I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep trading my soul for a paycheck. I couldn’t raise kids in a world where freedom was just a marketing slogan. So we left the U.S.—with no plan, no safety net, just a knowing: we needed something real.
Have you ever felt like your life didn’t belong to you? Like you were stuck in a system that promised freedom—but never actually delivered it?
I have.
Eight years ago, my wife walked away from the life we thought we were supposed to live. Costa Rica had been calling us for years… We didn’t know why. We just knew we had to listen.
I didn’t have the perfect plan. I just knew what I couldn’t do anymore:
- I couldn’t sit in a box under buzzing lights, selling my life in 40-hour chunks.
- I couldn’t keep working to afford things I didn’t even want.
- I couldn’t keep drowning in a system that didn’t care if I ever really lived.
- And more than anything—I couldn’t bring a child into that world.
I needed something else.
There was no master plan. Just a rental house, some dreams scribbled in notebooks, and a deep hunger to live differently. We had no guarantees—only time. Presence. And possibility.
At first, it was raw. Humbling. Beautiful. We learned to listen to the land, to ourselves, to each other. We had two children here in Costa Rica. We started unschooling them—letting life itself be the curriculum. We planted fruit trees. We made mistakes. And we learned. Again and again. Together.
And after eight years of planting seeds—literally and spiritually—we bought land.
Not just dirt. Not just a property. Freedom. Legacy. Home.
This land gave us more than a place to live:
- It gave us time with our kids—not just evenings and weekends, but real, unhurried time.
- It gave us a real community—people who show up, not just ‘like’ your posts.
- It gave us the quiet needed to hear ourselves think again.
- It gave us life—not the one sold to us, but the one we chose.
And look—I’m not saying it was easy. I’m saying it was worth it.
And if you’re feeling that pull—the ache for more time, more meaning, more space—maybe it’s not just a fantasy. Maybe it’s your future waiting for you. And if you’re ready, you don’t have to wait eight years like we did. You just have to listen.
It’s scary to make a big change like that—trust me, I know. But when you can’t keep living the way you’ve been… the only real choice is to jump. Otherwise, nothing changes. You just stay stuck.
For me, the biggest fear was financial. How was I going to provide for myself, for my family, in a new country where I wasn’t legally allowed to work, and where the average wage is so low compared to back home?
Spanish wasn’t as big of a concern. A lot of people speak English here, and I figured I could learn it eventually. The cultural differences—honestly, that was part of the reason we wanted to come. But the last big fear… school. Where would our kids go? What would education look like for them?
Starting From Scratch
Financially… it took some time to figure it out. For the first few years, I was traveling back and forth, working gigs in the States. I’m a professional musician and a shamanic healer, so I’d go on tour, run ceremonies, come back, leave again. And pretty quickly, I realized… that wasn’t it. The whole point of moving here was to be here. So I had to find a new way.
And honestly, I got lucky—I landed right inside this new creator economy. I taught myself how to design websites, picked up marketing basics, and started finding gigs online. Nothing flashy. Just reliable work, from my laptop, right here in the jungle.
I started making a typical middle-America wage — but living where the cost of living was way lower, and the quality of life was way higher.
Imagine for a moment… taking your lunch break to walk five minutes to the most crystal-clear river you’ve ever seen. Laying on giant sun-warmed boulders with your son, just watching the water move, occasionally plunging into the cold water before warming again in the sun. Then you come home, water the garden, make love with your wife… and return to work in your home office, feeling alive.
This isn’t some fantasy. This is real. This is my life. And honestly? It’s almost guaranteed—if you commit to it. If you choose it. If you’re willing to let go of the noise and start listening to what you actually want.
How We Live Well on Less Than You’d Think
Now—some people will tell you Costa Rica isn’t any cheaper than the U.S. And they’re not wrong… if you’re trying to replicate your exact lifestyle from back home. If you need your 10,000-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, Amazon Prime on speed dial, constant gourmet dinners… then sure, Costa Rica might cost you just as much.
But that wasn’t my goal. My goal was presence. I wanted to strip my life down to what actually matters. I wanted to see: how low can I get my expenses, so I can work less and live more? Because less work means more time with my family. More time in the river. More time creating instead of consuming. More time being.
So here’s what life looks like for us—in actual numbers:
- Rent: $700
- Electricity and water: $100
- Starlink internet: $50
- Food for a family of four: $700
- Car repairs—yeah, dirt roads eat tires and suspension: $150
- Gas: $75
- Restaurants: $100
- And a full-time housekeeper and part-time nanny—someone who helps with cooking, cleaning, sometimes childcare—$130.
All in? That’s around $2,000 a month. For a full life.
