I had such noble intentions as I sat down early at my desk early this morning. I’ve had a couple of busy days what with moving my base to Santa Ana and unpacking, then an idling day yesterday with friends tootling about town eating lunch at Cumpanis (worthy of Instagram, if I did it!), buying a lemon tree (yes, an actual lemon tree in the land of limes, but not for me) and having an impromptu beer at a Canadian microbrewery near my new place. I love that Canadians pop up everywhere, doing interesting things. We even ran into a woman I used to know from playgroup when the girls were really young. I topped off this fabulous day by going out for dinner with friends. So all-in-all, a day that left me content. Like happiness, contentment isn’t ever the goal but rather a by-product.

Today, though, I needed time at my desk. I wanted to take that great feeling and spill it onto the page. I had big plans. I wanted to tackle the idea of shame and guilt, those nasty feelings that are often planted in shy and vulnerable children at a young age. The Catholic church has a lot to answer for. 

For instance, why is “shameless” even an insult? We should be shameless, we should aim to not ever feel shame. This is an emotion that doesn’t just limit us but actually drags us backwards. Women, in particular. Was it guilt that drove me to my desk after such an idyllic day yesterday? Perhaps. 

But the words didn’t work today. The sentences I strung together were as devoid of life and emotion as the dusty sermons I used to listen to at St. Basil’s in Toronto. The sun was streaming through the glass of the patio door beside my desk, the parrots were in full throttle. Why was I demanding that my muse perform at such an early hour on such a beautiful day?

I threw on a semi-clean shirt, stuck in some earrings and put a hat on my head. I needed to produce a dessert for a barbecue later today and as I am in Costa Rica where the world wakens early, I could walk down to Auto Mercado for the ingredients. 

And wham! such joy again. Very few cars, an unexpectedly large number of cyclists, an almost-empty supermarket with everything I needed and a few things I didn’t, such as a tiny cast iron frying pan to heat tortillas. The little chat with the cashier gave me the satisfaction I was looking for. An unsuccessful search for a pitcher in another store (it’s astonishing what is open at 7 am on a Sunday here) ended in a laugh with a store clerk. On the way home, half a dozen people wished me buenos dias. All the while the sun was rising higher in a clear blue sky, the lush greenery laced with magenta bougainvillea and bright orange flame flowers blew in a gentle breeze. 

My day already felt launched when I came through my gate and stopped to chat to two cyclists who were just clipping into their pedals. One turned out to be a running coach, originally from Boston but now living in my complex with his wife, and the other a cycling guru. 

Serendipity. I stepped away from the "must-dos" and "shoulds" and ended up experiencing life. Who knows where this random connection will go. But that's not the point, is it?