Naturally, with Rachelle Robinett

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

•°. *࿐

5/28/24

It’s time to surf. Conditions look excellent and ideally challenging but doable for me. Let’s see if all those push-ups I did in NYC did any good …

~

That was so fun!! I did it. Straight into that long paddle out, turtle-rolling better, stronger, and without fear. Taking some on the head, also without fear. Chasing waves, missing some, making some, riding, and digging my way through the break, over and over again. When coach offered a break, I declined it, saying I wanted more. We move away from the other surfers and are all alone in the morning sunlight atop the gentle sea behind the impact zone. He says, “I like that we are here. It’s better away from all the people.” I said, “In general.” We laugh and then …

… I catch a joyous right, riding it all the way in. It feels amazing and I laugh to myself, waiting for him to ride one in too. He does, playing by sitting on his knees, then on the board, then standing up. I hop on the wave too and we ride into the beach on our bellies, grinning. He’s so happy with my session, and so am I. And it’s so beautiful out there—no one on the beach and the glittering mirror behind us. I feel stronger, for sure, and without the jitters of the earlier days, which feels a little bittersweet—already that fear, should I want it, will have to be sought again.

Coach sits us down to teach me about the tides, drawing in the sand, which is unnecessary (they all do it) and makes me smirk. “Pay attention,” he says, “this is important for you to know because you live here now.”

~

Post-surf: Before, it came out of me in weeping, but now it’s grins and laughs and little squeals as I float home full of endorphins. I don’t want to leave the beach. The site of the happening—of this happening to me, being done to me. I just sit there, laughing and giddy and trembling, and then my laugh turns into a gentle cry of joy. This afterglow … I want to protect it. Prolong it, to bathe. I want to do nothing else in order to allow it to persist, to ripple through me. What a drug, what a high. It’s like being made love to.

I can hear the silence now, on the jungle walk home. I feel reverent. I feel the air on my skin, the breeze on my cheeks. All of my favorite things are here. What a gift to feel new feelings at this age. I mean, isn’t this what it’s all about? Damn.

Dinner: By the light of my phone as the power is out. Computer is dead too, and I have no candles. It’s pitch dark now and I don’t want my phone to run out of battery too. The house is pleasant though. Not hot despite no AC and so quiet. I open the doors to listen to the sounds of the jungle.

5/29/24

It takes me this long to realize that: this is one of the most meaningful times of your entire life. Don’t worry about figuring anything out right now. Just enjoy it!

~

Another beautiful surf session. Paddling out, I feel my lack of urgency, my strength and calm, efficiency and patience. When we reach the outside, we sit and rest as the sun rises into a clear blue sky above us—yesterday’s rains having created a crystalline morning today. I feel especially happy and try to look often at all of it, to take in the full scene, to soak it in—all all all. I catch waves and ride well. My leash disconnects from the board once, but we’re able to reattach it and continue the session. I’m working much more on my own now, than dependent on the coach’s calls of instruction. I go until I can’t anymore and debate trying for one more, but see him riding in on a wave, high in the sky.

We sit on the beach and chat. He tells me I can buy shrimp and lobster at the fish market and he explains how to cook the lobster with garlic and butter, which his mom taught him. All of the Ticos cook—men and women—many of the boys especially having left home very early and learned to fish and forage and grow and cook and earn and care for themselves.

I tell him what I realized about this special time for me. “Yes, is important to enjoy these things,” he says. “Memories go so quick,” I say. “Yeah. I wish we could be forever.”

~

I go to the fish market and buy catches of the day. I cook dorado. I look at the calendar for the first time in sometime, trying to sense if there’s a date in the future that seems to imply when I should return to NYC. Doing so makes me want to head in the other direction, though: deeper in, here. Less phone, less looking out or ahead, less accessible, more immersed. I carve fresh papaya, and notice how tan my skin is now. I feel strength in new places, and the constant joy. I wonder what I’m going to do with this next phase of life, and care not to consider it further than that for now.

5/30/24

Lightly raining this morning. I sleep hard and fast, up early without an alarm. Happy, though sad that my coach is leaving for many weeks to teach in the south of the country. It’s hard to imagine surfing with someone else after all he’s taught me. I think about how the magic and beauty of falling in love with this place will only happen one time and so, I ought not to rush it. And I wonder how many times I’ve looked around here in awe of this life—of the unbelievability of the beauty of it—of what I’ve taken, made, and been given. What all. That overtakes me today. <3

No surfing today and I wonder how I should spend the time. Perhaps, finishing my manuscript, and turning it in …

Instead I set out on a long walk, nearly three hours, to town and back. The power goes out again and I become nearly euphoric with relief as I’m cut off from all communication. I feel free. Is that why I like being alone so much, is that why Dad did too? Is it not about aloneness, but rather about freedom?

Happy dinner in silence.

5/31/24

Post-surf alone: A bit of a banger in the sense that I got a bit beat up, but don’t mind—got what I needed from the session. Walked an hour home while avoiding my phone. I take a delicious nap and then meet a new friend at a local shop before coming home to prepare the manuscript for delivery. Also: considering book titles, speaking of surreal experiences …

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

•°. *࿐

5/25/24 continued

I walk home from the cafe in this heavy jungle air, again feeling the animalistic nature of life here. Creatures, all of us.

