Can Westerners with a Frontier Mindset Find Pura Vida?
Can Westerners with a Frontier Mindset Find Pura Vida?
Hannah Rouse
The List
“What I regret most about college was never studying abroad,” I heard this many times from those who had already finished school. So, I added studying abroad to my list. It is not a bucket list, just a list. It’s a list which may not be physical, or ever referenced by name, but is nonetheless very real. A list that I have found to be common among my peers also searching for a sense of fulfillment, for what is next.
The list is filled with short-term tasks and long-term goals. The short-term, often mundane tasks are “valued only because we expect that [their completion] will make us happy.” They may include things like writing a boring English paper or going to work at a dreaded job, but the task itself isn’t what is significant. The list is significant because upon the completion of each task, upon the checking of each box, we expect to earn a small amount of happiness. But, our aggravation with the list and consequently with ourselves arises as soon as we fulfill a short-term task; because, “we immediately start wishing for more,” and as a result another task is quickly added to the list. Additionally, as we find ourselves caught in this frustrating treadmill of “chronic dissatisfaction” with short-term tasks, long-term goals, like a seven figure paycheck, are always out of reach: the last box to check never seems to be in sight and lost with it is the true goal of the list, lifelong happiness and contentment.
So, when my painting professor, Antoine asked me in April, “Hannah, would you be interested in studying in Costa Rica this summer?” I replied “If I can fit it into my internship schedule, yes of course!” excited to check something off the list.
Preparing for Costa Rica, I read all of the words required by my professor: Laderman (check), Honey (check), Walker (check), Mason (check), Comer (check), Butt (check), but digested and opened myself to deep interaction with none of the carefully chosen texts. They are, just words.
Driving from the International Airport in Liberia to the small surf town of Nosara, my classmates radiated excitement about the three weeks to follow in Costa Rica. As the landscape changed from buildings and pavement to green mountains lined with cow pastures and a dirt road we all spoke of our plans, what we would check off our individual lists over the next eighteen days: whether it was learning how to surf, hiking a volcano, or simply completing a graduation requirement, something was going to be checked off and happiness awarded to each of us in return.
Over the next two hours, as we maneuvered around potholes, cow pastures slowly transformed into a vibrant jungle. In every direction a canopy of green prevailed and unfamiliar sounds filled the air. If it weren’t for our driver’s confidence on the undeveloped roads and the occasional surf school advertisement I would’ve assumed we were forever lost in the thick sea of green. Eventually, a familiar sign appeared, “Safari Surf School,” where our class would be taking surf lessons over the next two weeks. We soon arrived at our temporary home, the Nosara Beach Hostel.
After unpacking we were hot and hungry, because our privileged selves were used to the upper-middle class American accompaniment of air conditioning and an early dinner. In response to our lack of contentment, a new short-term task was added to our list: find a pool. We wandered with intent a few steps down the dirt road, then without question through a wooden gate to find a cool blue answer to our discomfort. We happily splashed away our travelers’ sweat for a few moments before a local woman tentatively approached our loud group to inform us that the pool was for private use only. Embarrassed, we quickly exited the water and began our search for another pool. Only a few steps beyond the wooden gate was another path. We followed it through a canopy of hovos trees and over a small creek to another blue safe haven, confident this was the pool we had access to.
The comfort provided by the cool water made time pass quickly, but could inevitably distract us just momentarily from yet another short-term task on the list: food. After only a few minutes, we left to meet our professor for dinner.
At home, it is a rare occasion that I sit down for dinner longer than ten minutes unless my laptop or a textbook sits alongside my meal. At our first dinner in Costa Rica we waited 20 minutes to order. Then, we waited another grueling 45 minutes for our food to arrive at our loud table of eight. And, finally, we waited an additional half hour for our checks to be calculated and brought over by the composed, content waiter. The two hours that slowly added up, minute by lost minute, felt like a lifetime wasted. As the time trickled by, I was not focused on enjoying my food nor was I focused on getting to know any of my new roommates. I was merely worried what was next, that as the minutes drifted away, I could be checking something “more important” off of my list. My professor, Maia, noticed my anxious eyes scanning the scene and the uncontrollable tapping of my fingers against the wooden table while waiting for the check. She explained that time is treated differently here than in the US, people are not in a rush to live.
