Tiny Teacher, Profound Peace: How My 3-Year-Old Showed Me the Art of Letting Go.

And I'll now I'll teach you ;)

My Buddha baby.

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This past winter, we spent most of the month of February in Costa Rica.

We go to a particularly wild, untamed, untouched part of the country where the jungle meets the beach, the road is unpaved, and a great surf break keeps a laid-back and interesting mix of hippies around. Where we stay is surrounded by a national park, so wild life abounds. All four types of monkeys that live in Costa Rica swing through the trees in the yard, every day. Literally, WILD.

Our first week there, we led a yoga retreat, something my husband and I have been doing together since 2015.

But this time, we had our two kids with us. Ages 3 and 7.

The short version: it was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

If you’ve ever traveled with young kids you know these trips are not, in fact, vacations. Just parenting in another place.

If you’ve ever traveled with your young kids WHILE working, leading an immersive, transformative experience for 20 adults in a stunning, but remote place, stripped of American comforts — well “trip” takes on a whole new meaning.

Honestly, we struggled to find our groove as a family with two working parents and no day care or school or iPads in the jungle for 3 weeks.

At times, it was a big lift.

I’m not complaining, I’m just setting the scene. And also reminding all of us that what we see filtered and shiny on Instagram is about .0006% of the whole story.

Life is textured, rich, and nuanced.

It’s also tantrum-filled.

Both awe inspiring and panic inducing.

It’s hot, sweaty car rides on bumpy, dirt roads. It’s fever dreams and sunburns. It’s the freshest fish and the deepest love and bobbing gently in the salty, bathwater warm ocean. It’s running in circles in fits of giggles and collapsing on the ground with exhaustion.

Our time in Costa Rica was magical and generative. Not because it was easy and relaxing and very comfortable.

Precisely the opposite.

It pushed my growing edges, confronted me in so many moments, and made me face some of my own bullsh*t storylines that I’d been internally spinning out on.

I keep learning this lesson again and again and again —

When I get to that edgy uncomfortable place, my first instinct is to brace or armor up or try to control the uncontrollable. It’s this ongoing dance of realizing I’m gripping too tight, while trying to hold what I love in a softer way.

How to actually loosen my grip?

Humor helps. A wise teacher does too. A shift in perspective.

Presence. Attention. Levity.

So, we make it to week 3 in Costa Rica. I’ve already threatened to leave the jungle in search of an air-conditioned Hilton. Solo.

And I’m sitting there with Georgie, my three year old. I’m annoyed by something or other. He’s whining. And, well, there’s no more challenging sound that a whine when you’re already in an edgy place. I’m digging from my toes for more patience and grace at this point.

He wants to watch a show on my computer. (As we were packing, I had DECLARED “we are not doing screens in Costa Rica,” so the tablets were left behind. Yep.)

I am begging him, “just watch the monkeys who are swinging right over our heads!”

Georgie: “SHOOOOOOW. I want to watch a SHOOOOOOW.”

Me: “The monkeys, Georgie! Look! They are right here, right in front of us! Look at that! This is SO much better than a show! This is REAL LIFE. You’re in the jungle Georgie, let’s watch the monkeys instead. Do you know how incredible this is? How rare and special it is to get to see the monkeys in our yard?!”

I’m begging at this point.

And do you know what he says to me?