As I’m writing down words, trying to find a synonym, I realize that this is also how I live: Trying things in order to reach the right one, or the right way. That it takes actually writing down words to arrive at the one sought. And that in that process, much more always emerges than we realized was there. In other words, I believe in doing the thing in order to know it, which is often by feeling—or experience—because we truly cannot know how it will be, or who we will be, or how it will go, until we do. (Someone said, “The how often gets in the way of the now.”)

I feel alone …

… but also that I am relying on and trusting and so accompanied by other versions of myself—the ones who felt when they did and decided when they did and chose when they did. I realize that this whole process, which has been nothing but good, has shown me that things can actually be that: just good and right and fully, entirely well, without a catch.

I am so happy. I am so grateful. I am so excited. This feels comparable only to the way getting the book deal felt. What a time, what a life. Thank you everything. Thank you Dad.

~

I love: No clothes necessary, ever. Days, nights, events, nothing. I love: Tuk tuks, especially at night. I love: Motos. I love: The bad music. I love: How this whole place is one single organism, mixing and morphing and multiplying from within and yet always a whole.

~

I wonder if I should just stop asking why and feel what I feel. This feels … significant.

I like to follow things to see where they lead, but my thoughts here expand out into some kind of nothingness that’s increasingly harder to track, and exerting that effort feels increasingly less important. Maybe that disintegration is what this next chapter is about: following the feelings that know, rather than knowing first. Maybe it’s about not knowing. Not needing to know. Could I give up understanding, which has been some sort of lifeline for me, especially through challenge? Could I give up what seems to have been one of my primary purposes? By opening more, letting, and going … with less consideration? Maybe I don’t have to know what I’m doing.

5/26?/24

Sitting outside topless feeling … hot. Everything here is sexy. The sun on skin, the warm breeze finding its way in, the water doing the same, the wild jungle, the bodies everywhere—wet and strong and casually comfortable just being. It’s embodiment. It’s a naked meeting of man and nature. It’s dances of power, which I continue to consider. Dad was my first encounter with power and since him, I’ve had to fight to reclaim mine. Now that I have it, I’ve realized, I like to play with that fire; I enjoy having my power taken away, but on my own terms. Or stolen by someone, or something, that I trust. This, I realize, is why I like edges. I can push myself to an edge, or hand myself over to a force more powerful than I am, in order to dance along that line of being in or out of power, in or out of control. It’s about safety and risk, security and freedom, composure and spontaneity, or even “recklessness.” And after a lifetime of training—physically and mentally—to strengthen myself to the point of feeling safe giving up my power, I realize that I’ve built the ability to live on, or at least near, that line—to be tumbled in the froth of the waves—which I need in order to feel alive.

11am: Nothing like a spreadsheet to kill the vibe. I need a walk, and a swim. I tell my friend that I can’t work down here. She says, “Then don’t. Figure it out when you get back.”

I have been responsible, literally my whole entire life. Like, skipping childhood to grow up too soon, working as soon as I was able, and not stopping until, well, now. Maybe I just don’t have to be that way anymore.

~

There is something interesting about my relationship with time and how closely I’ve always held it. But here, it’s pura vida—Don’t worry about tomorrow, it’s all only today, just be here now. (So dharma.)

Sitting alone on the beach at sunset trying to feel if I’m truly content. And is there any way to know if this kind of contentment lasts without living through it to find out? Of course not, like anything. But I am an age at which I know enough about what I like and want (though maybe not who I am?!) to know some things. And if Wendy is any testament—or the locals who’ve lived here their entire lives and still gawk at the sunset every night—it’s definitely possible. To be simply happy with just this, that is.

A neighbor interrupts my unnecessary rumination and sits down to chat. He’s been here 10 years. Said he got tired of leaving …

~

The next day: I am so peaceful. My mind is so quiet. I feel warm and sweet. I feel like I do after surfing: silenced. The feeling is one of having exactly what I want. I walk the beach in a blissful daze. For now, everything feels complete—exactly as it should be. I know my impatience, or desire for more, will rise again (or maybe it won’t?) but for now, everything is perfect. Simple, and also very complicated, but also simple. Aquí. Ahora.

I only wish that, in life, there were any way to preserve the completeness—the complexity, the details, the feelings, the everything—of memories. I suppose that’s why I write.

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

•°. *࿐

5/25/24 continued

I walk home from the cafe in this heavy jungle air, again feeling the animalistic nature of life here. Creatures, all of us.

As I’m writing down words, trying to find a synonym, I realize that this is also how I live: Trying things in order to reach the right one, or the right way. That it takes actually writing down words to arrive at the one sought. And that in that process, much more always emerges than we realized was there. In other words, I believe in doing the thing in order to know it, which is often by feeling—or experience—because we truly cannot know how it will be, or who we will be, or how it will go, until we do. (Someone said, “The how often gets in the way of the now.”)

I feel alone …

… but also that I am relying on and trusting and so accompanied by other versions of myself—the ones who felt when they did and decided when they did and chose when they did. I realize that this whole process, which has been nothing but good, has shown me that things can actually be that: just good and right and fully, entirely well, without a catch.

I am so happy. I am so grateful. I am so excited. This feels comparable only to the way getting the book deal felt. What a time, what a life. Thank you everything. Thank you Dad.

