The rain has just started. Fresh air is flowing across the terrace, and for the first time all day, I feel a little lighter. I knew that sooner or later, I would write a post like this about my life in Costa Rica. It will not be adventurous or enthusiastic. Today, I simply need to pour my heart out.
When Excitement Gives Way to the In-Between
Our third week in Costa Rica has passed, and a mild depression has settled over me. It is strange to miss home, but not the life we had in Slovakia. It feels as though we are stuck between two worlds. Our departure is still too recent, while our new home still feels too far away. Still, I believe that once construction finally begins, we will regain a sense of movement, direction, and new adventures.
The hardest thing about this in-between stage is that it is so difficult to grasp. In Slovakia, we had our routines, responsibilities, and small certainties. Here, almost everything is still new. Every simple task demands more attention, patience, and often improvisation. It is only during a change like this that you realize how much energy familiar habits used to save you. At the same time, I no longer want to live my old life. That is exactly why there is nowhere comfortable to return to—not even in my mind.
Heat, Humidity, and Waiting to Acclimatize
I thought I would be more active. But in this weather, I truly do not feel like doing anything. It is not so much the high temperatures as the humidity, which seems to rise with each passing day. Meanwhile, my blood pressure drops in direct proportion. I was already dealing with anemia back home and regularly take iron bisglycinate. Heat, however, has never agreed with me.
You may be wondering why I came here, then. Good question. 😀 Google says I should fully acclimatize within six months. A local Tico—as Costa Ricans are called—also reassures me that even they struggle with this weather. Apparently, December will be drier and much more bearable. Until then, the afternoon downpour is my small salvation. The air freshens, the temperature drops, and suddenly I feel as though I can breathe again.
I plan my days around the weather far more than I used to. In the morning, I try to get at least something done before the house and the air heat up completely. By lunchtime, my productivity falls along with my blood pressure. Then I feel guilty for not doing enough, even though my body is clearly telling me to slow down. I am still learning to tell the difference between laziness and a genuine need for rest. It is not easy, especially after years of measuring a good day by how much I accomplished. A side effect of a narcissistic upbringing, I suppose…
Our rental does not offer much relief either. Construction practices here—at least in our area—are still in their infancy. During the day, the house with its metal roof heats up so much that being inside becomes unbearable. Fortunately, it cools down at night. Sometimes I even feel cold without a blanket. That only makes me look forward to our own house even more. Rado has once again thought through every detail, and I believe it will be just as comfortable as the one we had in Slovakia.
When I imagine our future house, it is not only about walls, a roof, and comfort. I imagine a place where each of us will have a corner of our own. A place designed to work with the local climate instead of fighting it. I look forward to mornings when I can open the door without feeling as though we are still only guests. It may sound strange to pin so much hope on a building, but to me it represents being grounded. Proof that we did not simply move away, but consciously put down roots somewhere new.
The Land That Still Is Not Ours
Speaking of our new house, the land itself is another major source of frustration. Even four months after we sent the payment, it still has not been transferred into our names. I do not think it is a scam. I can see in the national registry that the matter is moving forward—just at a snail’s pace.
The real problem is that the appointed lawyer and our contact did not act quickly enough. When we arrived on August 27, they told us that all we had to do was wait for the transfer. In reality, the corrections addressing the objections raised on June 30 were not submitted until September 8. I am calmer now because I can verify that the process is moving forward. Still, our trust in our intermediary has collapsed. And thus we wait for our paradise to truly become ours, so that we can submit the building permit documents. Every additional week in the rental also means more unnecessary expenses.
An Introvert with No Room to Be Alone
On top of all that, my introverted nature is making itself heard. I need time to myself, silence, and solitude. Here, however, we are all together all the time. I feel overstimulated, and cabin fever is beginning to set in.
For me, solitude is not a rejection of my family or the people around me. It is how I organize my thoughts and recharge. When I go too long without it, even the smallest things start to bother me: questions, noises, clutter, or simply another person’s presence in the room. Then I react more sharply than I would like, and guilt follows almost immediately. So I am learning to say out loud that I need a moment to myself before exhaustion turns into irritation. Finding that space is difficult right now, but even a short walk or a few minutes with a book can make a difference.
Why Am I Writing About This So Openly
In weaker moments, I subconsciously blame my husband: “It is because of you that I have to suffer here.” But that is not true. I wanted to leave just as much as he did. I no longer wanted to work in the corporate world. I longed to step away from my old life and start from scratch. It was simply a coincidence that Rado wanted change too, although for different reasons. So, I have nothing to reproach him for.
Someone reading this may think, “Well, there you go. Why did you move there in the first place? Now deal with it.” If that bothered me, I probably would not be writing this. I am sharing it because a major life change is not always all smiles and laughter. Sometimes it is exhaustion, doubt, and waiting. In those moments, it helps to remember the goal, the motivation, and the reason we decided to leave.
That makes it all the more important to have someone beside you who knows you and accepts you, moods and all. Rado is an expert at handling mine. They do not scare him. He listens to me and often shows me that he has already considered many of the things I worry about. Our children give me strength too. They did not have much say in our departure, yet they are going along with us without too much complaining. Of course, they argue regularly—but at least that makes it feel a little more like home. 😀
Slowing Down and Learning to Breathe Again
I know this period is temporary. Work on the lot may begin as early as next week, and things will become exciting again. Inactivity wears me down, but it also forces me to slow down. To sit. To read. To write. To sip the local coffee. Maybe that is exactly what I need right now, even if I am not yet ready to admit it.
Slowing down, however, is not a romantic photo with a cup of coffee in hand. Sometimes it is uncomfortable, because in the silence, the things that the daily grind used to drown out begin to speak. Questions about whether we made the right decision. The doubt that I can build a new life without carrying all my old habits into it. Perhaps this is the real work I am doing now. It cannot be seen in the house or the registry, but it is happening inside me.
Rado is an extrovert and forms new relationships easily. I find meeting new people much harder. Tomorrow, we are going to visit another family from Slovakia, and honestly, I do not feel like going at all. At the same time, I know that once I finally get out of the house and spend time with people, I will feel better. The world will look a little brighter again.
And when the thought crosses my mind—“I will pack my things and go back to Slovakia”—I try to ground myself. What would I be going back for? I do not want my old job or the environment that drained my motivation. I do not want to hide from my own life again. We did not leave because we expected an easier path. We left because we wanted a different one.
That does not mean I have to feel grateful, brave, and certain about our decision every single day. I can have doubts and still keep going. I can have a bad day without turning our entire plan into a mistake. This is what I remind myself of most often now. A new beginning is not one grand, heroic step. It is a series of small decisions to stay, to try again, and to give an unfamiliar life enough time to gradually become our own.
So today, I am allowing myself to complain a little. Tomorrow, I will breathe in the humid Costa Rican air and try to take another step forward. If you have read this far, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
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