Don’t Go There
Don’t Go There
It’s Not Safe. You’ll Die.
The last time we visited Nicaragua, Tropical Storm Nate decided to crash our wedding plans.
We’d flown in dreaming of an adventure-themed celebration at the Mango Rosa Adventure Travel and Surf Resort, where Karl and I first shared an adventure together. We had a four-day lineup of surfing and outdoor activities planned for our guests. None of it happened. Instead, the entire country lost power, rain poured for days, and not a hint of sun broke through—until our wedding day.
What could have ruined a wedding turned it into something magical. The storm forced us all closer, bonding friends and family in a way we could never have planned or recreated. A hurricane made our day unforgettable.
This third visit to Nicaragua was different. This time, we drove. The first two visits were before political unrest, when Nica felt like a place we could freely explore—beautiful beaches, golden sunsets, open roads. I longed to experience that magic again. But when we finally returned to Mango Rosa, things had changed. The 4×4 jungle road seemed shorter and easier than we remembered. The dry season left the jungle less lush. The wind whipped relentlessly. But the beaches? They were exactly as before—wild, beautiful, and alive with crazy beach-break surf. Mango Rosa was mostly unchanged too, except for fewer tourists, more local events, and a new ping-pong and pool table.
It’s funny how we try to replicate past experiences. We cling to them, hoping they’ll feel the same. But the attempt often makes us miss what’s happening now. I’m guilty of this too. I’ve been reading The Untethered Soul, which calls this habit what it is: clinging. We cling to the past, to the future, to good and bad moments alike, until “Now” slips through our fingers. Now? Where are you? I miss you.
Before the unrest, Nicaragua was booming, expected to be the “new Costa Rica.” Foreign investors snatched up land to retire early on modest budgets. It was hard to imagine that same country suddenly unsafe, shaken by corruption and vulnerability. Harder still to consider how fragile life can be elsewhere—and how vulnerable our own country might be too.
Locals Tell Us Things Are Changing.
The Sandinistas are negotiating with student protesters. One man said he finally feels safe admitting he’s not a Sandinista—a small but meaningful victory. In truth, aside from Belize, Nicaragua feels like one of the safest places we’ve traveled. After so much “grit” in other countries, the ease here feels strange. I almost miss the grit, because it feels raw, real, alive.
I’m turning 45 on this journey, and Karl will soon turn 50. Dare we keep traveling? Is it safe? Will we die? Truth is, we’re all moving closer to death with every breath. We never know when the day will come. People risk big changes—moving abroad, chasing better lives—knowing their realities might shift in an instant. I think we cling to what we know because it feels safer. The unknown feels dangerous, even when the known isn’t all that great.
Clinging is part of human nature, but so is change. Life swings like a pendulum—back and forth, duality everywhere. We resist, but sometimes a Calling is strong enough to break the mold. We have no choice. We burn everything down: old jobs, old relationships, old ways of thinking. The fire reshapes us, sparking revolutions inside ourselves that ripple outward—to people, to nations, to humanity.
And when we finally let go, we discover something new, something alive, something Now. A diamond beneath the mold.
“Don’t you know? They’re talking about a revolution. It sounds like a whisper.” – Tracy Chapman
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