Not Living the Dream... Yet

I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about, but I do remember the moment I admitted something I hadn’t wanted to say out loud to my dear friend who was visiting.

We’d met years earlier when we both lived in Oregon. Now she was traveling through Costa Rica, living her dream as a digital nomad.

Being with her—so fully in her element—shined a light on something inside me I hadn’t wanted to name.

“I’m not thriving,” I said, my voice quiet as I looked down.

She blinked in surprise, then looked around and called me out:
“Marlo… look where we are.”

Oh yeah—we were sitting at one of our five waterfalls.
Swimming. Sunbathing. Laughing. Surrounded by beauty. In Costa Rica.

I looked around and nodded. She was right—it was beautiful.
But inside, something was still aching.
I wasn’t thriving. Not in my body. Not in my creativity. Not in my joy.

And I needed to let that be true.

Even in paradise. Even with waterfalls. Even with a dream unfolding around me.
I had to let myself name it—not as failure, but as honesty.

I chuckled, recognizing how ridiculous I must’ve sounded.

But as we talked more, I realized something deeper:
I wasn’t thriving in the way I know I can and will.

There’s a big difference between living the dream and building the dream.

And that’s where I was—in it.
In the building phase.
Not thriving yet. Not living the full expression of the vision.
But trying to stay present in the in-between (most of the time).

And yet, it hasn’t all been waterfalls and vision boards.
Building something here has been messy and overwhelming.
The road work alone—oh my.
Bulldozers carving through cow pasture. Mud everywhere.

The noise, the chaos, the heartbreak of watching something sacred
be disturbed in order to become something else.

I thought I was ready to build a dream.
But I hadn’t expected the grief that would come with it.

I had no idea how destructive creating a road would be, or how long it would take.
And I didn’t always want to stay for the mess of it.

A few weeks after that honest moment, we got hit with a new challenge.

We were told the city was shutting us down.
Apparently, we didn’t have the permits.
Our contractor had given us the impression they were in process and that we had permission to continue.
Even the road crew had been convinced.

And now, we were facing a wait that could stretch from two months… to two years.

I was done.

I felt a rush of relief.
Maybe this was our way out.
We could go back to the States where life was easier.
We could buy a house.
I could stop struggling with Spanish.
I could get a car I loved. A job. A yoga membership.
Unlimited coffee shops. Road trips. Packages in a day.

My mind ran wild with possibilities—until it ran out.

After my hissy fit subsided, I saw it:

What I was really saying was:
This dream, this calling of a tropical home and retreat space… isn’t worth waiting for.

And even if we did go back… what would I want a month later, after I indulged in all the things I missed?

Oh right.
A tropical retreat space with waterfalls.

So… I guess we stay.

Even after that decision, I had more fantasies of leaving.
With every setback, I checked in to see if it was a sign to give up and go.
I told myself I was listening to the Universe. Staying open. Not attached.

But in truth, I had one foot here… and one foot back in the life we could easily slip into.

The moment I saw that split, I made a choice.
I called all my energy back.

I decided to be here. Fully.

Committed.
Devoted.

And to trust that if we’re meant to leave, we’ll know.

Since then, I’ve stopped asking,
“What the hell are we doing?”

Because I know now:

We’re here.
We’re doing this.
We’re building the dream.

I realize I thought thriving was always feeling joyful, radiant, and living with ease.
And I notice how much I hoped I would feel all those things simply by being aligned, taking care of myself, and saying yes to the dream.

But I’m starting to see it differently.

What if thriving isn’t always bright and blooming?
What if it’s quiet, rooted, and mostly underground for a while?

What if thriving is simply staying with yourself—
when things are uncertain, messy, and not-yet?

What if this, right here, is still thriving…

If you’re building something sacred, too—I’d love to hear. What helps you stay when it’s hard?