I’ve been up in La Fortuna, Costa Rica, for the last week, staying at a friend’s place and fellow Balanced Man.
Warner’s place is deep in the jungle up in the cloud-covered hills just where he likes it. Mornings start off cloudy. The air is thick and alive, like the land is inhaling with you. You don’t just see the jungle, you feel it closing in on you from all sides.
Two waterfalls carve their way down opposite sides of the property, their sound constant, low, and grounding. Not loud enough to demand your attention, but steady enough to remind you of something bigger than you that is always flowing. A wide river runs below, lazy in some spots, quick in others, holding everything above in place.
Down by the river, Warner has built three natural hot springs made of rocks and fed by the earth. One is situated right in front of one of the waterfalls, so that you get the hot water with the cool mist.
You can sit there for hours watching everything go by while your body does nothing.
This place makes you slow down.
Not because it’s tranquil in any forced way, but because the land doesn’t adjust to you.
It has its own tempo, and after a while, you either slow down… or you stick out.
Work That Pulls You Into The Present
Warner has three guys working with him at the moment, building roads down to the river and the hot springs. Improving access. Moving earth. It’s real work, and of course, if I’m here, I have to help out.
Not like my normal workouts at the gym, which last about an hour.
This is five or six hours of digging, lifting, carrying, sweating, repeating.
The kind of work where your mind eventually empties.
Working with Warner’s guys this week was an honor. Not just because of the labor, but because of the setting and just who these guys are.
Pedro is 65 and originally from Nicaragua. A gentle soul who feels like your long-lost grandfather the moment you meet him. I’ve never seen a man his age lift boulders as he does, always looking for the biggest one each time. He’d glance over at me, smiling, fully aware that the rock I was carrying was lighter than his.
And Fofo, the leader. The glue. The chief by night. Knowing when to push and when to slow things down.
Daniel is quiet. Shy. The wiry one, but a pure workhorse. He just goes and goes. Never complaining. Always smiling.
They all know their role. There’s no confusion. No ego. Just contribution and gratitude to be working in this special place.
At night, exhausted from the day's work, we sit around, and they would tell stories, laughing and eating together like frat brothers. And somewhere in between all this work and stillness, the lessons started to land.
Nature was teaching, without trying to teach.
Growth Doesn’t Ask For Permission
Nothing in the jungle asks for permission to grow.
Trees push through rock. Vines climb with no destination in mind.
Life is happening simply because it’s alive, not because it has a five-year plan.
After seeing this day after day, it becomes clear how much we overthink life.
How often do we wait for clarity before we move when clarity comes from slow, steady movement, not the other way around?
Nature doesn’t ask for permission to grow. It grows first.
And figures it out along the way.
Stillness & Motion Aren’t Opposites
The river and the waterfalls at the bottom of the property never stop moving.
They flow constantly, reshaping the land over time, and yet the jungle has this ancient, unhurried feel to it. And both exist together, beside one another.
Motion without grounding turns into chaos.
Stillness without motion turns into stagnation.
Seeing these two elements exist side-by-side made something simple feel obvious again.
A good life needs both.
Time for deep stillness, and time for moments of surrendering to motion.
One without the other eventually breaks something.
Fear Comes From Leaving The Present
The jungle is immediate.
The sounds are real.
The heat is present.
Things are moving all around you; nothing is abstract. Fear doesn’t have much room here. Fear comes when your mind leaves what’s happening now and runs ahead into the future, into your imagination, and mostly into what-ifs. Into the stories about what might happen or what already happened.
Presence dissolves fear, not because fear is wrong, but because when life is fully met, there’s no space for it.
Sitting by the river long enough, you begin to notice something quiet. Nothing is trying to survive forever here. Everything participates while it’s alive, flourishing as best it can.
This might be nature’s deepest teaching.
Not how to live longer, not how to plan your days or control outcomes, but how to participate more fully in the moment you’re in.
The jungle isn’t trying to cling. It’s not rushing. It’s not performing.
It shows up and does its part day after day.
If we slow down enough, listen deeply, and sit long enough, nature reminds us how to do the same.
That’s what this week gave me.
Not answers.
Not strategies.
But a felt sense of what it means to be alive, grounded and present. Grateful for what is.
Sometimes that’s more than enough.
Muchas Gracias, Warner!
-Ahren
Written By
Ahren Cadieux
Ahren is the Co-Founder of The Balanced Man, and is passionate about exploring mindset, personal growth, and the power of brotherhood.
