You gotta Belize!

I’ve just returned from two weeks in Belize where the islanders I met exuded joy. They chanted their local slogans with a complete lack of irony. 

You gotta Belize! 
Un-Belize-able! 
Don’t stop Belize-ing!

It took several days for me to lighten up. To see that even though I think and talk and write about being brave and open and free, I’ve actually stopped believing in many things. Including my ability to do some of the things that make me happiest. 

I’ve been holding myself back! Physically. And (no doubt) emotionally too. 

I wonder if that might be true for you.  

In November 2019, I had a scooter accident that put me in the ER and laid me up for six weeks. Soon after that, Covid hit and we all were laid up. Healing turned into hibernation and we found new ways to feel adventurous. We learned to cast on and make cables. To bake bread in a cast iron pot. Still, we were desperate for human connection.

My escape hatch was a camper van. I was mobile, but the van was an even smaller bubble than my home.

Scooter trauma lingered. My attempts at love went south—no not literally—and a rare eye disease cost me some vision. Even today, I hear myself saying things like: I’ll never have a scooter again. I don’t ride my bike alone anymore. I’m afraid to ski fast like I used to—unless it’s a bluebird day. I barely want to drive at night.

Covid trauma also stuck around. Though many of us no longer wear a mask, it’s daunting to cozy up to strangers indoors. Scarcity mentality—about our health, our money, our jobs—is hard to shake. We’re afraid—still—of things we used to take for granted. Sporty dating is a lot less fun, and stumbling on anything approximating love has become a moonshot.

What can we do to renew?

Inspired by a friend who’s spending six months in Belize, I took a flier and joined her. For the first few days—even in subtropical heat—I was frozen.

Torrential afternoon rains and mosquitoes kept me indoors. Sargasso seaweed and plastic along the shoreline kept me from taking a dip. The two weeks ahead seemed too many. So we got on a boat to go snorkeling.

And that’s when the panic set in.

With a mask covering my eyes and my nose, I needed air, but crying for more than a minute in front of my SCUBA-certified friend was humiliating. So I pulled it together and plunged. At first I clung to a life vest. Soon, I trusted my fat to keep me afloat. Eventually, I forgot and swam freely.

Three rum punches later, I imagined I could touch the ocean floor. I could grab a handful of sand. Look a turtle in the eye.

Within a few days, I forced myself to spend 36 terrifying minutes under the water. Maximum depth 28 feet! Sure that’s kinda nothing, but I was amazed to pull it off. 

I did see the turtle. His mouth moved like he was speaking to me. My buddies said they heard his tiny teeth munching on sea grass. But all I heard was the pounding of my heart. 

And that’s when I knew what I needed! Maybe we all need it too.

To do things that make our hearts pound. To dive deep enough—or climb high enough—that we have to truly focus in order to stay alive.

As the new year approaches, what if we make a list of all the things we think we can’t do, or don’t do anymore? Then play devil’s advocate with ourselves.

What if I do get another scooter? Ride my bike alone? Ski fast on a cloudy day? 

Get a bigger van and drive it across a border. Use up the miles I’ve been hoarding. Fall hard for a stranger on a plane. Or meet a pilot who falls for me!

Find my inner turtle and listen to her chew.

Now THAT would be Un-Belieze-able!