Do I miss living in the USA? It’s a question I’ve been asked many times by both Tico and Estadounidense friends and relatives. And when I’m in Costa Rica, the answer is a confident no.
Where I live, the ocean is less than an hour away. The mountains are outside my door. It’s never cold. My barrio is safe and my house is secure. If you love the outdoors and being active, there’s no need to be anywhere else.
But ask me that question while I’m in the United States—and my answer becomes more complicated. And right now, I’m in the U.S.
I’m staying in a small city, about the same population as where I live in Costa Rica. After just a few days back in Gringolandia, the differences stand out. First and foremost: convenience. Life here is easier, on the surface.
There’s an overwhelming abundance of options, all connected by wide, well-maintained highways. Everything is reachable at 60 mph in your own late-model vehicle. Cars here are sleek, new, and unmarred.
I walk about a mile each way to the nearest store. There are no sidewalks. The only other people I see are behind the wheel. In my Tico barrio, a walk of the same distance means passing dozens of pedestrians and cyclists.
Here, I pass large, neat houses fronted by mowed lawns. Open lots look onto small fortress homes—no fences, no razor wire, no barred windows. But also, no people. The only person I saw was a woman rushing from her car to her front door. The neighborhood looks safe, yes—but also sealed shut, everyone hidden behind blinds and curtains.
The supermarket? Nothing like what I’ve seen in Costa Rica. It’s an enormous store with aisle after well-stocked aisle. It even has a sushi restaurant and a 12-seat bar. Walking between well-dressed shoppers and attentive staff, I understand why so many people in the Americas still dream of coming to the U.S. Abundance. Order. Opportunity.
It’s true—economic advancement is still more possible here. A worker earns more for the same job. My two brothers-in-law work legally in the States—one drives long haul, the other operates heavy machinery. My son and daughter, both born in Costa Rica, also live and work here. Their spending power is far beyond what it was back home. They miss Costa Rica, but for them, the trade-off is worth it.
Still, I can’t ignore the other side.
In this divided and polarized era, the U.S. has at times resembled a wealthy, heavily armed banana republic more than a land of dreams. Yes, there’s money to be made—but for me, the wild beauty and outdoor life I enjoy in Costa Rica would always come first.
So, will I stay or go? I might go awhile. Or I might go for good. Or I might not go at all.
