In 2017, I moved from Los Angeles to Panama to teach English.
My first year in the country was filled with excitement. I was based in Panama City, and I found it easy to make friends through the many dance classes and meet-ups.
My social life felt full, and most weekends were spent wandering through Casco Viejo (the downtown area), trying to find the best rooftop bars and underground nightclubs playing a mix of Reggaeton and pop music.
Soon, though, the fast-paced lifestyle, combined with the constant traffic and sweltering heat, became overwhelming. I grew tired of living in a city of millions and craved a slower pace.
So, I relocated to a small coastal town called Playa Venao, which is about 200 miles and a five-hour drive from Panama City.
I hoped I could quickly build a community there as I did in the capital, but it didn’t come nearly as easily to me.
At first, my quieter town felt like paradise
Although Playa Venao is now more developed, at the time I lived there, it was primarily a handful of hotels, hostels, and homes scattered along the shoreline.
A single road split the town: real estate on one side, jungle and cow pastures on the other. Only a few hundred people called Playa Venao their full-time home.
I was living in a place where there were more trees than buildings. In fact, I could pick and eat papayas, coconuts, and mangos straight from the trees on the property of my rental.
The school I worked at was quite small and, because of our remote location, nature often became our third instructor. Children shared their outdoor play area with centipedes and howler monkeys, and splashed in the nearby stream and waterfall.
Between teaching, I spent my days peacefully walking along the beach and hiking near the river. I was no longer overwhelmed by the sounds of honking horns and revving engines. Instead, I was soothed by the songs of exotic birds.
My social life wasn’t bustling like it was before, though at first, I enjoyed meeting people from all over the world who were in the area on vacation.
But once the novelty of being somewhere new wore off, I started to see the downside of living in a place that felt like paradise.
Unfortunately, I didn’t feel like I fit in with most of the visitors or locals
I struggled to find my place in a community that felt largely split between locals and tourists.
I was a bit of an in-between: I’d only been in the country for a year, so I wasn’t a local … but I’d been living in this beach town for a few months, so I wasn’t a tourist, either.
Building community with transient tourists seemed impossible.
Many tourists I met spent their time surfing or talking about surfing, not surprising given Playa Venao’s reputation as one of the best surf spots in the world.
Unfortunately, as a beginner, I couldn’t keep up with the experienced surfers during conversations or out on the water.
Whenever I’d meet someone who had more to talk about than waves, we only had a week or two to get to know each other because they were vacationing where I was living.
I felt I never had time to share more about myself beyond surface-level topics, like work, hobbies, and where I was from. These limited interactions made my relationships feel shallow and made me feel like I didn’t have any real friends.
Over time, the loneliness ate away at me, and I grew tired of reintroducing myself to a new tourist every other week. So, I tried connecting with the locals. This wasn’t an easy task.
The director of the school I was working at had warned me that locals were often closed off to newcomers. I felt it.
One night, I managed to play a game of pool with some locals at a nearby bar. I thought I’d made a breakthrough, but the next morning, the same people who had been friendly the night before wouldn’t give me the time of day — it hurt.
I could understand why a tight-knit community of people who grew up together might be wary of trusting outsiders. However, it was hard being treated like just another visitor in the place I lived.
After weeks of failing to make lasting connections, part of me wanted to call it quits and return to the city. I missed feeling like I belonged and having a calendar filled with dance classes and happy hours with friends.
However, I’d committed to working through the whole school year, and I didn’t want to walk away from the children — some of the only people I had created bonds with.
Finally, one conversation with my mom helped me reevaluate and give my new home another shot.
Focusing on gratitude and living in the moment helped me feel more at home
After listening to my sorrows, my mom reminded me that life wasn’t happening to me, it was happening for me.
I needed to embrace each moment, even the not-so-great ones, and treat my situation as an opportunity. So, instead of ruminating on what I lacked, I focused on appreciating more of what I had.
To ease my frustration of not being able to pop over to a movie theater or hop into a nightclub like in the city, I found entertainment within nature.
I’d wake up early to enjoy the colorful sunrises and collect different rocks and shells along the shore. I’d pass the time by going for a swim or setting up my speaker and dancing barefoot in the sand.
Focusing on my internal peace helped me to stop forcing connections, and I allowed them to form naturally.
I stopped viewing relationships as temporary experiences. It didn’t matter if a friendship lasted five days or four months — I cherished every connection made.
Soon, routine visits to the local coffee shop led to casual chats with the barista. I ordered the same dish so often that one day, they wrote out the recipe for it and gave it to me — it kick-started our friendship.
More connections began to blossom as I prioritized attending community events, from kayak races to surfing competitions. As time passed, locals could see that I was consistently making an effort, and perhaps they started to view me as less of a tourist.
Meanwhile, I was forming stronger relationships with the parents of the children I worked with, and they helped advocate for me to the other locals. I’d also started to build a strong connection with my coworker, who became one of my first real friends in the area.
With a little bit of patience and a mindset shift, I eventually found the community I craved and ended up staying in Playa Venao for about a year.
In that time, I learned that sticking through uncomfortable situations — and staying present for both the good and the bad — can lead to unexpected peace and happiness.
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