Forgiveness And Moving On

Years ago I found myself in a remote part of Costa Rica.  Drake Bay on the Pacific Coast is a beautiful paradise of lush jungles and slow tropical life, with world class scuba diving.

I had just gone through a breakup with my girlfriend of 3 years, and booked the trip on a desperate whim after essentially throwing a dart at the map.  I needed to run away, to be in a place that wouldn’t remind me.

It was a tough breakup, with plenty of hurt feelings and regrets to go around.  Scuba diving every day served as the perfect metaphor to match my emotional state.  I was sinking into the depths of despair.  Or perhaps I was diving toward beauty in a desperate attempt to offset the ugly.

I did 3 or 4 dives a day, then sat at the beach bar every night drowning my sorrows.  Maybe I was wronged, maybe I did some of the wronging.  Whatever, that’s the human condition and life is messy.

But I couldn’t stop blaming myself.  My inner dialogue from this breakup, and for many other parts of my life, was just an accusatory self-scolding.  I convinced myself that I made my own bed, regardless of how it actually played out.

I’ve struggled with negative self talk my whole life.  It no doubt stems from childhood trauma and a relationship with my Dad that was, let’s just say, complex.

 

A Random Act Of Kindness

On the second day of the trip one of my flip flops got stuck in the wet sand on the beach while I was getting off the dive boat.  When I took a step to pull it out, the thongs ripped right off the base. 

At the time Drake Bay was practically nothing.  A few small guesthouses, two dive outfits, and no pavement.  Going the rest of the trip without flip flops was not exactly an emergency, but wearing shoes everyday in an area pretty much made of sand wasn’t ideal. 

I went back to my room at the guesthouse, dumped the damaged flip flops, and went on my way to the beach bar. 

When I came back hours later, my flip flops were sitting on my bed.  They were cleaned, and the torn thong had been perfectly sewn back to the base. 

I went to the woman who owned the guesthouse and asked in astonishment if she had done this.  She was smiling and blushing.

“Si”. 

After a litany of “graciases” I offered her money, but she refused to take it.

For the remainder of the trip we interacted each day only when I came back from diving to clean up and head off to the beach for solitude.  Her smile was contagious, and permanent. 

We didn’t talk, but I could sense she knew why I was there. 

I continued to offer her money for the repair, and she continued to refuse.

Money clearly didn’t serve the role in her life that it did in mine, and that revelation alone forced me to look in the mirror and reflect.  She had my gratitude, and I suspect that was more than enough for her.

Her kindness to me, a total stranger, exposed the lack of kindness I had for myself.  It showed that the self-loathing I bombarded myself with was an unjust mantra that even most strangers wouldn’t dare level at me.

 

Forgive

Your faults and missteps, whether they be in relationships or with money, are part of you.  They’re necessary for growth, but only after forgiveness.  Don’t always confuse the inevitable chaos and adversities of life with mistakes and shortcomings. 

At a minimum you have to treat yourself better than a stranger.  But it’s best to love yourself, learn, and move on.  For me it’s a work in progress.

I still think of that woman sometimes, and wonder why it took the selflessness of a total stranger for me to examine how I see myself.  Especially a stranger who, from a material point of view, hasn’t been blessed with a fraction of the abundance in life that I’ve enjoyed. 

But maybe that’s the point, and why it resonated.

 

One Last Dive

After a week of heavy diving my ears were hurting.  The constant pressure changes had taken their toll.  But the underwater world off Drake Bay was one of the most magical I’d ever experienced. 

So on my final day I decided to do one last morning dive, with plans to nap away the afternoon on the beach and try to make sense of life. 

On the boat ride out to the dive site I stared out at the ocean, not sure how much the trip had healed me, if at all.  Reality at home was waiting for me a plane flight away, and it still looked awfully like a black cloud.

We got to the dive site, anchored, and suited up.  As the boat bobbed in the waves we waited for the divemasters call to jump. 

I looked down at my flip flops, smiled, and dove into the beauty.