Surrounded By Silly Gooses🤪
They say that after the darkness comes light.
But when you're engulfed in it, that darkness can feel everlasting—
especially if you're a catastrophizer like me.
When I hurt my rib a few weeks ago, I initially spiraled.
I wondered if I'd ever feel better, or if by the time I finally healed,
I'd lose all my “gains”—the strength and skill I’d been slowly building.
Some might call this drama queen behavior,
but honestly, imagining the worst is how I cope with uncertainty.
If I can mentally prepare for the worst, I can find peace despite it.
Though my mood plummeted thanks to my body being in disrepair
and having landed in a much slower-paced town than the one I’d just left—
I refused to let it take me down.
I believe women are more attuned to the natural cycles of life.
Maybe it’s the rhythm of our bodies. Maybe it’s an ancient knowing.
Either way, we feel the tides shifting. We trust that Spring always returns.
So I kept moving.
And I committed to staying open to the magic of the universe—
because if there is something I’ve learned over the years, the magic is always close by.
On my morning walks, I found natural pools filled with yellow-striped fish, darting innocently around me, unbothered by this giant in their space.
I became a regular at one of the only hostels in town—the kind of place where everyone gathers for sunset beers and proudly shares their wave count.
I kept showing up on the yoga mat and tuned into how my mood softened afterward.
Ah, the magic. There it is.
Three weeks prior, I was in Popoyo and on top of the world.
Admittedly, happiness had flowed much more easily.
I had been there for a while, so I had become a familiar face.
I had a surfing rhythm, community, and for the first time in a long while, maybe ever,
a lifestyle that felt aligned with my truest self.
When I confessed my hesitation about moving on to another town for a volunteer gig, a new acquaintance reminded me, “You’ll make new friends there.”
And she was right.
A few days ago, I met a new friend—a hilarious Frenchman who
makes my stomach hurt from laughing.
He admitted he’s not a fan of Americans.
I confessed I’d had my fair share of unpleasant run-ins with French tourists.
We silently agreed to make an exception for one another.
Now we laugh through spontaneous yoga sessions, make immature jokes at the dinner table, and ride barefoot on his motorcycle down bumpy dirt roads on pupusa missions.
It’s probably not what any qualified physiotherapist would prescribe—but the bumpy rides and belly laughs might be just the medicine my rib needs. And the world needs.
Ah, the magic. There it is.
The other day, on my walk, I spotted a young couple canoodling in the natural pool,
all smiles and sunshine.
Sure, I was a little annoyed—I’d wanted a solo soak before yoga—
But I also wanted them to have that beautiful moment.
It hadn’t been that long ago that I was the one being canoodled.
Adored.
And I know love will return. It always does.
That’s life—the ebb and the flow.
Instead of huffing away like a curmudgeon, I offered to take their photo. The scene was too beautiful not to capture:
waves crashing over the rock wall, cascading into the turquoise pool,
yellow fish happily swirling around them like glitter.
At first, they said no.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “It’s really beautiful.”
“Okay… if you don’t mind sending them to us.”
I didn’t mind at all. These days, I love love, including loving myself, and discovering new things to love about the people and places I land. And I love finding love in the in-between.
After a restful sleep last night, I woke up nearly pain-free.
I smiled as I gently rolled myself out of bed and made my usual breakfast—
a bowl of fresh fruit, two hard-boiled eggs, and a hot cacao.
I felt Spring stirring inside me again.
Hope returned—quietly, confidently.
I felt invigorated to work on my website offerings,
and creative ideas began flooding my mind like a long-awaited swell.
Bad things happen to everyone—
injuries, illnesses, heartbreak, layoffs, and accidents.
The only difference between the “lucky” ones
and everyone else
is their uncanny ability to tune their dial
to the frequency of magic at just the right time—
Their ability to notice the sparkle
in the gems of humans all around (so many gems!),
The quiet sweetness of a street dog
choosing to curl up beside THEIR hammock (of all the hammocks),
the way a colorful, lanky bird—or a giant lizard—
suddenly appears
as if they intentionally wanted to bring a smile to THEIR face.
Ah, the magic. There it is.
Last night, walking home after cooking dinner with my new funny friends,
waves crashing to my right,
moonlight spilling on the path,
a quiet thought rose up from somewhere deep:
I kind of like this place.
If you’re in the thick of it right now—
the ache, the fog, the middle of the mess—
keep going.
The tide always turns.
And soon, you’ll find yourself
soaking up the sun, hopefully surrounded by the silliest of gooses
wondering why you ever doubted
the magic that was making its way to you
all along.