How One Conversation Changed the Way I See Home

Alright guys, we’ve made it through week one in Costa Rica, and dare I say—wow… on so many levels. I must admit, I was eager to get to my computer and write another blog post. Some part of me feels like this is keeping me accountable. So, in the spirit of accountability—let’s get vulnerable (don’t worry, we’ll hit the good stuff too).

Man oh man, it’s been a long time since I’ve been thrown off my feet like this. Everything and everyone is different, and that can be a really scary thing. It’s incredibly overwhelming to be somewhere entirely new and just tossed into the chaos. I have quite literally been chucked into the deep end… but as my mom (and Dory) always say: you just keep swimming. And that, my dear friends, is exactly what I’ve been trying to do.

My second night here was rough. I was flooded with anxiety, nervous about classes, sweating through my sheets, and overthinking just about every single thing that could go wrong. Naturally, I cried. But after a few reassuring and encouraging words, I was able to fall asleep and start fresh.

The next morning I was taken to class by Jonathan, the shuttle driver who just so happens to be good friends with Mamatica. Apparently, they agreed that it was only right I be his first stop every day. He’s kind, and I immediately trusted him because he carries that “Mamatica stamp of approval.” He’s become a friendly face each morning and often brings me fresh fruit as a snack for class. My Spanish class is going well, and my professor, Alexandra, has been wonderful so far. Although I’ve heard things really speed up in the coming weeks—yes, before you come at me, your girl’s a writer, but I’m no grammar expert—pero mi confianza ha crecido mucho.

I also think I’m starting to make friends (even though when I mentioned I’d been living in Florida, someone asked, “like the bad kind?”). We’ve taken a lot of outings into the city throughout the week and even stumbled upon the biggest mall in San José. My personal highlight was seeing the American movie titles in Spanish at the theater. I think it’s only right that I see El Conjuro 4: Últimos Ritos or Otra Viernes de Locos at some point. That silly moment made me feel oddly grounded, like I had shifted into a slightly more comfortable position in a brand new bed.

There are glimpses of the U.S. here, like the movie titles, or the McDonald’s and Pizza Hut weirdly close to one of the government buildings downtown. But they don’t take away as much from the pura vida feel as you might think. The city itself is beautiful, and the plants… oh my goodness, the plants. My green thumb was divinely inspired because I caught myself walking much slower than usual on a stroll with classmates, just so I could take my sweet tico time to really enjoy them.

Speaking of greens…

I had the opportunity to go up one of the mountains here in San José with some friends and attempt to hike La Cruz de Alajuelita. The view from this mountain was exquisite, and even though the hike didn’t go quite as planned due to weather, I still got to see some spectacular plants and even pet some tropical cows! But the most memorable part wasn’t the hike itself—it was a conversation.

While on the mountain, I met a man from Nicaragua. After asking where I was from and hearing that my family was from Miami, he immediately pulled me in for a hug. Once my fight-or-flight response calmed down, he explained that he had been exiled from Nicaragua after protesting for his country’s freedom. He moved to Miami for a while and loved its vibrant culture, but once his visa expired, he had no choice but to come to Costa Rica. He couldn’t go back home—to his country, to the life he once knew, or to the community that shaped him. Even though he has built a successful cattle ranch here over the past ten years, he admitted he still misses his home every single day.

Looking into his eyes as he shared his story, I recognized a familiar pain. It reminded me of my grandparents, who fled Cuba out of necessity and for the hope of a better life. While their stories are different, they are deeply connected. Hearing him speak made me appreciate and admire my grandparents in a whole new way. For the first time, standing there as a foreigner myself, I felt deeply connected to their courage and sacrifice. And my heart ached for this man, who still longs for home, just as I thought about my grandparents leaving theirs—unsure of when, or if, they’d ever return.

I’m saying this because stories like his, and my grandparents, remind me how powerful and unifying our shared humanity is. They remind me that behind every face is a story of sacrifice, resilience, or longing that we might never know if we don’t stop to listen. Immigration isn’t just a political headline or a talking point—it’s families, memories, and entire lives uprooted. It’s people being forced to rebuild from scratch while carrying a deep ache for the place they once called home. Hearing his story made me realize that immigration isn’t just about borders or policies—it’s arguably more so about the people and the love they have for their homelands, even when they can’t return.

I want to carry that with me—not just here in Costa Rica, but always. I am seeing and learning that the over arching point of this culture is to truly and genuinely connect- with nature, God, and especially the people around us in a way that contradicts average American life.

Anyway, after having THAT epiphany, I wrapped up my week with a pretty incredible weekend. I visited El Museo de Oro Precolombino, where I learned a lot about the Indigenous people of Costa Rica and their history. Then I jumped right into local culture at a Saprissa soccer game—one of the biggest of the season, El Clásico! We lost, but the atmosphere was absolutely electric. Finally, I went to Mass. That’s right, your girl has made her way back—not back to religion as a whole, but back to the Catholic Church.

You see, one of my goals here is to re-immerse myself in the Catholic tradition. I’ve felt it calling to me, and as I’ve gotten older, the ritual and sacredness of it have become something I want to be a part of again. But I’ll be honest: I did not have a great experience in the Church growing up. For many reasons, it was healthier for me to step back for a season and instead build my relationship with God in a way that felt genuine, safe, and life-giving. After years of steady faith, though, I’ve started to wonder if I might be ready to return to the Church that once made me feel unwelcome.

This weekend, I went to Mass with an open heart—and it was a surprisingly beautiful experience. I even thought about going to Confession at some point, which is huge for me, because my childhood priest had completely ruined that sacrament in the past. It was like taking in a long, overdue breath of fresh air. I left feeling lighter, more at peace, and excited to keep showing up. I can already say with confidence that I’ll be back next Sunday to continue this journey.

Needless to say, I am out of my comfort zone in more ways than one—but maybe that’s exactly what I’ve needed for a long time. I’m still learning, still adjusting, but Costa Rica feels like the right place to be stretched, challenged, and healed. Slowly but surely, I’m finding my rhythm here, and I can’t help but feel that this country is giving me more restoration and hope than I ever expected. I am filled with gratitude, slight nerves, and a whole lot of excitement for what’s to come.

Pray for me, and wish me luck!

Fun Fact: the national bird of Costa Rica is the Yiguirro, and they are known as the announcers of the rainy season. Their are known to sing before it rains, so you can hear them throughout the city and you know that in probably 10 minutes it going to start raining. I don't know why I doubted it, but they are pretty spot on and fascinating.