People ask me why I stay. Or why I did it. Or how I did it.
By putting one foot in front of the other. By adapting. By rolling with the punches. By not giving in to the jungle. By not giving up when people disappointed me. By laughing and crying and swimming and sleeping and writing, and by remembering my dream. By trying new things when old things didn't work. And by accepting help when it was offered.
How did it happen this way?
It was never my intention to live in the jungle alone. I had an intermittent house sitting job lined up that was supposed to carry me through the summer while I continued to develop living space on my land.
I had someone who knew the jungle who was supposed to move onto the land. My son was thinking of moving here too. I had a friend who wanted to live here but kept pushing out her date of arrival, and who, upon arrival, realized it was not for her. I had work trade people who didn't work. I had so many people come and go. Each time my hopes got up. Each time I got the rug pulled from beneath my feet.
In between all the comings and goings a little bit of progress would happen. I depended on miracles and they didn't disappoint me. That kept me going through the leaky roofs, trees falling, and tummy aches.
In the meantime I was dealing with health issues. My savings was dwindling. And with no electricity or wifi I couldn't move forward on projects with the momentum I had in the beginning. I didn't have the ability to both tackle the jungle, and have an online business. Because of my health I couldn't take on a day job.
I lived in the jungle in my gypsy wagon for six months this way. And then I couldn't do it anymore. I found myself hyperventilating in my outdoor shower (which I loved) because the weeds had grown two feet in two days. I had to catch myself. I was afraid I'd pass out and no one would find me because the weeds would have grown over my body already.
So I got off the land. I posted an ad on Craigslist and found someone in Kona who needed me as much as I needed them. Frankie went to Mitchel's and Lily and I drove through hurricane winds to get here.
That was two and a half months ago.
For the first two weeks I never left the house. I watched Pretty in Pink, and Castaway, and Harry Potter. I watched Vikings and True Blood. I drank ice water. Turned on lights. Walked down the hallway to the bathroom instead of having to get in my car to use the ones at the beach park. I rested. I cooked. I worried about setting up my computer and getting to work but didn't have it in me yet.
What I came to understand is I had been on a six month vision quest, a hero's journey, and I needed time to assimilate it all. And I have. Maybe not all of it, not yet, but I feel human again.
My oracle deck, Meeting the Mentor: conversations with Pele, is ready for use, and for publication.
I'm going to California in December, for a month, to be with friends and family, and to ready the stage for phase two of Corey in the jungle. I have a house sitting gig set up for February back here in Kona.
Phase two is about cash flow and paying people to do on my land what isn't in my genius.
Many people have asked me why I don't give up. In their minds it's too hard. Impossible even.
I don't give up because this isn't a one night stand kind of dream. This idea is what has driven me for three decades. I allowed myself to be distracted by the Robinson Crusoe adventure of it all and lost sight of my true goal, which is a place for deep dive retreats. And when your dream is that big you've got to accept there will be setbacks. That's all this is.
What I've come to accept through all of this is that I can't do it all. I don't need to do it all. I need to do what I do best, which is write, inspire, and return to my coaching practice full time.
I need to have fun and enjoy my life in this place that I've loved for more more than half of my life. I need to stop taking some things so seriously, like being perfect, and to get serious about other things that are more important, like being human.
I'm not superwoman. I'm wander woman.