A Glimpse of Pura Vida
“Ride the first wave in on your stomach to show your respect for the ocean. Talk to the ocean and ask it to keep you safe while you ride in,” Frank our surf instructor directed as we waded into the gentle waves for the first time. I couldn’t tell if he was being serious. Was his recommendation to talk to the ocean based on his culture or beliefs or did he include it as an appeal to tourists?
The bubbling white wave caught one of my classmates first. She pushed her body up and stood on her board for a moment before she was engulfed. Frank was visibly conflicted and frustrated by her decision to stand rather than ride the first wave all the way on her stomach.
Suddenly, the seemingly irrelevant words that my eyes were required to scan before I landed in Costa Rica had significance. While the wave crashed over my peer, while its white spray splashed disappointment across Frank’s face, Walker’s history of Hawai’i “through the vantage point of the surf” finally was pertinent and made sense. Walker described a personal relationship that Hawaiians’ respect and work to constantly maintain with the ocean, “As Natives of Oceania, Hawaiians have viewed the moana (ocean) as essential to their existence.” Walker illustrated a relationship between people and the natural world that I could not visualize or understand until my classmate’s apathetic response to Frank’s plea to respect the ocean resulted in genuine disappointment momentarily disturbing his grin.
A statement from one Hawaiian surfer interviewed by Walker rang clear in the seconds that followed as Frank helped me onto my first white wave, “When you surf you have that connection, you connect spiritually and physically to all the elements around you; this is a part of you.” Gliding across the water, I stayed laying flat on my board, mesmerized by the relationship it creates between a surfer and the ocean. The wave, pushing my board carried me toward the sand and I began to “develop a friendship with the ocean” while asking the vast waves for safety and enjoyment over the next three weeks.
The next wave, I stood up. Water splashed my enormous grin as my board reached for the sandy shore. Enamored by the combination of content, fear, and freeing focus, while momentarily forgetful of my ever-looming list, I ran back into the waves to ride another, then another, then another.
The Frontier Throughout American History
Historian, Frederick Jackson Turner first articulated the significance of the frontier to American identity in 1893 when he voiced a theory that Americanism itself was created and will be forever defined by the existence of the (western) frontier. Turner explained that American institutions are defined by their (1) will to expand into uncharted territory (“free” land) like prior European colonizers, then (2) adapt to an undeveloped lifestyle, unlike many earlier European colonizers, and finally (3) slowly return to a civilized nature. From this point on, with little acknowledgement of those who occupied the “free” land before European settlers, historians regarded the frontier mindset -- the constant conquest of perceived uncharted territory -- as an essential identifier as to what was American.
While Turner may have only sought to determine the line between what is American and what is European, he discovered a unique characteristic that would define Americans for posterity. Turner only expected to explain the lasting results from the closing of the western frontier; he didn’t anticipate to uncover that the western frontier was not the last frontier. For generations to come Americans would discover new, challenging frontiers, in landscapes ranging from the Alaskan Wilderness to the Digital Age, that would arise often, begging to be conquered.
In a letter to the Office of Scientific Research and Development, President Franklin D. Roosevelt spoke of “New frontiers of the mind...and [how from them] we can create a fuller and more fruitful life.” Later President John F. Kennedy would follow the footsteps of Roosevelt as he redefined the idea of the never-ending quest to conquer a frontier as an American specific type of forward progress. “I am asking each of you to be new pioneers on that New Frontier,” Kennedy petitioned to the American people while progressing his political platform focused on technological advancement and space exploration.
Beyond the frontier’s significance in American politics and its role as a nation-wide culturally distinguishing factor, the frontier, as a mindset, influences Americans everyday lives in the form of the relentless list. The list, the collection of small and large personal frontiers, which promises happiness as well as prosperity upon the conquer of each. The nameless list that may never reach paper, but rarely leaves your sight. The list that always influences what tasks deserve your time and constantly reminds you that something is now and will always be next. The list that perpetuates the “frustrating treadmill of rising expectations” that often leaves you with a vast sea of “could haves,” “should haves,” and “would haves.” The list that, from what I can tell, is usually filled with a combination of short-term and long-term tasks categorized into two main groups: “have to’s,” such as that economics paper and getting a degree, and “want to’s,” like that party Saturday night and spring breaking in the Caribbean.
