After breakfast, Sean and I headed to our second white water rafting excursion that week. Driving several miles down the main coastal highway, a dirt road covered in boulders, we came upon a young girl in her early twenties, carrying a backpack that was almost taller than herself.  Her flip flops were a monotone beige from the clouds of dust and dirt that settled on her as each car navigated around her. Dreads with colorful beads were piled on her head and tied back with a scarf, matching the flowing cotton skirt that slightly dragged on the ground.  Slowing down as we approached her she smiled and waved.  We agreed we should stop and see if she wanted a ride.  Graciously accepting our offer she unloaded her bag into the back of our small central-american style 4×4. Her name was Misty,  in the short time that we talked we learned that she had traveled from England to India, and took a boat to Panama. She was then walking from Panama to Nicaragua but had to be in Mexico about 3 months later.  She rode along with us for about 30 minutes. We came to a light blue cinder block building with spiritual writings and artwork painted on the outside, she said we could let her out there.   Eight years and three months have passed since that day and I still think about her and wonder where she is now and did she make it to Mexico in time.

We stayed  in a one bedroom house, on top of a mountain where we watched the sky turn crimson as the sun sunk into the Pacific ocean. The sounds of the jungle came alive at night. Waking to the sound of chattering monkeys outside our window as they made their way through the thick green rain forest each morning. Afternoons were spent jumping from the waterfall that flowed into the pool as we cooled off from the high humid temperatures. Nighttime would find us on the porch swinging in hammocks contemplating life, God and religion.  Mutually, we questioned why were doing the things we were doing, chasing after other’s expectations for our life, living like we were “supposed” to.  We returned home, continued to build our business and raise our family like we were “supposed” to. We still attended meetings and committees every time the church doors were opened… and many times they were also the doors to our home.  Until we just couldn’t anymore. Our hearts no longer overflowed with passion as they had in the past. We were both empty and  had nothing left to pour into the machine that consumed our days.   We made a choice to change our direction towards freedom and then, I bought a pair of flip flops.