Costa Rican view on Macon

Two days before I left to go to Costa Rica, I started getting nervous.  I am sometimes not a very good group person ... I am slightly controlling (slightly, meaning A LOT) and I get so scared of not feeling a part of a group that I go ahead and isolate myself or tell myself the worst case scenarios, so that I don't end up feeling disappointed.  Not a really good strategy, I recognize, but just the truth.  So, there I was, telling myself that wearing a group t-shirt is lame (that wasn't so much a strategy, as another truth, I am NOT a fan of group shirts), telling myself that going with a group was just a really bad idea.  

I stepped onto a plane to Costa Rica alongside 21 other people, ages 12-71, who were all committed to doing whatever we were asked to do in Costa Rica.  Little did we know that we would be moving concrete blocks here there and yonder, toting boulders to throw into a trench, digging 8 foot deep holes, pouring concrete, moving gravel all OVER the place in a decrepit wheelbarrow .... 

Little did I know that I would be laughing non-stop, spending every moment surrounded by people, who I have come to see and believe are the most genuine, kind and generous people I have met in a long time.  I didn't know Macon had genuine, kind and generous people before Costa Rica intervened.  

I would be lying if I said I had a good impression of Maconites.  My general opinion of Maconites was (and, if I'm being honest, still sometimes is) that they were snobby, overly arrogant, exclusive, self-centered, and pompous (for no good reason, I might add ... I mean, is being from Macon really SO amazing that you have to be rude to people who aren't from Macon??).  Among the people joining me in Costa Rica was a very well-to-do couple who taught me that marriage is a commitment and an investment, and that money is a way to be generous to others; 5 private-school-attending teenagers who were open, goofy, kind, thoughtful and not any snottier than I was when I was their age; a group of ladies and gentlemen, with years of life experience, who were willing to share about the things in life that take a piece of your heart away forever; and a young, sweet mom who showed me that raising children in Macon doesn't mean turning your nose up to the other moms and kids who don't attend "the" school and CAN mean teaching manners and kindness.  Where have these people been all my life??

After spending a week doing things my boot camp instructor could only dream about forcing me to do, I feel so overwhelmingly humbled by the people that worked alongside me.  Not for one moment of my trip did I feel excluded, rejected or alone.  And more importantly, I got my ideals about Macon slammed in my face, which is something that needs to happen to me every once in a while so that I don't shut out a whole portion of life. 

Oh, and I got to interpret for our group lots.  And I just have to say there is VERY little that is more gratifying to me than having a native Spanish speaker saying that I speak Spanish well.  I want to kiss people who say that to me.