Why Costa Rica Alone Wasn’t Enough

Founder's Notes: Volume 3

As I reflect on the passing of beloved actor Malcolm-Jamal Warner, I’m reminded that none of us are promised forever. We make choices—big ones—believing they’ll bring us closer to peace, purpose, or simply a better quality of life.

When I moved to Costa Rica in 2020, it felt like the answer. And for a while, it was.

The weather was healing. The pace was human. And after years of shouldering too much for too many, it gave me space to breathe. I started over. I found love. I built a business that now helps others find their footing abroad.

But as the years passed, something began to shift.

What started as a fresh start began to feel like a closed loop. I wasn’t unhappy—but I was unsettled. The infrastructure that once felt simple started to feel limiting. Access to healthcare, the rhythm of business, and the cultural pace sometimes created more friction than flow.

And then there was family.

When I moved here, I came as a single woman. My daughter stayed behind to finish high school. The decisions were mine alone. But now, I’m married. Our family is evolving. And with that comes a new level of responsibility, vision, and care for how and where we spend our time.

It became clear: Costa Rica could be a home, but it couldn’t be the only one.

That longing to move, travel, and live in multiple countries was always in me.
Even before Costa Rica, I had experienced global living through my military service and work abroad. I knew what it meant to live across borders—and what it meant to long for more than one version of home.

When my husband and I met, we didn’t speak the same language, but we shared the same dream: to build a life that moved across borders. He was preparing to move to Sweden. I was exploring Brazil and Ecuador before Costa Rica revealed itself as a soft place to land.

And then life happened.

We got married.
We built a business.
We showed up for family in ways that required our full presence—physically, emotionally, financially.

Costa Rica gave us the foundation we needed. But the vision didn’t stop there.

There are things I love about this country that I’ll never take for granted:
The breeze at 6:00 a.m. when the world feels quiet and mine.
The mangoes from the market.
The ease of being in a place that feels... kind.

But there are things I miss.

I live in a city—but I miss cities that were built for wonder.
The kind that inspire you to walk for hours without a destination.
Where the streets are clean, the trains run on time, and even your grocery run feels cinematic.
Stuttgart did that for me.

And while I’m a high-intermediate Spanish speaker, there are days I want to exist in a space where language isn’t a calculation—where I don’t have to translate before I advocate for myself, my family, or my business.
Where fluency is automatic, and everything—from healthcare to a spontaneous conversation—is smoother because the language is mine.

I miss spontaneous luxury.
Not the kind you plan for—but the kind that lives in well-designed cities.
A quiet bookstore café. A boutique that carries your exact size. An afternoon that unfolds without needing a car or a workaround.

And as much as Costa Rica is home, I’ve realized I need multiple homes.
Places that stretch and restore me in different ways.
Places that speak my language—literally and emotionally.
Places where ease isn’t something I have to negotiate.

That may even include the U.S.

Despite the reasons I left, the U.S. still holds parts of my story—my roots, my memories, and the chapters that shaped me. It may no longer be the center of my life, but it remains a meaningful piece of it. And in this next season, it might still have a role to play.

It’s not about retreating. It’s about choosing with intention. Home doesn’t have to be singular. It can be seasonal. It can evolve.

In the next post, I’ll share the countries we’ve explored so far—and the lived experiences that shaped our thinking.
I’ll also walk you through the criteria we now use to choose our home bases: what we’ve learned to prioritize, what we’ve let go of, and how we make these decisions as a family.

Because the next chapter isn’t just about relocating.
It’s about refining the vision—and designing the life to match it.

Let me know in the comments if you’ve ever felt like you belong everywhere?