On Friday Krysta and I went to coffee in San Jose. Well, we did a lot of other things too, but it is the coffee date that still has my attention.

I think it was one of those significant moments. You know, the kind that you want to hold onto. A marking point. One that will be referenced in the future to remind us of the way in which we want to move through this life.

So, you see, here's how it happened. We walked into this small nook of a cafe, covered in local art and neon colors. We ordered our coffees from the man with the big smile and kind eyes. We took our seats across from each other in the hot green chairs. We leaned our elbows on the tiny white table with the tiny bright flowers. We looked at each other. Released a collective sigh. And fell in.

Into an honest and vulnerable space. Sharing thoughts from the past couple of months, we finally gave voice to the discontentment that has crawled in and settled between our bones. Such an unwelcome presence, Mr. Discontentment. But present he is, sitting comfortably he has been influencing much that we feel and do. Once we firmly established the existence of such an unwelcome intruder, we began searching for its cause. Who was to blame for allowing such a sentiment to enter into our lives? We decided it was only the most obvious culprit of course...This very country. Yes, we blamed Costa Rica. And with our whole selves did we give into this rant. This country's overwhelming inconvenience, annoying inaccessibility and consistently unpredictable nature. It limits our mobility, cramps our verbal expression and steals our personal style. Damn this country.

...

And then. We got realistic.

Obviously it is not this beloved country that has opened the door and provided seating for Mr. Discontentment. No. For it is not simply location alone that determines the quality of our lives. So then, Why? Why do we feel this way? What specifically is missing?

And here is where things get significant.

Through tangles and webs of conversation there are three words that have stuck with me. Clinging, they saturate my mind with their magnitude.

Inspiration. Magic. Whimsical.

It seems my life has been stripped completely bare of such things. I am uninspired. Blind to the magic that is everywhere. And refuse to be caught up in anything stinking of whimsy. Once a large part of my daily life (think: the magical fairyland that is L'abri) it is their absence that has left a gaping hole in my existence. A hole that Discontentment has gladly filled with his weighty presence.

And so then what? Well, sharing in my love of lists Krysta and I proceeded to produce a verbal inventory of possible ways to increase the magic in our lives. Sitting at that tiny table, with the lush green outdoors visible through our window and the familiar sound of traffic making up the background, our eyes began to shine with each new idea. We spoke of the importance of perspective, the willingness to see the ordinary as extraordinary. Of moving slowly, taking the time to see the charm in all that surrounds you. Of creating opportunities. We spoke of spontaneity. Of being brave. Of getting out of the city. We spoke of creativity and its outlets. Of allowing ourselves to be caught up in the moment. Of recognizing the splendor in the broken. We spoke of God, and I said He is everywhere, my throat closing with such a bold recognition.

You see, I want to live a life of intention. Surrounding myself with people, literature, music and other expressions bound to inspire. Recognizing and naming the divine magic that is everywhere. And not being afraid to be more than a little bit whimsy.

Some recent bits that seem to face the right direction:

A 1am walk to the park. Where we swung on swings, slid down slides and monkeyed across monkey bars.

Attending San Jose's first organic farmer's market. Where the strawberries were sweet and the attendees were hippies.

Pausing to appreciate the view: a colorful city, mountains framed by clouds and water rushing between two dirt banks.

A day trip to Valle de Orosi, where we romped through coffee fields and had a picnic by the clear cold river.

And then today, today Krysta and I walked barefoot through the street while the sky poured buckets of water upon our heads.

I swear to you, life is magical. If only we can have the sense to see it.