
And you have to figure out what to do with your car.

Having a car is both a blessing and a curse. But I don’t really miss it as much as I thought I would.

We have a mini-market downstairs, a grocery store up the hill, and a park just down the road.

But we don’t just walk to things that are close by. Living in a proper city allows us to walk just about everywhere.

To the grocery stores and farmer’s market.
To the amazing array of restaurants.
And even to the vet when Pookie has an allergic reaction with bumps all over his body – a story for another day.

Selling our cars was a part of the process we were not looking forward to. We were worried about finding the right buyer and having to negotiate over how much we would get.

But to our surprise, this was one of the smoothest parts of the moving process.

Anita discovered that Carvana was as simple as could be. You just fill out their form, send them some documents, and they give you an offer within a few hours.

No talking to a salesperson. No haggling over how much you get. Just simple and efficient.

If only everything was like that.

Selling my car was just as easy. It was also the last possession I let go of from my life in Florida.

So I recorded the moment the car was loaded onto the truck, not knowing whether or not I would regret selling such an essential part of the last seven years of my life.

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I’ve just sold my car to Carvana and notice a little clause in the details of the sale: you must turn in your license plate and notify the state that you sold your car.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. Anita had already tossed her plate. Traffic was crawling. And the DMV closed in 90 minutes.

So, we frantically start printing out our sales notices and order an Uber. The closest one is stuck in traffic, 15 minutes away, and it will take 30 minutes to get to the DMV.

We pace back and forth inside the garage. Watching as our Uber slowly moves towards us.

This is one of those moments where hindsight is 20/20. Obviously we should have read the fine print better. I should have scheduled the pickup for an earlier time.

Rather than shoulding all over ourselves, and worrying about the past, we had to focus on the NOW.

Our Uber finally picks us up. It’s 4pm and still 30 minutes to drive over. I keep nervously looking at the map, wondering if we’ll have enough time.

We finally arrive and see an interesting notice at the front of the line: County Residents Only. We panic at the thought that we did all this work just to turn back around.

Instead of fleeing, we get into line anyway.
There’s only a couple of people ahead of us.
One by one the line gets smaller.
And I get more nervous.
Finally we are called up.

“We’re here to turn in a license plate and give notice of sale. We also need to report one of our license plates as lost.”

When you’re waiting to be disappointed, a second feels like an eternity. Would she ask us to show proof of residency? Did we need to figure out another way to turn our stuff in?

After a few seconds the woman responds, “No problem. Just fill out this form.”

Relief floods over us in waves. The woman takes our papers, hands us a receipt, and tells us we’re all set.

I check the time.

5:00 PM, on the dot.

A small miracle. A fitting end to our Florida chapter: frantic, frustrating, and weirdly funny in retrospect. One last taste of red tape before we trade one bureaucracy for another.

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The day has finally come. Our flight is in a few hours.

With everything else finally in place, there was just one thing left: proof of exit from Costa Rica. Until our residency is approved, we’re still there on tourist visas — which means we have to leave and re-enter.

We’d been debating where to go, but now, with just hours before our flight, we finally pulled the trigger.

Puerto Rico.

A reunion. A soft landing. A celebration.

Anita could visit family.

We could work on GrimlyGala dolls before Halloween.

And we had tickets to see Bad Bunny — the hottest show in town.

It was the perfect bridge between everything we were leaving and everything we were stepping into.

We didn’t know what was waiting for us in Costa Rica. But after months of goodbyes, checklists, and paperwork… we were finally ready to find out.

At least, we thought we were.

There was still one surprise left.

What were the final moments like before you made a huge life change? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: Our Final Days in Florida

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Currently Reading: Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

Before we found calm in Costa Rica, before the coffee on the balcony and walks to the dog parks, we were somewhere in between.

Between homes.
Between jobs.
Between versions of ourselves.

And in that strange limbo, we were still checking off lists. Still saying goodbyes. Still figuring out how to let go of one chapter so we could begin the next.

Nowhere is that contrast between our past and present lives more evident than in how we work each day.

Now we spend most of our days easing into and out of work. There’s no mad dash out the door. No thirty-minute commute.

Most days, I work in our living room. Or upstairs in the co-working space where I can choose from a few different settings.

An open-air garden, flowers blooming all around.
A peaceful zen garden with miniature water features.
Or one of the open coworking areas.

It’s the perfect contrast to fluorescent lights and cubicles from months ago.

Instead of killing time by the watercooler just to get through the day, I am able to:
Live in the moment.
Be surrounded by nature.
Work without distractions.

But in order to get there we had to live through the weirdest week of our lives.

A week of road trips, no home, and long goodbyes to the place where we built our life.

