America is Not Heaven

May I offer this to those who think moving to #America is finding #utopia. What you see in movies – where everyone lives in magnificence and designer surroundings driving the hottie car of the year while buying whatever their heart desires is mostly a cleverly staged falsehood. 30% of kids in America go to bed hungry. The largest jail population on the planet is in America. The Bill of Rights is under assault by the #1%, who control the means of production sprouting war after war. Not all is well in #Murica (America). Yet, I am positive compared to most circumstances in #MENA, it seems the answer to one’s prayers. It may well be, yet, seeker beware.

Now, if you can can live in a small #Murica town or cool urban neighborhood, surrounded by the countryside, and love family, community, integrity, and what you do for a living while not being swallowed up by overt consumerism – then America is wonderful in its ignorance is bliss-ness.

If your rising expectations are to live like a Hollywood star or starlet and forget the roots of your culture and faith, then you are deceiving yourself. This is the immaturity of a child dreaming of a world comprised of sugar plums, magic, and fairy dust where trees shed hundred dollar bills.

Professionals with serious skills will find an easier go living in America to raise their family and pursue their career goals – if one’s education is superior and sponsored for #immigration. Got that? This is the set of keys. Be the best you can be as a human being with peace in your heart and a destiny of paying it forward awaits you.

I prefer to live in #Costa Rica (since 2007) and visit America, mainly because we land banked our wherewithal here, on purpose (no capital gain taxes). Yet, for sure, I relish living in this amazing nature country with no military and CR is not at war with any other country. Ticos are kindly, polite, and HAPPY. Hopefully, Internet access will not screw them up into wannabees where more is never enough.

Last Thursday, I returned from Murica (America) so this is my re-entry assessment. Yes, i shopped and procured items I cannot get here in CR. Yes, i took advantage of a medical system I pay into in Murica and not available here in CR, Yep, my brother’s home and it’s decor is super in elegance and exceedingly larger than my jungle hut. We both have glorious views. In fact, he is adding on and renovating his first floor with superior products (copper clad wood windows, french doors, etc.) not available here in CR. Have you figured out the sibling competitive angle is inherent?

Yet, I am having hardwood floors (direct from the local mill) installed in my hut’s studio not available in Murica – neither in weight, quality, nor price. Retired Bro lives in a beautiful ranch countryside – the Texas Hill Country. One must drive at least 25 miles to shop for a toothbrush, plus the intrusion of development is faster than lightning hitting a prairie dog compound. I live in a decidedly gorgeous remote jungle, no friggin’ doubt about it. Yet, it is 25 minutes to the ‘city’ and it is 20 minutes the other direction to tropical beaches more wild and spectacular than you can imagine. There are no freeways, here. There are barely passable one way bridges instead of overpasses larger than Yankee Stadium (the olde one). And, of course there are no Buckee’s in CR.

Bro railed at me I need to manage my money better and my response was nearly spitting out my molars, but in quiet despair (mine, not his). Of the two of us, my simple, yet loverly pristine lifestyle is doable and exceedingly reasonable. He is the one with the $350 per month utility bill, and I am the one with the $22 per month (all hydro generated off the national CR grid) one. The utility bill for three businesses and my husband’s and our home in the Hamptons, NY, averaged $4 to $5.5 Gs per month without adding cost of propane fuel for heat (we had three 450 gallon tanks buried so we could buy at wholesale at NY docks prices during the summertime).

Bro’s generosity knows no bounds, but then again he is currently my only heir (and not vice a versa).

My cup ‘ranneth’ over with the high style of life. It did not make me measurably happier and generated stress upon stress to sustain; year after year. Not because i was hung up on the lifestyle did I continue, year after year, but because in my blindness and concern i though i could contribute to my community, my country, AND make a creative difference along with a decent living. We each subscribe to our personalized myth and then once entrenched look for exit signs?

Traveling, of course, is greatly appreciated except for the #TSA’s bull dung (see photo attached).

The overt and covert kindness to me by my smarty pants family, while in the states is remarkable. Yet, none come here to visit allowing me to return the favors so these could be divined as guilt gifts? But, probably not – they are too self-assured for such hidden emotive agendas?

My bro was last here at Finca Vigia right after my husband died, to help me. Bro was fantastic. No, Bro is fantastic, as to why he insists on telling me how to live my life is absurd – but i think this is his fear acting out. He is an older brother. His wife also attempts to manage me. They were success junkies who managed others and budgets. Somehow, they see me as someone I am not? I am a strong personality (as they are) with uncured opinions (as they are) who has been through enough pools of burning caca to flood California (as they have not). Most of the time I nod yep, and then not dwell on the fact I can’t stand being told what to do by them, or just about anyone else. God can testify to my inherited character defect.

All creatives ‘no likee’ unsolicited input. The rest of my family also cannot stand the advice rendering – yet, I think Bro and Mrs. Bro Managers have given up on them, so I am the lucky moving target since I arrive for brief interludes.

Each time i return to the homeland, I sense the civil society fear has notched up several more levels coupled to the secure apathy inherent in the upper middle class my family inhabit. In contrast, I operate in an earthy pungent flowery universe. I believe I treat everyone lovingly with a sense of humor – the same for my superior fancy arse cardiologists to the guy banging nails at my bro’s or Tony C working in my hut laying down a floor.

No one in my family is a phony, and for this I am filled with gratitude. Yet, their orientation to time and the here and now is far far different than my own. They fill their days and nights with projects I find counterproductive to Earth’s sustainability. But, then again I am the revolutionary thinker, the writer, the ‘ranter’, and the noisy introvert who lives in the moment, in mindfulness, watching birds, growing ideas, and stirring up shit in social media.

Do i want to spend the reminder of my life as a single in the rainforest with toucans, bugs larger than my face, howling monkeys, and German Shepherds? Nope. I would like to share a partnered life with one more version of a happy brilliant sexy man who possesses little worries and a deep-seated faith in himself, and his God. The ideal candidate loves family, independence, adventure, nature, dogs, and making difference. Ah shit, this sounds like a pity pot ad in a personal column. It is not meant as such.

This is my digital journal. I jot down stuff here, rather than an actual notebook. But, I keep a small real notebook to write down (yes, pens are still circulating as implements) important crap I forget too easily including web links, ideas for articles, rants, names, concepts, and possible dialogue for my latest tome. My birding journal is more scientific and artsy.

Writers write because they have no other choice. You do have a choice. You can read this banality tongue in cheek (as proffered) or pass on by to the next instant gratification feed.

TSA sheet one


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