The list that Nosara, that surfing, that Hawaiian surf culture taught me was a wall. A wall I built which separates me from my pura vida.
Pura Vida
“Hannah, would you be interested in studying in Costa Rica this summer?”
“If I can fit it into my internship schedule, yes of course!”
“Pura Vida!” our driver exclaimed, smiling from ear to ear, as we piled into the van.
Inez, one of my classmates fluent in Spanish explained that the phrase is essentially equivalent to Costa Rica’s motto and translates to , “Pure Life.”
As our van swerved around potholes on the dusty road through an unfamiliar landscape of endless, immense greenery, from Liberia to Nosara, “Pura Vida” is what became familiar. The phrase was printed on sign after sign lining the unsophisticated road. While each of the signs read “Pura Vida,” their presentation varied drastically. Those advertising resorts and spas with “Pura Vida,” boldly printed in bright shades of orange, pink, or red and unscathed by the dusty air, shined in the beaming sun. Others asked for less attention. Their faded blues and small script “Pura Vida” barely peeked through overgrown trees and what they advertised seemed unclear.
The signs, their diverse current states, and their ranging ages, planted a question, “What is Pura Vida? Or rather, what was it?”
The new, brightly colored signs represented the increased tourism-based development in the area, so is “Pura Vida” simply a tourist’s catch phrase? Is it Costa Rican tourism’s “I’m Loving it,” “Happiest Place on Earth,” and “Just Do It,” equivalent? Is Pura Vida just a marketing ploy?
The older signs suggested otherwise. While these signs may not out date the introduction of foreign tourism based investment to Costa Rica’s Guanacaste province, they still manifested the prominence of Pura Vida before investor’s recognized the “potential” of this new frontier.
While “Pura Vida” has been adopted by many tourism based companies as a fun slogan, I was privileged enough to learn from the local Ticos and Ticas in Nosara that Pura Vida is far more than that. Each of my days, in and out of the waves in Costa Rica was filled with Pura Vida -- Pura Vida which manifested itself as never-ending patience, whole hearted kindness, a personal relationship to the environment, a graceful response to adversity, and utter gratitude as well as content with life in every moment.
My personal interactions with Pura Vida began within my first hour in the country, with our driver. He overheard our complaints of hunger early in the bumpy drive. Then, without request he stopped at a fruit stand to purchase each of us a bowl of watermelon, papaya, and banana.
That was just the beginning. Pura Vida was palpable in almost every conversation, every interaction that day and for the eighteen days to follow in Nosara. For example, at our first surf lesson, after arriving just on time, our instructors Frank and Marlon, patiently helped each of us as we struggled with frustration to carry our boards awkwardly over a small creek and under large branches through the dense jungle. They later radiated the same calm, honest kindness as they aided each of us while we attempted to identify our correct position on the board in the water.
Pura Vida continued to brighten my trip after the lesson when my classmates and I went to our professor’s red-roofed house, tucked away in the jungle, for breakfast and class. There we were greeted with a smile by Joanna, our chef. Through Inez, our classmate and translator, we each informed Joanna of our dietary restrictions. Then, we made it clear to Joanna that she did not need to make any of us a separate meal if our diet prohibited consumption of the one prepared. We assured her that there were plenty of snacks and options available. Within the next few days, she cooked a pasta dish that contained carrots, one of my allergens. Beside the large platter filled with the group’s pasta was a smaller plate of pasta cooked without a trace of carrots.
In addition to the immense kindness and patience I received from Ticos and Ticas in Costa Rica, the way locals gracefully responded to unfortunate events or conditions out of their control seemed essential to living in Pura Vida; fascinatingly similar to the way Csikszentmihalyi described finding happiness, “The joy we get from living, ultimately depends directly on how the mind filters and interprets everyday experiences. Whether we are happy depends on inner harmony, not on the controls we are able to exert over the great forces of the universe”
For example, Joanna would go home for a few hours each day between preparing our lunch and dinner. One day, an unexpected storm swept into Playa Guiones at noon.The roaring thunder shook our professor’s house as the rain persistently tapped on her windows for hours on end, preventing Joanna from driving her motor bike down the muddy road across town to her deserved break. Rather than reacting with anger or disappointment, Joanna maintained her effortless smile while answering our numerous questions about life in Nosara and watching a cooking show.