Not survival. Not scraping by. Thriving.
And that’s temporary rent. Once we finish building our home, we’ll be living well—fully supported—for about $1,300 a month.
Redefining Wealth: What a Full Life Really Costs
So yeah—the financial concern? Turns out, it wasn’t as scary as I thought. Two thousand a month is light work as a web designer. And what it gets me… is my dream life. I might not make as much as some of my friends living in LA or Miami… but I’m just as wealthy.
And honestly? I’d say I’m wealthier. Because what is wealth, really? Most people would say it’s money. But to me, wealth is presence. Wealth is time. Time to create what I actually want to create. Time with my wife. My kids. My land. That’s wealth.
And look—we’re not just doing this for us. We’re opening this life up for others too. If this is stirring something in you… if you’re feeling that quiet voice that says “this is what I want…” stay with me. I’ll tell you how you can come experience it for yourself at the end.
Most of my “wealthy” friends are constantly stressed about money. They’ve got a $4,000-a-month mortgage. Another ten grand a year in property taxes. Monthly burn rate of another several thousand dollars. So yeah—they might make more… but they also can’t breathe. A bad week at work means panic. Lose your job? You’re cooked. And forget about taking a leap of faith. You’re chained to the bills.
Here in Costa Rica? You can buy three acres of fertile jungle—black soil, big trees, a river flowing through it—for $90,000 or less. Property taxes? Two hundred bucks a year. You lose your job? You’re not screwed. You’ve got time. You’ve got land. Worst case—you’re eating coconuts, bananas, and plantains until you get back on your feet. That’s real security. That’s real wealth.
Legacy Over Lifestyle: What the American Dream Forgot
And here’s the part most people won’t admit—buying land like this? Building something real? It’s not even possible for most people in the U.S. anymore. If the average person wants a decent piece of land to homestead on, they’re fighting an uphill battle their whole life. Saving scraps. Fighting inflation. Watching rent and groceries go up every year.
And if they do manage to get it? It usually costs them everything else—their time. Their presence. Their marriage. Their purpose. By the time they finally buy the dream… they’re divorced. Their kids have moved out. And their life’s purpose has been buried under bills and burnout.
That’s the American Dream. That’s what the system wants. And that’s exactly why I had to leave. I had to build my life. On my terms. I had to build something that would last.
A legacy.
For my family. For my children. So they don’t grow up in a rental house, moving every 5 years. So they’re not dependent on the system for everything—food, power, money, education.
I wanted them to grow up on family land. A place that holds meaning. A place they can always return to. If they want to leave—great. But they won’t have to leave just to survive.
There will always be work here. Work that matters, that has purpose. Fruit trees. Carpentry. Shamanic healing. Music. Community. Presence. It’s all here. At home.
I’m not going to pawn my kids off to a broken school system just because that’s what everyone else does. I’m not going to throw them into a box under LED lights and hope they come out okay. I’m not going to let some politician or CEO decide what’s “important” for them to learn.
That’s not education. That’s programming. And I’m done with it.
Time, Intimacy, and the Rhythm of a Real Life
Fortunately, I have time for my kids. I don’t have to send them off somewhere every day. I could, if I wanted to. There are some amazing Waldorf-inspired schools in the area. But I don’t have to. And I won’t.
I work maybe 25 hours a week—from home—and we thrive. I walk to the river with my kids every day. I eat lunch barefoot in the sun. I make love with my wife in the middle of the day. And I still have time—real, unhurried time—to pursue my passion, my purpose, and my dream.
There’s space to be present with my children. There’s space to cultivate intimacy in my marriage. Space to build something that matters. Space to remember who I am. That’s something I didn’t have before.
I’m not saying you have to move to Costa Rica. But I am saying this: if something in your life isn’t flowing, maybe the answer isn’t another app or podcast. Maybe it’s a whole new rhythm. A new environment. A new way of living.
And once you taste it—you wont go back.
So if you feel that pull—that quiet whisper in your chest that says, “There’s something more than this…” Listen. Follow it. Before it gets drowned out again.
Come visit us. Bring your wife. Bring your kids. Come walk barefoot through the jungle. Eat food grown on the land. Bathe in the river. Rest. Breathe.
You won’t find this life in the resorts either. Or the Instagrammable Airbnbs. That version burns you out just as fast—it’s curated, not sustainable. It took us years to find this rhythm. To build something real. Something rooted.
A place to remember who you are.
And if you feel called, receive deep healing. Reconnect with something ancient—something real. Sit with sacred plants in a safe, respectful, grounded space. With plants grown and prepared here, on site.
You don’t have to keep surviving. You can come home to yourself. You can thrive.
We’re building something here. And we’d love to have you with us.
