I almost didn’t go…
“I want to go, but it’s so exhausting—all this growing and becoming,”
a friend texted me.
She was on the fence about joining me for a free fire-dancing workshop on the beach.
I’ll be honest: even though I’d been genuinely excited—this was something I’d been wanting to try for a while and had even put on my 2026 goals list—I was also feeling lazy. The workshop was on the far end of the beach: a solid one-hour walk, or a nighttime moto ride over uneven, gravelly Nica roads.
Neither option felt especially enticing.
Still, I didn’t let her hesitation—or my own—talk me out of it.
I’d recently seen an Instagram post saying that once you’re over 40, it becomes even more important to push through feelings of JOMO (the joy of missing out). The idea was that as we age, our brains can start assuming we have less social support, which can lead to shrinking neural pathways. I can’t find the post now—it’s disappeared into the Instagram abyss—but I did find an article backing up the same idea: staying social is critical for brain health. I’m not quite 40, but I’m getting ready. LOL.
The U.S. Surgeon General has even warned that chronic social isolation is as harmful as smoking 15 cigarettes a day and is linked to about a 50% higher risk of dementia in older adults.
That sobering statistic—combined with the fact that I’d been in bed for weeks after the New Year (new year, debilitating kidney infection?), and the realization that I’d been spending a lot of time in my comfort bubble—made me want to say yes. This felt like an opportunity: to get out, meet new people, and learn something new.
So I walked one hour down the beach to attend the workshop… alone.
And guess what?
I had an absolute fireball.
I made new friends—quiet, introverted pyros spinning fire to Tribal House. Fire dancing unlocked something primal in me. My inner Kali showed up to play. I spun that fire round and round like an all-powerful goddess.
On my long walk home—forearms bruised from hours of spinning a heavy bar, clothes smelling like lighter fluid, palms smudged with soot—I spotted a sea turtle slowly making her way up the sand, presumably to lay her eggs.
If you know me, you know I had to look up the symbolism.
Sea turtles are often seen as protectors and symbols of good luck. They represent a steady, grounded approach to life—encouraging perseverance and trust in one’s personal journey.
Well I’ll be damned.
That night, I slept better than I had in a long time. Part of it was physical—the long walk, the bruised forearms, the playful movement. But part of it was deeper: I’d learned a new skill, been social, and done something primal and enlivening.
What really softened me into rest, I think, was that I had trusted my curiosity—the gentle nudge to go—and had been rewarded with a beautiful, unexpected animal encounter.
The growing and becoming is exhausting…
but when you’re doing it right, it’s also energizing.
On that note...time for a nap.