A dozen children placed in my house for a weekly meeting – a playgroup of international mothers and their children – trying to have a conversation and a cup of coffee while children played.

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I was talking with a woman who was new to Costa Rica. She had been here only about eight months. Her son fell asleep while in her arms: my daughter played a few feet away amidst a chaos of toys.

The woman asked me if I liked living in Costa Rica. I paused. I had been asked
that question a lot lately. “I did,”I said. “I like it here.”

I told her that I had been asking myself that question a lot lately.What does
it mean to be happy living somewhere? Why do I like living in Costa Rica? Would
I be happier back in the United States? Would I be happier in Tanzania?

My daughter found a spoon and a cup. She stirred the spoon as if she was mixing
up pancakes or cookie dough. At the age of 15 months, she was trying to fit in,
not with friends or a job, but with her Self. She was growing into her skin and
her soul. She was forming words that lead to thoughts – thoughts about me and
the dog and the world and whatever it was she was stirring in that cup.

Fitting in seems to be a dilemma for humans. I have lost weight to fit in, played
games to fit in, and chose unhealthy people as friends and husbands.

I ran my life waiting for the world to embrace me for the things I did û for
the metals around my neck, for the plaques on the wall and the length of my resume.
Living in Costa Rica offered me a chance to see the world in a different light.
Not just the big revolving orb on an axis, but my little world. Living in Costa Rica was the next step in the discovery of my Self.

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Playgroup ended. I put my daughter in bed for a nap. While she slept, I cleaned
up the crumbs and toys. I stepped into the garage and noticed a caterpillar as
wide as my thumb and as long as my hand. It had feet that resembled the claws
of a cat, and it was dragging a cocoon behind it that looked like a gray egg carton.
Where was it going? Aren’t caterpillars supposed to move into the cocoon?

I picked up the nomadic caterpillar and placed it on the grass so it wouldn’t get run over by the car. When my daughter awoke from her nap, the caterpillar
was again crawling across the garage floor, dragging the cocoon behind it. Since
the garage seemed a bad choice for the caterpillar, I moved it once more. About
an hour later, I peaked into the garage. The caterpillar had dragged the cocoon
over the entire length of the cement floor, climbed up a metal bar, spun a cocoon
(which happened to be the gray egg carton) and was tucked safely inside.

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I feel I have woven a cocoon here in Costa Rica. There are a few things I would
prefer work differently, but there are many things I enjoy and relish just as
they are. The forests, mountains and beaches are vistas to behold. I appreciate
watching the small, developing country find its place in the big modern world.
I have so much more to learn about like caterpillars, and butterflies, and what
exactly all those spiky red fruits are in the grocery store.

My daughter will mimic so much more from me than stirring a spoon in a cup. She
will learn how to fit in. I hope to show her how from the inside out û strong
and beautiful û like the caterpillar that becomes a butterfly.


Susan Carmichael is a freelance writer living in Costa Rica. She has developed
several education curriculums for children and adults. She has also taught journalism.
Susan produced and hosted radio programs and documentaries in Costa Rica including
a short story program called “In the Moment” and an hour long interview program
focused on the issues of women called “A Woman’s Voice”.

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