Flight Risk

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Uncertainty hits like a ton of bricks when you can do nothing about it. I should be excited that one of the critical checkpoints of this trip is behind me; I made it on to the airplane. As I sat in 10D, thinking about how the attendant favored me with a great seat selection, maybe as a parting attempt for a forced return flight purchase, I had the perfect time to begin to panic.

Why am I doing this again?
Will I truly learn?
Is it really worth it?

I questioned all my confidence in my decisions I made over a year ago about doing this. I had reached my point of no return long ago, but it sure could be questioned at the last minute. I went from having high expectations of spending the full six months in Costa Rica and becoming fluent to, just take it day-by-day for the experience. By chance, if I am back at home in less than a month, at least I won't be hated as much as Steve Bartman who arguably lost the playoff series for the Cubs in 2003 by stealing a potential catch from a Cub outfielder.

I knew it was just jitters. Time to suck it up and do what I promised everyone I would do.

As I landed in San Jose, Costa Rica, it was game time. Roll with the punches. The bell has been rung. Hold on, I'll be right back. I have a visitor. I believe it is a white gecko. Gotta get him out of here, so he doesn't freak me out in the middle of the night crawling over my face...

Ok, where was I?

The San Jose airport is really nice! Who knew it was like being in a southwestern United States Airport? A mix of spanish and english. I could get Burger King, if I wanted. I could get a Schlotzky's Deli sandwich. Alas, it's time for me to step away from the comforts of home. I passed on the familiar food.

As I waited for 40 minutes in the immigration line, I pondered the possibility that they would say, "Este es imposible." And I would be back on a plane to the United States, because something was wrong with my proof of return to the states.

In reality, I got my first sense of true Costa Rican chill. The immigration officer not only avoided staring me down, he said, "You Spanish?!" I was afraid to tell him no. That may have been my in. I made my nervous laugh and said, "haha, no, but I am here to learn Spanish." He softly smiled, stamped my book, and went back to taking a hit off his joint.

I am off! My next hurdle was to find my host family who was scheduled to pick me up, but the line to scan the bags was long and I was nervous about making them wait so long. I landed at 11:30am and it was already 12:45pm. As I stood in line, I saw a gentleman diligently holding up a sign with someone's name on it. His dedication to holding the same position was impressive and made me even more attentive to see if he was waiting for me. I look back at the end of the line and realize that I am pretty much it. If my host family was patient, it sure was being tried today.

As I got closer to the scanner, the gentleman was stoic in his effort to present and flag down his target. He was not budging from his spot and he kept the sign steady and in place. So much effort required an apology, if he was my ride. I finally made it through the scanner and picked up my bags as quickly as possible to introduce myself to the gentleman with great sincerity. I was prepared to use every little bit of spanish I knew. I finally reached him within good sight and notice that he was a carboard cut out for a car rental company.

This is a really good time to laugh at yourself and realize how wound up with anxiety you are. Don't ever forget to be able to laugh at yourself.

Once I made it outside with tons of host families holding up signs for their targets, I did not see my name. I was homeless midday in San Jose, Costa Rica. The taxistas quickly approached like the usual wolves to sheep in a developing country, however I didn't feel alarmed. I felt at ease talking to the taxistas and being approached by them. They genuinely wanted to help. Obviously, geniune help puts more money in their pocket. My good friend, Rafael, called the host family on my behalf and worked out all the details. He then watched over me like one of his own sons all the way to the door of the host family. I think I shed a tear when he left.

I was finally at my next checkpoint. Standing in the living room of a strange family, in a strange city, in a strange country, I realized I had the next challenge to go through. Spend 24 hours with a host family that wasn't expecting me and only one son speaks english.

Esta bien, I said. How bad can it be?