A simpler life . . . Costa Rica?

My dear friend Laura and her husband move to Costa Rica next month. They sold their home and basically all their possessions to pursue a simpler life. Neither has a job awaiting them. They just saved their pennies, and soon will live in a tropical paradise for at least the next year and a half.  Quoting Laura, "We just got tired of accumulating things and living in a way that was 'supposed' to make us happy, but wasn't."

So after they finish their nation-wide roadtrip, bidding farewell to family and loved ones, they along with their two toddlers fly down to sunnier climes.

Their brave decision forces me to evaluate my own search for happiness. Laura and Spencer want time together with their kids. They weren't getting that time while he was working long hours, commuting to and from his job, and serving in his church calling. But in Costa Rica, the way they structured things, the family never needs be apart.

Aren't those the same things that my husband and I want? Time together as a family, but time away from the racing with the "Joneses." A simple life. Their decision reminds me of Henry David Thoreau's experiment at Walden Pond -- only the Hanson's pond will be a tropical branch of the Pacific Ocean.

Since talking with Laura a couple weeks ago, I've been walking through my home wondering if I have what it takes to make a similar decision. I pass my shelves filled with books, my cameras, my photography equipment and computer, my newly purchased shag area rug, artwork on the walls.

Most difficult of all to consider parting with are items given to me or tied to specific memories with loved ones: cards and letters received from people I love; the photography book Aunt Candy sent me just because she thought of me; my J.D. Salinger book collection which was completed by a still mysterious, anonymous source; odds and ends inherited from Thelma before she moved cross-country; the black bookcase from Lydia; canned jellies, jams, and fruit Adriana and I preserved with foraged foods one summer; and on and on.

I don't consider myself a packrat. I like the idea of traveling light through this life, though it can be difficult and I still have much I could/should part with.

My talks with Laura and my husband force me to front the question: What am I doing today to pursue happiness? I don't know if I have a succinct, concrete answer.

Yesterday, we shared dinner together around our too-small dinner table. Laura, her family, and my husband sitting on our few chairs and ottoman, myself happily situated on the hearth, I couldn't remember a better time.