On Howler Monkeys and Comfort Zones

So, as I mentioned the other day, I’m on a yoga retreat in Costa Rica this week. Sounds pretty heavenly, right? It’s beautiful here, no doubt, but the experience is harder than I’d expect heaven to be. Of course, there are luxuries, the greatest of which is my ability to be here, period. And the scenery is beautiful, the food delicious, the pool to die for. So far, so heavenly.

But there have been a lot of challenges that have taken me far outside my comfort zone. First, on the trip here, I ended up flying to San Jose, California, instead of San Jose, Costa Rica. Yes, you read that right: I flew to the wrong city, in the wrong country. (Insert “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” reference here.) It was my fault, not the airline’s — I booked a flight to “SJC” (airport code) instead of “SJO,” and then I proceeded to board that flight; I literally didn’t realize my mistake until we were taxiing on the runway in California. (It takes guts to admit this, because it makes me feel like the airhead of the century…but, at least it makes for a good story!)

My flight to California featured a toddler in the row in front of me who screamed for 6 hours straight;  nearby, a couple of loud drunks held court (loudly).  At the airport in Cali, in line to talk to someone about my predicament, I was stuck behind a woman who was filing a report with the airline because a flight attendant stepped on her toe and she wanted to be protected in case the “injury” worsened; I then squirmed as she and the loud drunks got into a verbal sparring match, which reached its crescendo when she told them,  “Jesus doesn’t love you.”

At this point it was late, I was exhausted, my nerves were frayed from 6 hours of toddler-screaming, and I started to cry. After an hour or so of frantic research — on the phone, with my husband, and in person, with airline staff — I booked a flight to Costa Rica for the following day. I then fled the eerily abandoned airport, got in a cab, and went to the airport Marriott, where I slept for 4 sweet hours before getting back in a cab, going back to the airport, and flying to Houston. After a 5 hour layover, I boarded my flight to Costa Rica, where I sat next to a man who immediately fell asleep and began snoring, loudly, before farting himself awake (thankfully, he moved to another row after about 20 minutes). From the Costa Rica airport, it was a 2 hour bus ride over bumpy, dusty roads to get to Blue Spirit, the place where my retreat was taking place. I hadn’t eaten much all day, but the restaurant was closed, so I made do with a Lara bar and headed straight to bed.

There were glimmers of light amidst this mess: on my flight from Houston to Costa Rica, I was upgraded to first class, which was awesome – comfy seats and free-flowing seltzer (I can’t drink alcohol on flights, it dehydrates me too much – but I was having a martini in spirit); and on the bus ride, I met a lovely woman named Edy from California,  and spent most of our ride talking with her about improv, yoga and dogs — some of my favorite topics.

But I was breathing in dust from the road. I was starving. I was beyond exhausted.

I thought I’d pass out as soon as my head hit the pillow. But it was HOT in my cabin, despite the ceiling fan overhead, and strange sounds of the jungle kept me up — first, the wind in the trees, or animals, made it sound like someone was walking in the brush around my cabin, making me hyper-vigilant. After I eventually fell asleep, I woke with a start 5 hours later to what sounded like an army of dog-Chewbacca hybrids going into battle. Turns out, they were howler monkeys; National Geographic describes the noise these creatures make as a cross between air-raid siren and heavy metal guitar solo, and says they’re among the loudest animals on earth…listen for yourself:

“Oh well,” I thought; “I’ll go get coffee, and breakfast, and I’ll feel much better.” As I set out from my cabin for the main building where meals are served, I discovered that I was at the bottom of the hill, and the main building was at the top; 175 steps later (someone in our group had counted, I learned later), I was panting, hot, hungry and tired. I asked about transferring into a room in the main building, but they were sold out. Tears started streaming down my face.; embarrassed, I scuttled to the dining room.

I ate breakfast, I drank coffee — it barely helped. I thought, “What if I can’t sleep all week, in that hot cabin with the howler monkeys?” For a minute, I thought that maybe I should just go home.

But I dragged myself to our first session that day, where Cyndi Lee and her husband, David Nichtern, gave us an overview of what to expect of the retreat. Cyndi founded and runs OM Yoga, the NY-based studio leading the retreat; David teaches meditation there (and elsewhere). They said the main point of a retreat is to learn about yourself, and asked us to think of the retreat holistically — not just the classes we were taking, but the whole experience: getting here; everything we encountered throughout the week, both in and out of the classroom; and the journey home.  Notice how you react to things that take you outside your comfort zone, they said. What can you reaction teach you about yourself?

(Interestingly, David said that obstacles tend to appear in our path on the way to a retreat. “Like flying to the wrong place?” I thought.)

I decided then and there that I would approach the week just as they suggested. Everything, from sleep deprivation to the extreme discomfort of walking up and down 175 steps in 90+ degree heat — everything could teach me something.  Now, when I walk up those stairs, I think, “I’m ascending to a place of learning” (the building where classes are held)(I also think, “It is so fucking hot,” and pause several times to catch my breath); as I descend the stairs each night, wincing at the soreness of my calves, I say to myself, “I’m descending with today’s knowledge – back to my cabin to rest.”

In yoga class, I crave the buzzy feeling that comes from flowing from one pose to the next; instead, we stop, often, to gather around a student demonstrating proper alignment, or to partner up to practice a more challenging pose. A lot of the poses we’re doing are exceptionally challenging for me, physically, especially when paired with our location’s extreme heat. This is not the kind of yoga I’m used to, and I have never sweat so much in my life. Part of me wants to curse, or whine – “Give me what I want!” But I tell myself, “You are learning.” I’m still processing the lessons, but one thing I’ll tell you is that the delicious vegetarian food they serve here sure tastes amazing when you’re physically spent; the cool water of the infinity pool feels amazing when you’re heated inside and out; and the massage I got yesterday? So much physical pleasure on the heels of so much physical discomfort made my entire being sing.

Maybe I’m learning, here, my ability to withstand discomfort, and how being uncomfortable makes being comfortable so much more meaningful.

Or maybe I’m just learning what a howler monkey sounds like.