Stranded in Paradise: How Costa Rica Taught Me the Art of Staying Present

A Night in the Jungle with No Exit

I once found myself in the remotest stretch of Costa Rica, eating a can of tuna under a makeshift canvas tarp while rain fell in sheets so heavy it felt like the jungle itself was breathing on me. Classic Tuesday night, right? But let me set the scene.

I’d volunteered for a conservation program in a little coastal village called Tortuguero. It was the kind of place where the roads were rivers—literally. No cars, just motorized boats or dugout canoes weaving through waterways flanked by towering palms and the occasional crocodile. It’s lush, it’s alive, and it’s humid to a degree that makes Wyoming’s worst summer day feel like a gentle caress.

One evening, our small group was hiking to document sea turtle nests—important work, but also the kind of adventure books never prepare you for. Our trail was swallowed by a sudden storm. By storm, I mean a tropical smackdown of thunder, wind, and rain hammering us from all sides. Going back wasn’t an option, and the swamp around us wasn’t exactly AirBnB material. So, we hunkered down, MacGyvered a lean-to out of what little gear we had, and shared whatever snacks we'd stuffed in our bags (hence, the tuna).

Picture it: seven soggy humans huddled around a single flashlight, swapping shadowy stories and trying to laugh over nature’s roar. And me? I couldn’t stop thinking about how ridiculous it was that I’d traded mountains and bison for this—like an episode of Survivor: Jungle Edition, minus an immunity idol.

Adventure vs. Control: The Humbling Reality

That night, I learned something about myself—and no, it’s not that I’d make a terrible Bear Grylls (though that’s also true). I’d been trying to control every little detail of the experience, from the exact kilometers we’d cover to what I’d write in my journal later. But nature doesn’t care about your plans. Nature shows up like your chaotic college roommate, tossing her stuff on every available surface and eating all the peanut butter.

The same goes for relationships, doesn’t it? You can’t spreadsheet your way into chemistry. You can’t strategize the perfect romantic moment. When you’re with someone you like, the magic often happens in the messy, unplanned pauses between your best-laid plans. That awkward laugh you hear when your dinner date realizes they spilled sauce on their shirt? That’s what connects you. Not the neatly rehearsed bio you spent 30 minutes tweaking before meeting them.

In Costa Rica, my mind was like a tourist with a checklist. Find turtles? Check. Stay dry? Check. Avoid getting eaten by a jaguar? Extra check. It wasn’t until that night under the tarp that I finally let go—because honestly, I had no other choice. And that’s when the forest became more than just trees and rain to me.

How to Handle the Unexpected—Whether You’re in the Jungle or on a Blind Date

So maybe your version of “unexpected” doesn’t involve torrential rain or tuna. Maybe it’s showing up to a dinner spot only to find out the menu consists solely of variations on pickled octopus—not exactly your jam. Or maybe your date takes an ill-advised deep dive into their opinion on time travel paradoxes (let’s not ruin the vibe over endless-loop theories). Whatever form it takes, here are a few tips to channel that jungle survival mindset into your everyday connections:

  1. Lean Into the Awkward

  2. Awkward doesn’t have to mean awful. Share the laugh when something goes sideways. Trust me—some of the best moments are born from shared catastrophes, like the time my hiking partner slipped in the mud and looked like a human churro for the rest of the night.

  3. Trade Control for Curiosity

  4. Be curious, not controlling. Ask questions, not just to fill the silence, but to actually listen. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?” is a way better icebreaker than “So, what do you do for work?” (Bonus points if they’ve also had tuna straight from a can.)

  5. Adapt, Don’t Obsess

  6. A true romantic—or jungle wanderer—knows that flexibility beats rigidity every time. If your date takes a wrong turn or your hike gets rained out, look for the alternative path. You might just discover something better along the way.

The Takeaway: Rewriting Your Inner Narrative

When I returned from Costa Rica, every wet shoeprint from that stormy night stayed lodged in my brain. Not because it was the wildest or most epic adventure I’d ever had (though it’s definitely up there), but because it forced me to rewrite my script. Instead of seeing plans blown apart as failure, I started reframing them as opportunities to grow, connect, and maybe laugh at myself along the way.

The same attitude transformed how I approached dating—and life in general. It’s funny how often we think we need to be prepared to be loved, like scouting backpacks for emergencies. Truth is, the best connections come when we drop the pretense and just be there. A storm, whether literal or metaphorical, isn’t necessarily the enemy. Sometimes, it’s the thing that clears out the old scripts for something new to grow.

So the next time you’re tempted to stick to the checklist, remember this: whether you’re in a storm-drenched jungle or staring into someone’s eyes over a crowded café table, it’s not the plan that matters. It's the presence. Now, go ahead—chase your wild. And try not to forget the extra snacks.