~

I love: No clothes necessary, ever. Days, nights, events, nothing. I love: Tuk tuks, especially at night. I love: Motos. I love: The bad music. I love: How this whole place is one single organism, mixing and morphing and multiplying from within and yet always a whole.

~

I wonder if I should just stop asking why and feel what I feel. This feels … significant.

I like to follow things to see where they lead, but my thoughts here expand out into some kind of nothingness that’s increasingly harder to track, and exerting that effort feels increasingly less important. Maybe that disintegration is what this next chapter is about: following the feelings that know, rather than knowing first. Maybe it’s about not knowing. Not needing to know. Could I give up understanding, which has been some sort of lifeline for me, especially through challenge? Could I give up what seems to have been one of my primary purposes? By opening more, letting, and going … with less consideration? Maybe I don’t have to know what I’m doing.

5/26?/24

Sitting outside topless feeling … hot. Everything here is sexy. The sun on skin, the warm breeze finding its way in, the water doing the same, the wild jungle, the bodies everywhere—wet and strong and casually comfortable just being. It’s embodiment. It’s a naked meeting of man and nature. It’s dances of power, which I continue to consider. Dad was my first encounter with power and since him, I’ve had to fight to reclaim mine. Now that I have it, I’ve realized, I like to play with that fire; I enjoy having my power taken away, but on my own terms. Or stolen by someone, or something, that I trust. This, I realize, is why I like edges. I can push myself to an edge, or hand myself over to a force more powerful than I am, in order to dance along that line of being in or out of power, in or out of control. It’s about safety and risk, security and freedom, composure and spontaneity, or even “recklessness.” And after a lifetime of training—physically and mentally—to strengthen myself to the point of feeling safe giving up my power, I realize that I’ve built the ability to live on, or at least near, that line—to be tumbled in the froth of the waves—which I need in order to feel alive.

11am: Nothing like a spreadsheet to kill the vibe. I need a walk, and a swim. I tell my friend that I can’t work down here. She says, “Then don’t. Figure it out when you get back.”

I have been responsible, literally my whole entire life. Like, skipping childhood to grow up too soon, working as soon as I was able, and not stopping until, well, now. Maybe I just don’t have to be that way anymore.

~

There is something interesting about my relationship with time and how closely I’ve always held it. But here, it’s pura vida—Don’t worry about tomorrow, it’s all only today, just be here now. (So dharma.)

Sitting alone on the beach at sunset trying to feel if I’m truly content. And is there any way to know if this kind of contentment lasts without living through it to find out? Of course not, like anything. But I am an age at which I know enough about what I like and want (though maybe not who I am?!) to know some things. And if Wendy is any testament—or the locals who’ve lived here their entire lives and still gawk at the sunset every night—it’s definitely possible. To be simply happy with just this, that is.

A neighbor interrupts my unnecessary rumination and sits down to chat. He’s been here 10 years. Said he got tired of leaving …

~

The next day: I am so peaceful. My mind is so quiet. I feel warm and sweet. I feel like I do after surfing: silenced. The feeling is one of having exactly what I want. I walk the beach in a blissful daze. For now, everything feels complete—exactly as it should be. I know my impatience, or desire for more, will rise again (or maybe it won’t?) but for now, everything is perfect. Simple, and also very complicated, but also simple. Aquí. Ahora.

I only wish that, in life, there were any way to preserve the completeness—the complexity, the details, the feelings, the everything—of memories. I suppose that’s why I write.

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

5/23/24 continued

I feel like I can finally relax. And, I do. I nearly fall asleep outside by the pool, dozing, forgetting where I am, feeling myself particularize, atomize, float. I walk to sunset and lay on the warm, solid sand, happy. I cook red snapper perfectly and eat it mostly with my fingers, wrapped in tortillas with mayonnaise, boiled yams on the side. I walk through the thick black night to an event at the local wine shop and meet new people, but it’s too much stimulation. Fun, but I leave early, back into the night that’s a little scary in its purity; I can see nothing beyond the dirt road lit by the flashlight from my phone. As I’m nearing home, a jungle rain starts and …

… I love it. Large drops, soft of course, warm and heavy, fall on and around me. It’s beautiful. The jungle is alive with sounds and I feel perfectly content.

5/24/24

Losing track of time—the day, the month … my orientation in time and space faltering. It’s a damp, lightly overcast morning—gentle and quiet now. I’ll surf and then rest.

Post surf: Sleepy from the exertion. Tan and bug-bitten. So pleased. I nap. I think: Beauty never gets old. As I watch this liquid light froth and seep into the horizon—rose-gold ripples and fractals, patterns that soothe and hush, wash over and wash away thoughts, concerns, importances, all … I keep forgetting things. Day, week, tasks, people I’m supposed to text back, things I’m supposed to be thinking about. Or, maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m not supposed to be thinking about anything. Maybe, I came here to feel (I did) and maybe it won’t “tell” me what I thought it might—or, tell me anything. Maybe I will just feel … and the rest of life will wait for me (or not wait for me).

A curious, unexpected idea: Could I work here? Could I write a book here? God, remember all of that sitting, in front of screens, inside a little room, in a horizon-less place, pining for this. To be right here.

I feel emotional. Letting go. Letting go like the shawl I’ve worn on every single trip into the wild for a decade, searching, searching, searching for … this. To reach … this. The shawl that just today finally gave out—holes emerging seemingly overnight and the thin fabric letting go into tears. The shawl, that I realize, is the same colors as this place.