Through the process of letting go I learned you have to embrace the weird and uncomfortable. You have to move forward while the world you knew moves on without you.

Six days before we left Florida, we drove to Tallahassee for our final apostille. I worked my final day as a full-time employee there, and we began our slow loop back south where we would say our goodbyes, and tie up everything we could.

On the way down we made a stop at our favorite restaurant in Gainesville: Mi Apa.

Cafe con leches.
Empanadas.
Cuban rice bowls.
Desserts to go.

Fuel for the last two hours of our drive.

That night, we crashed at my aunt and uncle’s house. It was also the only place we had to sleep.

Our house was already empty.
There was no turning back.
You would think this is the time to panic.

I think this is where the stoic in me really helped.
We had no time to worry.
Worrying would only make things worse.
And we still had a lot to do.

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My aunt and uncle have been a huge part of my life. When my cousin Kathleen was born our families started seeing each other almost every weekend.

Our families have celebrated many things together: birthdays, holidays, and Disney trips just to name a few. I even spent some summers at their house hanging out.

It was nice to have family so close by, especially during such a chaotic time in our lives. They made our final night in Orlando special.

After a good night’s sleep and heartfelt goodbyes, we packed up again and hit the road. Only five days until we leave for Costa Rica.

One final whirlwind of errands: the bank, the bookstore, Goodwill.

It was such a relief to check off the final to-do’s in Orlando. Every second of our days was packed from the moment we woke up to the moment we went to sleep. It was amazing knowing we only had one last stop in Orlando.

To our old neighbor’s house to pick up Pookie.

The night before listing our house, we invited our neighbor, Aaron and Carolina, over for dinner. We'd become incredibly close over the last couple years. The kind of close where dinner parties, movie nights, and pool parties just happen without much planning.

They even grilled three dozen hot dogs for Pookie’s tenth birthday.

We’d been putting off the conversation, unsure how they’d take the news.

But it was time.

I ripped off a piece of pita, scooped up some hummus, and stuffed it into my mouth.

There’s only a plateful of rice and a couple scoops of tzatziki left and after delaying for as long as I could, I said it.

“We’re listing our house for sale. We’re moving to Costa Rica.”

A long pause. I held my breath. The silence was deafening.

Were we about to lose our closest friends over this move?

Then… “No way!”

Turns out, they’d been dreaming of Costa Rica too. Not yet, but maybe someday.

They were genuinely happy for us. Sad, but supportive. And of course, they offered to help with everything:

Taking our stuff.
Watching Pookie.
Hosting one last pool party.

We couldn’t have asked for better people to share a fence with. We miss them every day.

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After picking up Pookie, we said our final goodbyes. Not so much a bye, but see you later.

“We’ll be neighbors again in Costa Rica!”

One last stop before heading south: Jeremiah’s.

Gelatis for us.
A pup cup for Pookie.
A tiny celebration for the road ahead.

I dip my spoon into the gelati scoop out a small bite. I savour the flavor of cookies and cream and try to etch this into my memory. I want to remember these final bittersweet moments here.

We exit the parking lot to close out our Orlando chapter and begin our journey to something new.

The drive to my parents will likely be the last time I make this trip. After dozens of trips down I95, I feel nostalgic yet eager.

We are still between what was and what will be—but we’re finally moving forward.

Which people have made the biggest impact on your creative journey? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: Our Final Days in Florida

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Currently Reading: Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

It didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like a beginning.

The house is still full of stuff. Boxes and piles waiting to be sorted. The list of things to fix kept growing.

Even though we discounted the home price and agreed to help with closing costs, the new buyers kept sending over fix-it requests.

Normally, this would have pushed us over the edge.

Thankfully, Anita’s parents arrived right when we needed help the most.

Her dad, a natural fixer, jumped in to help us tackle the repairs: leaky sinks, overhanging tree limbs, and endless small details.

One problem at a time. One checkmark at a time. Slowly, the list got smaller.

We’ve always believed in synchronicity. But the way we found our realtor—and our immigration lawyer—still feels wild.

A week after telling my family about our move, my brother texted me:

“Hey, one of my clients is here visiting. He lives in Costa Rica. You should talk to him.”

We called his client, who turned out to be the hinge that opened the next door.

Mike warned us about some bad realtor experiences and connected us with his realtor, Nacho, who immediately felt like the right fit. No pressure. No pushing us toward expensive properties we didn’t need. Just a guy who listened.

Nacho then introduced us to his lawyer friend, who would become one of the most important people we’d meet during this entire move.

The lawyer told us something we didn’t know:

“You can waive import taxes if you’re approved for residency.”

We packed up ten boxes to ship. But later remembered the tax break only applied after residency was approved. Oops.

So we pivoted.

