This week brought a deep and humbling realization: I’ve been moving through my days like a robot, just ticking boxes to say I’ve completed the tasks. It hit me like a wave—the irony of living in such a magical place and yet failing to really live in it.

A few days ago, I finally nudged myself to attend a public yoga class. It had been a while, and as I arrived, the lush jungle enveloped me in its vibrant green embrace. The air felt different, alive with the pulse of recent rains.

As I flowed through the class, breathing deeply and stretching into poses, I caught myself staring out at the jungle in awe. It was so alive, so stunning, so vibrant—how had I been taking this for granted?

That moment stirred something in me. I told myself, never again. Never again would I let the beauty of this life pass me by unnoticed.

This morning, I went back to another yoga class with one of my favorite teachers. At the end of the session, as I lay still in savasana, waves of gratitude washed over me, and I cried. Not from sadness, but from the pure, overwhelming realization that I am living the life I once dreamed about.

Eight years ago, I planted the seed: I wanted to live in this magical town, surrounded by the jungle, immersed in simplicity, connected to nature, and connected to myself. Back then, it felt like a far-off wish, a “maybe someday.”

But here I am, living it. The jungle isn’t just a postcard fantasy—it’s my backyard. The yoga shala isn’t just a retreat—it’s part of my routine. And as I walked out of class, two monkeys curiously hung around, watching us. Tourists were snapping pictures, their excitement contagious, and I couldn’t help but smile. This is my life.

The quad ride home through the jungle was pure magic. After weeks of rain, the sun finally came out, lighting up the world in a way that felt like a blessing.

The dogs wandering the streets, the kind eyes of the locals, the expats who, like me, chose to make this place home—all of it felt like a love letter to the life I’ve built. Even the trees, (those endless green triangles, wink wink) felt like part of my soul’s fabric.

I realized something profound: as humans, we often fixate on what’s next. The next goal, the next milestone, the next achievement. But in doing so, we miss the point. The point isn’t the next thing—it’s the now.

The present moment is where joy lives. Yes, it’s important to have visions and dreams, but what good are they if we’re too busy chasing them to enjoy the life we’ve created along the way?

When I slow down, I find that everything I’ve been seeking is already here. Presence, connection, love, joy, abundance—it’s all right in front of me, waiting to be noticed. I just need to open my eyes, slow down, and receive it.

This week, I’m committing to doing more of the things that light me up. To slowing down. To appreciating my husband more fully. To marveling at the abundance that surrounds me—our home, this town, the people we share it with. To embracing the magic of the simple, beautiful moments that make up a life well-lived.

When I give myself this space, I feel full. And from that fullness, I can give more—to others, to my community, to the world. But here’s the secret: when you’re fully present, you no longer need or want more. You realize you’re already whole. And from that wholeness, the only thing left to do is give.

This week, I am full. I am present. I am grateful. And I am living my dream.