On the walk home from sunset, I exhale most deeply, my face tipped to the sky as it blossoms into cotton-candy wisps, spirits, beauty—over the bright green jungle, which never dies here. The leaves never fall, the life never withdraws. Instead it gives and gives and gives and gives—growing toward you, over you, up from beneath and out from above, pushing life.

I am here. I am home. I love it here so much. This feels so good, so right. And so far from everything else.

Fresh fish from that writhing sea in my mouth, the life within and around, filling me. And on and on and on and on and on.

A quiet evening in was a good idea. I have a whole hour to read and write, relax now before early bed. I feel really wonderful and oh, look at that: the last page of this journal. How perfect. How many words, how many thoughts, how many pages, how many journals did it take to get us here? Every single one—and now here we are, here we are in the perfect place in the perfect way at the perfect time. It’s all here now, beyond and full, abundant, rich, sensual, exciting, and secure too. It’s all right. You are you once again. You have made yourself, found yourself someone, somewhere, that you once dreamed. You know, and you know because you’ve trained to, burned to, strived, fought, fought, fought, given into, honed and trusted and leapt. This is all absolutely incredible and I am so, so happy, in a deeply sure way—below all I don’t know yet. I love you. Bigger than the world.

~

5/25/24

Who is this new version of me? Or is it not a new version at all and just actually, me.

I feel nearer to feeling something new … like, why I am here … like I am … celebrating my whole life up to this point. That is how Costa Rica makes me feel. I felt it on that first trip after the pandemic, and Dad’s death, in that other town—it was a celebration of life. Now too—accomplishment, arrival, the reaching of a time and place that is the reward. The reward for life is more life.

I cannot believe how perfect this place is, for me. Not by chance I suppose, I have found my idea of heaven.

One week into this experiment in feeling and I feel a lot, though not yet any “clarity” about, or rather no indication that anything is going to encourage me to leave. I wonder what that means.

I remind myself to simply trust the process, because it is occurring whether I know it or not.

The day stretches out ahead of me now. Maybe sola, maybe not.

~

I love: Leaving my journal open and around, awaiting anything I want to jot down at any time.

I meet someone new at a local cafe for food and the conversation is, as is so common here, quickly connective, quite immediately into topics not at all superficial or polite, per se. There is a simplicity here, certainly, but in that, a depth. As if everyone has been stripped of artifice—as they’ve also been stripped of dress and appearance accessories (makeup, jewelry, presentation)—leaving only the essentials. (For example, when I meet someone new months later, their first questions for me are “¿Cómo piensas? ¿Qué importa para tu forma de vivir?” How do you think? What matters for how you live?) Over soft eggs on sprouts with avocado and homemade toast we talk about her art, and flow, even understanding each other about “‘ness,” my made-up word for something akin to the life force, which I rarely talk about. It surprises me how open I am here, to all of it. Though that makes sense as I too have been stripped. Stripped is also the english translation for the name of the beach that I watch sunset from every night. I say that I want to write about how we know when we know and what that feels like and she says, “That’s what I want to read about!” She bursts into a little song about las plantas and I marvel at these little demonstrations of freedom, which abound here. We talk about how lovers (common here) and places are similar. She says that this place “will take everything from you that doesn’t belong.”

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

5/23/24 continued

I feel like I can finally relax. And, I do. I nearly fall asleep outside by the pool, dozing, forgetting where I am, feeling myself particularize, atomize, float. I walk to sunset and lay on the warm, solid sand, happy. I cook red snapper perfectly and eat it mostly with my fingers, wrapped in tortillas with mayonnaise, boiled yams on the side. I walk through the thick black night to an event at the local wine shop and meet new people, but it’s too much stimulation. Fun, but I leave early, back into the night that’s a little scary in its purity; I can see nothing beyond the dirt road lit by the flashlight from my phone. As I’m nearing home, a jungle rain starts and …

… I love it. Large drops, soft of course, warm and heavy, fall on and around me. It’s beautiful. The jungle is alive with sounds and I feel perfectly content.

5/24/24

Losing track of time—the day, the month … my orientation in time and space faltering. It’s a damp, lightly overcast morning—gentle and quiet now. I’ll surf and then rest.

Post surf: Sleepy from the exertion. Tan and bug-bitten. So pleased. I nap. I think: Beauty never gets old. As I watch this liquid light froth and seep into the horizon—rose-gold ripples and fractals, patterns that soothe and hush, wash over and wash away thoughts, concerns, importances, all … I keep forgetting things. Day, week, tasks, people I’m supposed to text back, things I’m supposed to be thinking about. Or, maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m not supposed to be thinking about anything. Maybe, I came here to feel (I did) and maybe it won’t “tell” me what I thought it might—or, tell me anything. Maybe I will just feel … and the rest of life will wait for me (or not wait for me).

A curious, unexpected idea: Could I work here? Could I write a book here? God, remember all of that sitting, in front of screens, inside a little room, in a horizon-less place, pining for this. To be right here.

I feel emotional. Letting go. Letting go like the shawl I’ve worn on every single trip into the wild for a decade, searching, searching, searching for … this. To reach … this. The shawl that just today finally gave out—holes emerging seemingly overnight and the thin fabric letting go into tears. The shawl, that I realize, is the same colors as this place.