Instead of a shipping crate, we pared everything down to five checked bags, two carry-ons, two personal items, and one dog in a soft carrier.

The rest went to donation. Or family. Or the trash.

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Pookie was our biggest wildcard.

We had to:

• Get him USDA-certified

• Time his final vet visit within 10 days of the flight

• And pray he wouldn’t lose his mind at 30,000 feet

So we got meds for the flight— which I accidentally threw away while decluttering. Luckily we had enough time to get some more. Just a quick visit to the vet and we were good to go.

Another big goodbye was work.

I’d been with the company for over 15 years. And even though I’d been preparing for this, I didn’t give notice until two weeks out.

But I also pitched something: a shift to contract work. They said yes.

Switching to a contract role gave me the sense of continuity I needed—one familiar anchor amidst the sea of change

On my last office day, I got the final document we needed apostilled: an employment verification letter— the final piece of our paperwork puzzle.

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My parents arrived with a large rented SUV, ready to take the last of our things down to South Florida.

The ten boxes we’d packed before were now four. They packed those along with our checked luggage and some items they were keeping.

We waved goodbye as they drove away with the last of our possessions.

A few hours later, we met with the title agent and realtor and signed the papers. Just like that, the house we’d called home for three years belonged to someone else.

We took one last look around.

It was bittersweet. But it didn’t feel like a loss.

It felt like something new was starting.

We dropped Pookie with our neighbors, got in the car, and made our second trip to Tallahassee.

It was a quiet ride.

No more papers to print. No more repairs to make. No more piles to sort.

Just the road ahead and the feeling that—for better or worse—we’re really doing this.

These last moments didn’t feel like a goodbye.
They felt like the promise of something we’d been waiting for.

Do you remember any last moments before you made a big change? Let us know in the comments.

Up next: Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Part 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Currently Reading: Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

Anita, Pookie, and I are in a kayak in the middle of a lake. There’s a volcano in the background. I breathe in deeply and take it all in.

There’s adventure in every day now, but there’s also a stillness I didn’t know I needed.

Two months ago? We were coming towards the end of our never ending task list.

Anita and I sit at our folding table, laptops balanced on top. It’s one of our last pieces of furniture.

Boxes line the hallway. Pookie is pacing. We still have items on our to-do list.

And we’re somehow also hosting two live sessions for the Storyteller Summit—an 8-hour commitment we made months ago before realizing it would overlap with moving out of the country.

We’re tired. But we make it through. Another line scratched off the list.

We knew moving to another country meant paperwork. But what we didn’t realize is how much of our life would start revolving around it.

For Costa Rican residency, you need:

• Birth certificates

• FBI background checks

• Bank statements proving income

• A letter from your employer saying they’re the one paying you

• A bank letter saying how the money arrives

• And more stuff we need to do while in Costa Rica
  

Each one of these documents had a wait time. A process. And all needed an apostille—a fancy government stamp you can only get from your state capital.

For us, that meant a four-hour drive to Tallahassee.

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We left at 4:00 a.m.

The sun wasn’t even out yet, but we wanted to be first in line. Mail-in apostilles had taken weeks before. This was one of our last shots to get them in person.

To our surprise, the process was painless. Quick, even. The hardest part was finding the building.

Naturally, we realized after the fact that we still needed one more document… which meant a whole other trip.

It's a Wednesday afternoon in Costa Rica. We're walking out of the bank, one of our many visits, but also our last official stop before submitting our residency application.

Six months. That’s how long it took from the moment we requested our birth certificates to finally getting every last form filled out, stamped, notarized, and submitted.

Now we play the waiting game…

Have you ever found yourself caught between the life you’ve known and the one you’re building? I’d love to hear how you navigated that in the comments.

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Up next: Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Series in Order:

We Weren’t Unhappy But We Left Anyway

Why We Left a Good Life Behind

Letting Go (Pt. 1): The Beginning of a Creative Reset

Letting Go (Pt. 2): Clearing Space for What’s Next

Currently Reading: Between Worlds (Pt. 1): The Messy Middle of a Creative Reset

Between Worlds (Pt. 2): Saying Goodbye to Our Old Lives

Final Farewell (Pt. 1): Saying Goodbye to Orlando

Final Farewell (Pt. 2): Our Last Days in Florida

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 1): The Not So Calm Before the Storm

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 2): We’ve Finally Made It

Journey to San Jose (Pt. 3): First Day Adventures

Finding Home (Pt. 1): Our First Big Decision

Finding Home (Pt. 2): The Race For Cash

Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Settling In (Pt. 1): Early Lessons & Adventures

Settling In (Pt. 2): So Many Curveballs

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 1): Becoming the Guides

Finding Our Rhythm (Pt. 2): The Reset We Didn’t Plan For