Frank manifested the same ability to maintain his joyous attitude in a less than favorable situation during a lesson. While surfing on my own one afternoon, I noticed Frank helping a novice surfer fight past the powerful white waves and toward the green sanctuary for her first time. After a long, strenuous paddle, they eventually made it, and the perfect wave soon met her there.
“Paddle! Paddle! Paddle!” Frank yelled as he pushed her board with the wave.
“Up!” he shouted. She pushed her body up and was able to carefully place her feet on the board before her nose tipped down and she was sucked into the breaking wave. The new surfer quickly retrieved her board and paddled back toward Frank, only to be met by an angry American surf tourist.
“What the f*ck!?” the tourist exclaimed at Frank and his client, “That was my wave! I was closest to the peak! Learn the f*cking rules!” Frank did not respond with the resentment or disgust I would’ve expected from anyone greeted with such words at a soccer game or in a Target parking lot in the US; instead, he politely apologized and moved with the traumatized new surfer further down the beach.
Speaking with Frank about the incident afterward, he explained that surfing “rules” were a new concept brought to Playa Guiones by foreign surf tourists relatively recently. He went on to describe what else foreigners had brought to the Nosara area in recent years and how it impacted Pura Vida.
Frank’s History of Pura Vida
“We are about Pura Vida. It’s a way of life,” Frank, my surf instructor and a Nosara local, stated as he explained what Pura Vida was to him and the other locals still living in the Nosara area.
For Frank, the story began with his grandfather, one of the first of a few locals to learn how to surf from a Jamaican surfer visiting the area during an unspecified time period. His grandfather then taught his father, who later taught Frank to surf at the ripe age of four. Around this age is also when Frank remembers “Western notions of wealth,” specifically money, being first introduced to the Nosara area.
Frank explained that before the ambiguous “they” came, “It was about Pura Vida, about sharing. The most important thing was caring for everyone.” Frank continued, “Then, they wanted to teach us that money was the most important thing.” He went on to describe Nosara before an emphasis was placed on money, before an emphasis was placed on having more. He stated that before money was introduced, few Ticos and Ticas wished for more than the necessities; if anyone had more than they needed, because there seemed nothing left to desire, they would simply give their unnecessary extra to those in need. This communal, sharing culture was not limited to one’s overabundance in food and belongings, but community also applied to the land. Frank described a scene of Nosara, in what I estimated to be the 90s, which echoed that described by Laderman in Hawai’i; a scene where land, specifically the beach, was not looked at as something to be owned or gained, but rather something culturally, spiritually loved and cherished.
Following the introduction of money as a symbol of wealth and success, Frank explained that value was placed on having more than one needs and consequently, less value was associated with sharing and helping those in need. He described a transition from a time of more positive relationships between locals and foreigners where, “We would share our things and they would share theirs,” to the current state where “We share our things, but they don’t share. They just take, take, take.” He credits this transition to the ever increasing Western influence and the consequently ever increasing value placed on money as the green paper slowly begins to define happiness and success in the area. Overtime, Frank has witnessed many Ticos take on this western philosophy of wealth and success. He argues that the impact on the local community as well as its values such as caring for one another and environmental protection is negative. “It’s not Pura Vida,” he mentioned, ominously resembling the impact Laderman observed western notions of wealth had in Hawai’i.
Laderman traced Hawaiian history back to the arrival of Captain James Cook in 1778, which he defined as a dramatic changing point economically and as a result culturally. After Cook’s arrival, the Hawaiian people were plagued by Western illness which decimated their population. Laderman argues that while the decrease in population did directly correlate to the decrease in surfing on the islands, another major factor was the introduction of the Western economy and lifestyle. As the sugar industry (among others) reshaped the economy of Hawai’i, social and cultural changes were inevitable, “the economic changes . . . upended Hawaiian customs.” In contrast to Laderman’s observations of sixteenth century Hawai’i, surfing in Nosara has increased immensely as more Americans have moved and vacationed to the area. But, according to Frank, local, Costa Rican cultural values and practices are still at risk when placed in the hands of western notions of wealth.