On the walk home from sunset, I exhale most deeply, my face tipped to the sky as it blossoms into cotton-candy wisps, spirits, beauty—over the bright green jungle, which never dies here. The leaves never fall, the life never withdraws. Instead it gives and gives and gives and gives—growing toward you, over you, up from beneath and out from above, pushing life.

I am here. I am home. I love it here so much. This feels so good, so right. And so far from everything else.

Fresh fish from that writhing sea in my mouth, the life within and around, filling me. And on and on and on and on and on.

A quiet evening in was a good idea. I have a whole hour to read and write, relax now before early bed. I feel really wonderful and oh, look at that: the last page of this journal. How perfect. How many words, how many thoughts, how many pages, how many journals did it take to get us here? Every single one—and now here we are, here we are in the perfect place in the perfect way at the perfect time. It’s all here now, beyond and full, abundant, rich, sensual, exciting, and secure too. It’s all right. You are you once again. You have made yourself, found yourself someone, somewhere, that you once dreamed. You know, and you know because you’ve trained to, burned to, strived, fought, fought, fought, given into, honed and trusted and leapt. This is all absolutely incredible and I am so, so happy, in a deeply sure way—below all I don’t know yet. I love you. Bigger than the world.

~

5/25/24

Who is this new version of me? Or is it not a new version at all and just actually, me.

I feel nearer to feeling something new … like, why I am here … like I am … celebrating my whole life up to this point. That is how Costa Rica makes me feel. I felt it on that first trip after the pandemic, and Dad’s death, in that other town—it was a celebration of life. Now too—accomplishment, arrival, the reaching of a time and place that is the reward. The reward for life is more life.

I cannot believe how perfect this place is, for me. Not by chance I suppose, I have found my idea of heaven.

One week into this experiment in feeling and I feel a lot, though not yet any “clarity” about, or rather no indication that anything is going to encourage me to leave. I wonder what that means.

I remind myself to simply trust the process, because it is occurring whether I know it or not.

The day stretches out ahead of me now. Maybe sola, maybe not.

~

I love: Leaving my journal open and around, awaiting anything I want to jot down at any time.

I meet someone new at a local cafe for food and the conversation is, as is so common here, quickly connective, quite immediately into topics not at all superficial or polite, per se. There is a simplicity here, certainly, but in that, a depth. As if everyone has been stripped of artifice—as they’ve also been stripped of dress and appearance accessories (makeup, jewelry, presentation)—leaving only the essentials. (For example, when I meet someone new months later, their first questions for me are “¿Cómo piensas? ¿Qué importa para tu forma de vivir?” How do you think? What matters for how you live?) Over soft eggs on sprouts with avocado and homemade toast we talk about her art, and flow, even understanding each other about “‘ness,” my made-up word for something akin to the life force, which I rarely talk about. It surprises me how open I am here, to all of it. Though that makes sense as I too have been stripped. Stripped is also the english translation for the name of the beach that I watch sunset from every night. I say that I want to write about how we know when we know and what that feels like and she says, “That’s what I want to read about!” She bursts into a little song about las plantas and I marvel at these little demonstrations of freedom, which abound here. We talk about how lovers (common here) and places are similar. She says that this place “will take everything from you that doesn’t belong.”

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

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•°. *࿐

Welcome to a new series here on Substack! (We love newness, if you haven’t already noticed!) Over the coming months, we'll be releasing our much-loved online classes, now included with your paid Substack subscription. Stay tuned for in-depth explorations of topics such as Herbalism for Metabolism, Herbalism for Inflammation & Pain, The Beauty of Herbalism, and much more. These classes are designed to empower you with practical knowledge and tools to enhance your well-being, naturally.

Now on with the class …

Herbalism is the medicinal and therapeutic use of plants. Or, as I say: How to use plants to be healthier, better balanced, and more connected—inwardly and outwardly. In this course, learn the foundations of what herbalism is, what herbalists do, how to talk about herbalism to others, and how herbs are categorized, based on their benefit. Hear my philosophy about herbalism as a lifestyle and take away key insights that can be applied immediately to daily life …

This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com

Thinking, Naturally is a Substack Bestseller! This reader-supported publication is dedicated to empowering your herbal health practices, natural-ness, and most vital lifestyle. For the full experience, consider upgrading your subscription to paid. Your endless support means the world.

Clicking ♥ on this post, sharing and leaving a comment keeps our newsletter alive, thank you for engaging and being here! XOR

•°. *࿐

Welcome to a new series here on Substack! (We love newness, if you haven’t already noticed!) Over the coming months, we'll be releasing our much-loved online classes, now included with your paid Substack subscription. Stay tuned for in-depth explorations of topics such as Herbalism for Metabolism, Herbalism for Inflammation & Pain, The Beauty of Herbalism, and much more. These classes are designed to empower you with practical knowledge and tools to enhance your well-being, naturally.

Now on with the class …

Herbalism is the medicinal and therapeutic use of plants. Or, as I say: How to use plants to be healthier, better balanced, and more connected—inwardly and outwardly. In this course, learn the foundations of what herbalism is, what herbalists do, how to talk about herbalism to others, and how herbs are categorized, based on their benefit. Hear my philosophy about herbalism as a lifestyle and take away key insights that can be applied immediately to daily life …

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

5/21/24

I fall asleep hard and fast and wake up thinking about how the sea, and surfing, are like a metaphor for life. This is the break—the being pummeled by waves and tumbled underwater, the rough between the inside and the outside. If I trust, hold on, don’t panic, and keep paddling, I’ll break through.

