Ch. 12- The Power in Letting Go. Costa Rica- Rescuing Mariposa

Not all saints walk upright. Some have four legs and a tail.

As my ego slowly melted off my bones, my heart began to open wider to life. I started seeing its deeper meaning—how precious it is, how beautiful it can be… even the stories of suffering, and the place they hold in this world.

Everything we experience reflects something within us. Everyone and everything placed around us is there to help us grow. You don’t even have to believe that for it to be true—it simply unfolds. Even the so-called “mistakes” or detours shape us in ways we couldn’t plan.

Mariposa arrived at a serendipitous moment in my life. I was nearing the end of a four-month journey across eight countries, traveling as a volunteer. I was ready to come home. Costa Rica was my final stop, in January 2025. By then, I had been living out of a suitcase for far too long—losing luggage, misplacing my wallet, getting broken up with in Spain. I felt a deep pull toward stillness, toward a grounded and quieter life.

After teaching yoga at a resort and enduring a six-hour bus ride north—standing the entire way because my seat hadn’t been registered—I was done. Exhausted. Still, I wanted to finish with one last volunteer stay before returning home: a coffee farm. I applied to trade work for lodging and was accepted.

In short, it wasn’t what I expected. Yes, it was beautiful—but everything still comes from within us. You can be in paradise and be exhausted. You can be in paradise and be bored. Paradise doesn’t cancel your humanity.

The work was tedious. The owner was rigid. I didn’t learn much about farming—only how precisely to rake or pick up grass, and how often I was doing it “wrong.” I hated it. I wanted to go home. When I told the owner I was leaving earlier than planned, he wasn’t happy.

One day, while working in the fields, I noticed a small furry being chained in front of the manager’s house. The manager worked alongside me all day and spoke no English, so my Spanish rapidly improved. I asked him if the dog was his. He said he had found her on the street.

When I went to pet her, she screamed. She had never had a human that close to her before.

As the day went on, I noticed she lay there all day, stuck on the chain—unable to move freely, occasionally stepped over or around. She was in a state of learned helplessness. I asked the manager if I could unclip her and let her stay with me while I worked. He hesitated, then reluctantly agreed.

That’s when the joy began.

Mari—only two or three months old—was overjoyed to be free. She stayed by my side off-leash, following me as I wheelbarrowed dirt, lying in the grass while I picked green beans. After work, we had little picnics together. I spent most of my days with her.

When it was time to return her, she would be chained again. At night, they let her roam free, but she was so small—and so wise—she knew it wasn’t safe. I would wake to find her curled up outside my cabin door, having waited there all night.

She was attached. And so was I.

Eventually, I snuck her inside.

Mariposa ended up becoming my dog. My soul dog. I managed to somehow find a trustworthy person to take care of her as I flew back home to CO - ending my 4 month travel. I raised money to care for her stay and I got her shipped back to the U.S. when she was old enough. The process was wild. She was rescued and meant to be with me as my dog. I never would have thought - I would have a dog. Especially one like her.