In Frank’s eyes the emphasis on sharing with those in need and caring for everyone has declined as a result of, specifically American, monetary influence, but he still works to uphold Pura Vida in his everyday life and gave multiple examples, “Yesterday, I went around planting flowers where ever I could so everyone could see something beautiful.” He continued, emphasizing his personal relationship to the environment, “Every morning, I go look at the waves to talk to, to respect the ocean.” A more direct example pertained to his disillusionment when it came to western definitions of wealth, “If I have money in my bank account, say $500 dollars, I don’t need that. I don’t want it. So, I donate it, I give it away, I spend it on others. . . That’s Pura Vida.”
Is it Possible to Live in Pura Vida with a Frontier Mindset?
Is it possible to naturally give without hesitation like Frank -- Is it possible to achieve Joanna’s effortless patience -- Is it possible to work daily at enhancing one’s relationship to the environment -- Is it possible to maintain an unphased smile in the face of unexpected adversity -- Are these ideals achievable while always working toward multiple goals on the list, while constantly paddling against the current of ever rising expectations and chronic disappointment? Is it possible to live the Pura Vida way of life while venerating the frontier mindset?
I felt as though my lack of contentment was “just how it is,” because it was incredibly uncommon for me to come across someone whom I would consider “happy.” I found myself, along with my family and friends, wishing away days, pushing ourselves to complete the tasks and pursue the goals on our lists that we each felt apathetic toward. While the checking of each box would result in a feeling of temporary happiness, the idea of utter lifelong fulfillment, unaffected by environmental circumstances, seemed like a fairytale to me, as 12 year old realist, and later as an 18 year old college student. I never felt the need to question whether temporary spurts of happiness were “all there was” until I encountered the eternal happiness that radiated off the bright, smiling faces of Nosara locals and filled the salty air of Playa Guiones. “It's all about the money,” was a construct which ruled my childhood, a statement reiterated by my father time and time again. I never felt the need to question whether this was the truth, whether a constant, often monetary, conquest of a new frontier was “all there was,” until I was privileged enough to observe a Tico, Frank’s confusion and disillusionment with this western identifier of success and wealth.
According to Csikszentmihalyi goals do not in themselves prevent one from experiencing happiness; rather the opposite. He argues that, “The best moments usually occur when a person’s body or mind is stretched to its limits in a voluntary effort to accomplish something difficult and worthwhile.” But, it is imperative to recognize Csikszentmihalyi does not advertise the existence of the list; he advises against it, noting it results in chronic dissatisfaction, as “New needs are felt, new desires arise. With affluence and power come escalating expectations, and as our level of wealth and comforts keeps increasing, the sense of well-being we hoped to achieve keeps receding into the distance.” Nonetheless, Csikszentmihalyi’s statement describing the immense happiness gained at the completion of a goal is significant when comparing a frontier mindset to living in Pura Vida not because he acknowledges the potential of the goals themselves, instead the importance lies in the essential inclusion of a “voluntary effort,” the concept that we can and must decide where our life's energy goes if we are to achieve eternal happiness because, “Optimal experience is...something that we make happen.” The difference between the mindset I had become accustomed to and that of Pura Vida then seemed obvious: Ticos and Ticas, Frank and Joanna, must simply be better at creating the environment where happiness could happen, they must be more in control of their sense of fulfillment. But, why? how?
They are always surfing. I was happily lost in my first wave and the hundreds to follow at Playa Guiones because of the freeing focus and momentary fulfillment they offered as my board glided through the salty spray. My sister and brother feel the same overwhelming, centralized sense of being when they strap on their shin guards and step onto the soccer field. My cousin experiences the same escape from dull reality each time she ties up her hair and spins into a world of only ballet. Csikszentmihalyi explained that this is typical of such “flow producing activities,” activities that temporarily “make control possible.” The stark difference between the temporary happiness achieved through a wave, a ball, and a twirl and the infinite happiness I felt beaming from Joanna and Frank, is that they have made life into a flow producing activity, they have made each moment of living into an activity that consumes them and is filled with reward.
Meaning, it is possible to achieve Pura Vida with a frontier mindset, with the list. But, only if you maintain direct control over your experience while conquering each new frontier. But, only if you “derive moment-by-moment enjoyment” from each step there is to checking off every given box. Westerners with a frontier mindset can find Pura Vida, but only if each rung of conquest on the ladder of every individual frontier is treated, cherished, and respected as though it in itself is the final goal.
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