Midday: I walk to the beach, taking in the scene I’ve yearned for from NYC for …

… so many days. I rent a board and do drills in the whitewater until I am out of energy. I walk the market, touching jewelry and fruit. I walk home, which means I’ve been walking for most of the day already (exercise is so easy here, and not “exercise”).

Sunset: I begin smiling as I approach the beach again. The sunset is, as it always is here, beyond words. I walk to the edge of the beach where it meets the tide pools, which are full of light, and I feel like I’m on the edge of the world. I am facing … life? Death? Out. Into.

I think of Dad. Why are we so drawn to these edges? To being on a precipice?

The perpetual breeze comes off the sea, out of that light, steady and warm, like a cleanse, like a force, like life.

Should I be thinking about my life more while I’m down here? I don’t know how many days it’s been now, nor how many I have, nor do I want to.

I won’t know until I know. I don’t get to force this into existence any more than I already have. I hate not understanding (in general), but I love an enigma.

As I was leaving sunset, I turned around for one last glimpse and was stopped, as happens, by the softness. The layers of light slowly rolling out over one another on the beach. Pastel, glowing, like a soft offering to the senses. Quietly, a patch of heaven on earth appears. If you only turn around—glance back—you’ll catch it … being. It will captivate you, like a spell, cause you to stop, and also be.

Tomorrow I’d like to try to go deeper. Connect with this place even more. Less phone. Less in my head.

Day 5

This place is so un-conducive to doing anything. It’s much more a destruction of all things in order to reveal what lies beneath. So, in order to go deeper today, I think, I will try to just let go, let down, feel in, stay open.

One thing that I did worry about on my way down here was that I might feel like I’d made a big mistake. Buyer’s remorse, or the reality not living up to the memory, or fantasy. That has not happened, and that is a big thing. This is something to be very relieved about, happy for, proud of. How terrible it would be to feel that way and I haven’t had the slightest glimmer of it. I love this house! I love this place. It all fits me so perfectly.

What else do I have to learn down here? Plenty more, certainly. I love how strong it makes me—resilient and independent.

I go to a BBQ with new friends and it’s very cute. Enormous, freshly caught fish on the grill, tuna that looked like steak. Dorado and homemade guacamole and potatoes and apple pie. I sit back with curiosity about how and why I like this so much. The simple conversation, the unlikely mix of people (someone in crypto, a yoga instructor/tarot card reader, a couple colleagues from an IT company in the capital, a professional surfer, an architect, a property manager, a boxer-turned-lawyer) … I love the casualness, the lack of pretense, how everyone is barefoot and undone, arriving as just themselves. I love the ease, which is noticeable everywhere here and such a contrast to NYC. I enjoy that I can only partly follow the conversations in Spanish, and often I wonder why I find it so pleasurable to be surrounded by a language I don’t always understand, especially when they chat quickly in the local slang. I wonder if I’m “over” New York. Would I miss the depth of conversation, the pace, stress/adrenaline, the cerebral? Yet, that isn’t absent here, so it’s not exactly that that I’m picking up in this scene. Is cultural literacy and education level “depth”? Am I, again like dad was, drawn to “simple folk” and if so, why? These people aren’t “simple” though; their lifestyles are. Does the ease feel, well, easier? Yes. How much of it do I enjoy just because it’s different (novel)? That’s a big one, I think. Or maybe not. Only time knows.

The surfer will bring his board on their trip back to the city even though it’s in the middle of the country, “just in case.” What is it like to love a sport, to love an “activity” so thoroughly as to travel with gear even when it’s impossible to use it? The surfers fascinate me. And I have such affection for these people from all parts of the world, called to this wild land and tiny town to make a home here among the monkeys and crocodiles and waves.

5/23

I am here to bask.

I surf alone, throwing myself into the sea, paddling hard, hopping on, riding, over and over again. I realize that the sea can save me. That I can become a monster for it and it will always be there to overpower me—permitting me to exhaust myself in it. I feel our relationship change, my effort and struggle to improve each ride—each hand or foot or gaze placement, every detail little by little—eroding previous fear and shoving me into yet another wave.

Afterward, I feel elated and relaxed, drowsy and full of endorphins. I smell the plumeria scented air, see the jungle in new detail, attend to the breeze drying salt on my skin and lips.

I arrive home just as it starts to rain. I go to the yard and lay down on the hot tiles, my face to the sky. I lay there, and just laugh quietly. The land around me feels dense, alive, and also impartial—observant and indifferent.

Already, somehow, the day feels like a dream.

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

5/21/24

I fall asleep hard and fast and wake up thinking about how the sea, and surfing, are like a metaphor for life. This is the break—the being pummeled by waves and tumbled underwater, the rough between the inside and the outside. If I trust, hold on, don’t panic, and keep paddling, I’ll break through.

Midday: I walk to the beach, taking in the scene I’ve yearned for from NYC for …

… so many days. I rent a board and do drills in the whitewater until I am out of energy. I walk the market, touching jewelry and fruit. I walk home, which means I’ve been walking for most of the day already (exercise is so easy here, and not “exercise”).

