Costa Rica taught me many things, but one of the quieter lessons was this: saying yes doesn’t guarantee competence.
Sometimes it just guarantees a story.
One morning, my host invited me deep-sea fishing. Another first. Another yes. I had never been before, but by this point I’d learned that hesitation rarely led anywhere useful. So I climbed onto the boat with two other expats, confidence borrowed entirely from ignorance.
Within minutes, one of them gently pointed out that I was holding the fishing rod upside down.
This felt… on brand.
I corrected myself, nodding like this had been a simple misunderstanding rather than a clear signal that I had no idea what I was doing. Later, I managed to get the fishing line tangled in the propeller. No one yelled. No one laughed too hard. But the message was clear.
I was not bringing luck to this expedition.
In fact, this was the first time any of them could remember coming back completely skunked –no fish, no near misses, nothing. The GPS hummed confidently. The radar scanned endlessly. Technology did its best. Nature remained unimpressed.
Somewhere between mild embarrassment and genuine discomfort, the rocking of the boat caught up to me. My head spun. The horizon refused to stay still. I lay down, clinging to consciousness, not quite seasick but definitely sea-compromised. I didn’t throw up –small victories matter– but I did fall into a strange half-sleep, out cold while the ocean carried us along.
If this were a movie, this would be the montage scene where the protagonist realizes humility is not optional.
There were no fish that day. Just water, sun, and the quiet understanding that not every yes leads to triumph. Some lead to naps on boats, tangled lines, and stories you tell later with a smile.
And somehow, that was enough.
Because Costa Rica wasn’t asking me to be skilled. It was asking me to be present. To laugh at myself. To accept that healing doesn’t always look graceful.
Sometimes it looks like holding the rod upside down and still being invited back.