Our family has learned to live slower and to be more comfortable not knowing. In the last two years we have learned, among other things, how to be a part of a community with many cultural differences, how to cook and eat spicier foods, how to surf and how to shoot arrows, how to make new friends, how to read body language and inflection to help decipher what the hell is being said, how to live in a smaller place with less stuff, how to swim (Marvel) and do cartwheels (Koruna), how to speak fluent Spanish (Koruna and Marvel), that you can drive down riverbeds that look completely impassable, that some of the best furniture can be bought off a truck, that you should do what you can to avoid mosquito-borne illnesses, that a smile goes a long way when communication is difficult, that you don't need as much as you think you do. That when we are together we are HOME.
Living in a small town means that people recognize my children and know who they belong to, enabling us to let them roam a little freer. Our children now know a dirty, barefoot, sweaty kind of freedom, a frolic on the beach and play hide-and-seek in the plaza kind of freedom. A play with sand and sticks and shells instead of toys kind of freedom. A ride in the bed of the truck through the jungle kind of freedom. I'm grateful for every bit of that.
For the next couple of months we'll savor it all.