Sunset: I begin smiling as I approach the beach again. The sunset is, as it always is here, beyond words. I walk to the edge of the beach where it meets the tide pools, which are full of light, and I feel like I’m on the edge of the world. I am facing … life? Death? Out. Into.

I think of Dad. Why are we so drawn to these edges? To being on a precipice?

The perpetual breeze comes off the sea, out of that light, steady and warm, like a cleanse, like a force, like life.

Should I be thinking about my life more while I’m down here? I don’t know how many days it’s been now, nor how many I have, nor do I want to.

I won’t know until I know. I don’t get to force this into existence any more than I already have. I hate not understanding (in general), but I love an enigma.

As I was leaving sunset, I turned around for one last glimpse and was stopped, as happens, by the softness. The layers of light slowly rolling out over one another on the beach. Pastel, glowing, like a soft offering to the senses. Quietly, a patch of heaven on earth appears. If you only turn around—glance back—you’ll catch it … being. It will captivate you, like a spell, cause you to stop, and also be.

Tomorrow I’d like to try to go deeper. Connect with this place even more. Less phone. Less in my head.

Day 5

This place is so un-conducive to doing anything. It’s much more a destruction of all things in order to reveal what lies beneath. So, in order to go deeper today, I think, I will try to just let go, let down, feel in, stay open.

One thing that I did worry about on my way down here was that I might feel like I’d made a big mistake. Buyer’s remorse, or the reality not living up to the memory, or fantasy. That has not happened, and that is a big thing. This is something to be very relieved about, happy for, proud of. How terrible it would be to feel that way and I haven’t had the slightest glimmer of it. I love this house! I love this place. It all fits me so perfectly.

What else do I have to learn down here? Plenty more, certainly. I love how strong it makes me—resilient and independent.

I go to a BBQ with new friends and it’s very cute. Enormous, freshly caught fish on the grill, tuna that looked like steak. Dorado and homemade guacamole and potatoes and apple pie. I sit back with curiosity about how and why I like this so much. The simple conversation, the unlikely mix of people (someone in crypto, a yoga instructor/tarot card reader, a couple colleagues from an IT company in the capital, a professional surfer, an architect, a property manager, a boxer-turned-lawyer) … I love the casualness, the lack of pretense, how everyone is barefoot and undone, arriving as just themselves. I love the ease, which is noticeable everywhere here and such a contrast to NYC. I enjoy that I can only partly follow the conversations in Spanish, and often I wonder why I find it so pleasurable to be surrounded by a language I don’t always understand, especially when they chat quickly in the local slang. I wonder if I’m “over” New York. Would I miss the depth of conversation, the pace, stress/adrenaline, the cerebral? Yet, that isn’t absent here, so it’s not exactly that that I’m picking up in this scene. Is cultural literacy and education level “depth”? Am I, again like dad was, drawn to “simple folk” and if so, why? These people aren’t “simple” though; their lifestyles are. Does the ease feel, well, easier? Yes. How much of it do I enjoy just because it’s different (novel)? That’s a big one, I think. Or maybe not. Only time knows.

The surfer will bring his board on their trip back to the city even though it’s in the middle of the country, “just in case.” What is it like to love a sport, to love an “activity” so thoroughly as to travel with gear even when it’s impossible to use it? The surfers fascinate me. And I have such affection for these people from all parts of the world, called to this wild land and tiny town to make a home here among the monkeys and crocodiles and waves.

5/23

I am here to bask.

I surf alone, throwing myself into the sea, paddling hard, hopping on, riding, over and over again. I realize that the sea can save me. That I can become a monster for it and it will always be there to overpower me—permitting me to exhaust myself in it. I feel our relationship change, my effort and struggle to improve each ride—each hand or foot or gaze placement, every detail little by little—eroding previous fear and shoving me into yet another wave.

Afterward, I feel elated and relaxed, drowsy and full of endorphins. I smell the plumeria scented air, see the jungle in new detail, attend to the breeze drying salt on my skin and lips.

I arrive home just as it starts to rain. I go to the yard and lay down on the hot tiles, my face to the sky. I lay there, and just laugh quietly. The land around me feels dense, alive, and also impartial—observant and indifferent.

Already, somehow, the day feels like a dream.

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

March 9th 2024 continued

Airport: These environments are such a reentry shock. I feel hollowed out. Regarding reentry, I now have to turn myself from the jungle and surf, to the screen. Turn myself from feeling to doing.

I scroll through my photos from the trip and choose favorites.

5:15pm: About to depart. I would otherwise be just arriving to the beach for sunset. I feel … wrecked. In the sense that I hate the feeling of cramming my brain back into a calendar and computer. I know I’ll reacclimate, and I hate that too. I think I really need to take off, for even longer. I need to just go. I see all the signs of my loving it—living for it—the physicality, the nature, the nakedness, the minimalism. I can enjoy culture, but I don’t choose it over being an outlier jungle defector, etc.

It would be possible to see my whole life in NYC as part of my “competency problem.” Now, how to pivot (hate that word), parlay, redirect the momentum, if that even matters. Meaning: What do I have to do to see this book all the way through, and to sell in the next? That is what matters.

We take off at sunset, which I watch through the plane window. As the wheels leave land, I feel pierced. We lift into the pink clouds and I think, “It feels like I have to kill something in order to return.”

My heart feels like it’s breaking. A chest-caving ache. I already miss Costa Rica.

This is change. Prying apart, unhinging, exposing, and reforming … change.

~

May 15th, 2024

Here I am on the eve of the eve of GOING BACK. Already, somehow. What is time?

I did it. I did a lot. I wrote the book. I bought the house in Costa Rica. I survived a stretch of time that felt possibly impossible to survive, actually.

Now how do I feel? I wish I could say elated, as eager as the moment I left to return. Some part of me is, and some parts of me feel nervous. About? I don’t know exactly. I feel a vague mix of anticipation and excitement and nervousness about the unknown. It feels possible though. I feel … like I’m about to step into the future. Into the next version of myself. Who will I be? How will I be? Probably, if we’re honest, it’ll be very, very good. Will it all feel less romantic? Less good than it has? But these are things we can’t know now. Soon-soon enough, we will, all.

From the precipice: This is good. I am so proud of you. XOR

~

The day before the last morning in/of this ritual I have of stealing time first thing in the morning to write. Dad’s death was the catalyst that gave me permission to do what I’ve always known I should do (write). You were a catalyst that led to openness. The book deal was a catalyst that led to stealing so much time that actually, I began stealing my life back. From what they call audience capture. Which could apply, and does so often, so much more widely. To how we live and who we shape ourselves to be, and to please, and to prove something to. That is to say, there is audience capture, and there is society.

All of that has led to this last morning before tomorrow. The leap into what’s next which is now just a single step … off this edge.

And I’m marveling at how, despite so much of my anxiety having been about the unknown (anticipation, lack of control) I also continue to live for it. Once again thrusting myself forward and in and onward. How else could it be “a great adventure or nothing at all”? How else to grow. How else to live.

~

I can’t tell if I’m leaving home or going home. Both and, I suppose.

5/17

On board (with a one-way ticket and no idea when I’ll return, for the first time ever): I feel alternately peaceful and giddy. I know this journey well now. It is mine now? There are so many things to feel right now, I am just cycling through them. The book! The house! The professional repositioning. Who I will become! My life, and how I’ve managed to make it into something that allows me to take off for an indefinite amount of time—to paradise, no less. I hardly know what I’m celebrating. Love, love, love.

~

I am here. Sitting outside by the little pool, naked. I made it in time to see sunset, on that wild, wild beach. “God’s country” as Dad would say. It’s all too beautiful.

I cried when I saw the horizon again, for the first time since the last time I was here. I have done this. And, it’s the same. The blue-gold sea, the persistent breeze … all just as I left it, not knowing how it or I would be when I returned.

And this home. I own it. Outright. I definitely can’t believe that yet.

A gecko laughs, slithers by.

Unreal, unreality, this.

And how good I already feel.

There are things I am going to learn about life by the sea … so much, so much.

I have no idea what I’m “doing” here and it’s fascinating. One day at a time. I said I would leave when I either had to, or when it felt like time. I trust the unfolding here, the undoing, the rewiring.

5/18

The beach, with coffee. No one else is out here with me. A dog tumbles around my toes. I laugh out loud at it, and marvel. Wild country, I say again. And these people, they’re cowboys. Dad is everywhere.

I didn’t even mean to come out here to the sea exactly, but it drew me. And now that I’m here, I feel satisfied. Needing nothing more than to be here with it. To watch, listen, feel … it’s something cellular, maybe genetic. But why was Dad also so drawn to the ocean? Relentless, monstrous, mysterious, sublime.

Afternoon: I’m reflecting on “what happens” out here. I don’t even know all of what does, but I have absolute faith in its value. I feel good—peaceful and lazy, comfortable, though at times it does feel strange to be so alone. And to not know how long I’ll be here—like when I’m buying groceries, but how much? I don’t know what the sign will be to go. Or maybe I’ll stay?! For like a month?

5/19

Post-surfing and I feel … electric. Electric with no outlet. Effervescence in my veins. Dazed into total stillness. I feel heartbroken in paradise, already. I almost don’t mind because these feelings, they’re unrivaled, but also this is real life.

One thing I do know: Time kills feelings. And so, while it is now, I will feel them all even if doing so kills me. In fact, that is part of this whole process.

Sunset: Do I like being alone because I like being alone or because it invites potential? Which is to say, in the grander scheme of things, should I be this way, or would I regret (does it always come down to that?) not having … what? Made more memories juntos rather than sola? Or will I manage to have it all?

No dates

I feel like I can feel my life cracking open. My heart, is this the weeping? Yes, here it is. My love of this place, the severity of the contrast with my life in New York, the desire to stay—already so strong now.

(Sobbing.)

I don’t even know why, why

It’s want

It’s relief

It’s release of all it took to get here, like everything I’ve ever done, and now it’s never wanting to leave

I receive an email from K, the last line of which is “Please take good care of that beautiful heart of yours that beats with the cells of your father’s.”

I feel myself stretched—physically, mentally, energetically—to limits I’ve known only here. The sunset is godly. This is heaven. I have died, actually, and it is, actually, killing off parts of me. This feels so true that I wonder now, actually, if I am mentally stable.

There is some kind of energy here. I never related to people talking about vortexes or portals but that’s what this is. It exists elsewhere, in some dimension beyond the “normal.” (I keep pausing because I really do feel at some mental limit.) And, see, this is how it is: overwhelming, annihilating, pressing in and pulling out until I simply give in.

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe