To Love and Let Go

by Rachel Brathen

  The class was lovely. By the end, I was feeling high on life and hugging everyone around me. Laura dropped me back at the hostel to wait for Andrea. As I wrapped myself in a towel after a shower, a bang came on the door. “Machaaaaaaaa!!!!! I’m hooooommmme!” We both shrieked like schoolgirls when I opened the door. “We’re here! All week! Just us!” she cried. Hugging her, I was so happy I almost started to cry. What was it about this week that was making me so emotional?

  It was too hot to go back to the festival, so we decided to go in search of waterfalls. We called it waterfalling, catarateando. Andrea knew all of the hidden gems. We drove up the mountain, talking all the way. “Things are so good with Gabriel,” she said. Gabriel was her boyfriend, a supersweet guy she’d been seeing for a long time now. “Wanna know a secret?” she said. “What?” “I want to have his babies!” she exclaimed with a big smile across her face.

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “Babies? Are you kidding?” I could see she was completely serious. “Maybe not right now,” she said. “But not super long from now. I’m twenty-four! I feel ready. Almost.” I didn’t feel remotely ready for a baby, and the idea that Andrea was thinking about it made me feel like an outsider. Here she was, pondering a momentous life change, and I hadn’t even known. “Does that sound so crazy?” she asked. It did. But it didn’t. We weren’t nineteen anymore! I was twenty-five, she was twenty-four. I was getting married, she was thinking about babies. We were growing up. How wild and beautiful life was.

  Turning onto a dirt road, we came to a sudden stop. “This is it!” she exclaimed. We hiked to a clearing and there it was: a huge waterfall gushing down the side of a steep, vertical rock wall, a deep pool of blue at the bottom. It was breathtaking. All alone, we took off our clothes and dove into the water. For the rest of the afternoon we swam, sunbathed on the rocks, and sang until our lungs hurt.

  Driving back, I felt as if a weight had been lifted. My neck felt freer; my heart lighter. I sensed Andrea looking at me. “You look more like yourself already,” she said. “Like myself? What do you mean?” I asked. “I don’t know,” she said. “You have a different look on your face these days. You’re always busy. Always on your phone. I can tell by your voice when we talk that you need a break.” I felt myself tear up again. She was right. I’d become so caught up in the idea of building a career, I’d lost sight of what I was doing it for. I missed the version of me that I was when I was with her.

  Returning to the festival, we decided to set up a tent on the grounds in case we wanted to sleep on-site for any of the nights. The party went on all night, and the DJ of the sunrise set would hand off the microphone to the yoga teacher leading the first class of the day. Having a tent meant we had a place to keep our things, and a place to nap should we need it! We finished setting it up, took a yoga class, and then lounged on the grass afterward. Others joined us and we struck up a conversation about spirituality and what happens after you die. “For sure the cycle continues,” Andrea said. “We’re so connected to everything. Think about it. In nature, when a being dies, she becomes part of the earth, and in earth, new life grows. I’m happy I got to be who I am in this lifetime, but I don’t feel nervous about dying. Whatever comes after this is bound to be pretty amazing, right? Just look around!” I looked around at the lush greenery. The sky was blue. Children laughed and played. Friends were engaged in conversation. Couples held hands, lounging in the grass. “Life,” Andrea said. “It just unfolds the way it’s supposed to. I don’t think anything is a mistake.” Andrea was young, but she was definitely an old soul.

  We gathered our things and went back to the hotel for a quick shower and to get dressed up in full-on festival gear. I wore a skirt and moccasins, and a top that tied in a crisscross pattern across my back. Andrea wore a skirt and a bandeau top with her favorite vest over it. I tied feathers into my hair and we put sparkling gems around our eyes. We went all out, and at the end of it looked like we’d just stepped into the desert, about to attend Burning Man (which was sort of what we were going for). Andrea hung her leather pouch—my favorite one—around her waist. She got it during one of her trips to Guatemala—it’s adorned with a jade gemstone in the front and is one of the most beautiful things I know. Whenever we saw each other I’d always borrow it. It’s the perfect thing for nights out or when you’re going dancing; you’re perfectly free, no purse hung on your shoulder. “Okay, fine, you wear it!” she said, looking at me admiring it. “One day I’m going to give you a pouch just like this so you can stop trying to steal mine,” she said, shoving me playfully. We walked out into the night, full of excitement.

  Walking into the festival grounds at nighttime is a completely different experience. The festival area is big and spans across cow pastures and jungle, all the way to the beach and the ocean. In the daytime there are lectures on everything from healthy eating to farming to sustainable living to medicinal herbs. There is a big village area with food and vendors and little stalls selling jewelry and clothing and crystals, a kids’ area with fun activities for children, a Red Tent (gatherings specific to women and womb wisdom). Basically all the new age things you could ever imagine. It’s beautiful! At night, the energy changes from family, yoga, and surf to deep tribal dance party. The stages are built in bamboo and all boast different DJs and artists. Scattered around the grounds are bars serving elixirs and juices, and everywhere you go you see people dancing, dancing, dancing. That’s the main part of the festival: the music. You hear the beat from miles away. Andrea and I ran through the festival gates filled with anticipation for the night ahead. We skipped the bar and went straight to the main stage to catch a reggae band we’d always loved. Andrea burst through the crowd and started dancing. Dancing was her thing—it was amazing just to watch. She let the music move through her in a way that was almost childlike; she wasn’t thinking about dancing, or what she looked like, or if anyone was watching . . . she just danced. She became the dance—maybe the dance danced through her. It’s hard for me to explain. I was always an awkward dancer, and every time I was in a festival setting it took me a little while to ease into the music, to release my inhibitions, to fully let go. I always felt judged, or looked at—which I know wasn’t the case. It just always took me a little while to get into my body. I wanted to feel as free as Andrea looked the second she started moving with the music: eyes closed, hips swaying, hair across her face. I felt stiff in comparison. For her, dancing was meditation, the way yoga asana was for me. A few songs in I felt myself relaxing a bit more, easing my way in. If I tapped into my breath and focused on the feeling, I could sense the beat of the music vibrating in my heart. I was lost in the music, too. We danced and danced. Reggae became electronica, which became dance music; it didn’t matter. There is rhythm in everything and I was one with it. Suddenly the music stopped—the main stage acts were over. We’d been dancing for hours and hadn’t had a sip of water. Realizing how thirsty we were, we wobbled over to the village area, high on music. I bought us two kombuchas and some food—tacos and a veggie burrito—and we sat down in the grass.

  I was soaked in sweat but in the best way. We ate in silence—food had never tasted so good. The kombucha was ice-cold. I looked up at Andrea. She was smiling to herself, picking coleslaw and black beans from her plate. It struck me: We hadn’t spoken a word in hours. We didn’t have to. There was nothing to say. “Hey,” I said. “What?” she said. “You’re my best friend, you know that?” She laughed. “Duh. I was just thinking, the fact that we don’t have to talk all the time is amazing. I don’t know anyone else I can just be silent with and not have it be weird.” I smiled. We spent the rest of the night dancing. Around three in the morning we made our way to a fire circle in a quiet area of the festival. The sky was bright with stars, the air smelling of smoke. Someone played a soft, rhythmic beat on a drum. I leaned up against a tree trunk and must have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes the circle was smaller, Andrea sitting in the middle, talking. She was deep in conversation wit
h someone about ayahuasca and was sharing her experience with the psychedelic vine with the group. I realized it was a story I had never heard before. It was strange, hearing her telling a story I didn’t know. It was similar to hearing her say she wanted to have babies—I felt like I was on the outside looking in. Our bond was so strong that it always surprised me to hear of things I didn’t know; but of course that was the case. We lived in two different countries. We had an ocean between us, different lives that didn’t involve talking every single day. It made me sad and happy at the same time. The number of friends like that, whom I could connect with at any time and just pick up where we left off . . . I could count them on a few fingers. Andrea saw that I was awake and came over to sit by my side. “When did you do that ayahuasca ceremony?” I asked. “Last year!” she said. “As I was telling the story I realized I never told you—isn’t that weird?” “It’s like how you have these pieces of your life now that I know nothing about. Like that story you told me at the waterfall about opening a studio; I’ve never even heard you mention that before and it’s this big huge dream? It’s crazy!” I was baffled by how much we thought alike. “Do you ever miss Costa Rica? Like, you’d want to move back here?” I thought about it. “Miss it? Yes. Want to move back? No.” I looked up at the sky. “I guess this is what growing up is like,” I said. “Having people you love in different places.” “Yup. But you want to know the good part about that? We get to travel! Like to Sweden!! I can’t believe we’re going to Sweden. You’re getting married. It’s nuts!” I’d almost forgotten about that. My whole life was so busy—work, travel, teaching, social media—I was squeezing in wedding planning as best I could on the side. “We are going to Sweden! And I’m getting married! Holy shit. It’s all so surreal.” Andrea and I had traveled together but only to Colombia, Miami, and around Costa Rica. Sweden was a big deal. I held back a yawn. “Wanna go watch the sunrise from the beach?” “Always!” We grabbed a big blanket from the tent and headed over to the shore. It was still dark but there was a hint of golden light coming from the jungle. We spread the blanket out in a quiet place and sat down. With the sand beneath me and the energy of the sun rising, I felt an electric energy rising within me. I closed my eyes and together we sat like that, in silence, in meditation, until we felt the first rays of the sun on our faces. I opened my eyes and realized my cheeks hurt—I’d been smiling the whole time. Andrea still had her eyes closed. Her gray mala beads were in her hands. I stood up. “I wish I had my bathing suit!” I said. “It would be so nice to take a swim right now.” Andrea opened her eyes. “Who needs one?” she said, and pulled her shirt over her head. For the shortest moment, I hesitated. Naked? Here? There were people around! Not super close, but still. It wasn’t some secluded waterfall, it was the beach right by the festival. More and more people were spilling onto the beach to watch the sun come up. Andrea was already halfway to the water. Fuck it, I thought. I took a deep breath, took my clothes off, and followed her.

  There is something truly awesome about waking up in your hostel room after a full night out without even the hint of a hangover. After our swim in the morning, we left the festival and headed back to our hostel. Thanks to the air-conditioned room, we’d gotten a whole seven hours of sleep. We met up with Laura for breakfast: gallo pinto (Costa Rican rice and beans) with toast, fresh tomato, and avocado. And hot sauce. My favorite. We went on and on about the night before with Laura, how we danced all night, the fire, the people, the sunrise . . . And this was only our first full festival day! Laura never came to the festival at night; the daytime activities were more her thing. We decided to find another waterfall and Laura joined us. It required a bit of a hike and also a swim to get to where we were going, but once we got there . . . it was magical. We took a photo in front of the waterfall with our tops off, shrieking with joy. Laura dropped us off at the hostel to get ready for another night of wild dancing. Andrea decided to wear her blue wig and I put on my favorite dress. We drank a beer in the room, listening to Toploader’s “Dancing in the Moonlight” on repeat. Andrea put on a show and I caught it on my phone and sent it to Gabriel. He laughed—“Make sure you take care of her! That wig always means trouble!” This night of the festival came with some amazing acts. We did a bit of shopping in the village area—I got braids to clip into my hair and found a supercute green skirt. Andrea, true to her aversion to shopping—spent an entire hour contemplating whether to get the same skirt in black, and it took walking back and forth over and over and trying it on a hundred times before she decided to get it. “It’s twenty bucks!” I said. “Just get it!!!” “But think of all the things I can do with twenty bucks!” she said. “I could get us a full dinner! For two! Or if we go to that kind of crappy place on the corner in Dominical it’s a dinner for four! A full couples dinner. Dude. No. I can’t buy it.” She put it back. “If you ever take us to that place for couples dinner I will buy that skirt just so I can strangle you with it. That place is the worst!” She laughed. “Okay, fine. I guess I do like it a lot. I’ll take it.” She paid and then spent another hour asking me again and again if it was the right purchase. She was funny like that—super spontaneous and in the moment about everything, except spending money. She hated to shop. I, on the other hand, did not have this problem. Money seemed to run away from me—a skirt here, a pair of earrings there . . . I never thought much about money. Sometimes it felt like I had a lot of it. Sometimes I felt flat broke. I wasn’t attached to either side, but I wish I had a little more patience and that I wasn’t so quick to spend on a whim.

  An amazing electronica band was playing that night, so after Andrea finally put on her new skirt we went over to dance. On our way there we ran into Luigi! Luigi, our Luigi. Luigi was like a brother to us, one of the pieces in our close-knit puzzle. Luigi and I dated briefly years earlier and when things ended between us, we became close friends. When me, Andrea, Josh, and Luigi hung out together we always called it “family time” because that’s what we were—family. Luigi and Andrea had become super close since I’d left the country and saw each other almost every day. We hadn’t seen him at the festival at all. He was on the production team and was always crazy busy the week of. “Macha! Loca! If it isn’t my favorite people in the whole wide world!” He scooped us both up in a big bear hug. “Topsy!!” I said, using my favorite nickname for him. “We’ve missed you. Come dance with us.” “Okay, for a little, but I have to head backstage and deal with something. And we have sound check in thirty minutes. Make sure you are at the Sol Stage on time!” Luigi was in a band, Patterns, that was becoming increasingly famous in Central and South America. They had just opened for Depeche Mode and their set was highly anticipated at the festival. We danced and hugged, and a second later, Luigi was gone. “Tss,” Andrea said. “Our little rock star. He’s too famous for us now.” As she said that, someone came up and asked to take a photo with me. It was a fairly frequent thing; every few minutes someone would come up to say hi. I took the photo and turned back to Andrea. “Actually—the both of you! I have this rock-star guy to my left and this yoga girl to my right. Who knew my besties would become so famous and important.” She pouted. “He better bring us along when he’s a world-famous artist—and you better bring us along when . . .” I tried to finish the sentence for her: “When . . . what? I’m still the same person!” She laughed. “I don’t know. I feel like you are going somewhere that’s bigger than this. Time will tell,” she said. I hugged her. “Okay, now stop talking shit so we can enjoy the show!” We turned back to the stage and danced. We met so many people that night: fire dancers, a shaman who gave us cacao from a big pot, a guy dressed only in body paint . . . We kept finding ourselves entrenched in deep conversation about life with the strangest characters I could think of. When we danced there was something almost electric about it; I’m pretty sure it was Andrea—people would just stop and stare when they saw her, and then come talk to us. Later in the evening we were getting ready to see a band we’d heard good things about but neve
r seen before: Nahko and Medicine for the People, and before that, the Human Experience. At the village getting food, I saw that Andrea looked tired. She yawned. “I think I need a catnap,” she said. “Wanna go to the tent and rest a little?” I didn’t want to miss the first act but I didn’t mind taking a break so Andrea could rest. Festival nights were like that; they went on for so long, sometimes you just needed a little break in the middle. “Yes, but you stay! I know you want to see the next act. Go enjoy and let’s meet backstage, by the stairs on the right side, in an hour?” “Sure,” I said. “But promise you will be there! Set an alarm on your phone!” “Yes, Mom,” she said, rolling her eyes. “One hour sharp.” We parted ways; I headed back to the stage and Andrea walked toward the tent that we’d set up but never once slept in.

  The Human Experience was amazing—unbelievable. I felt none of the insecurity or awkwardness of the first night but danced freely, by myself in a huge crowd of people, to every single song. I kept track of the time and made sure to be in the right place when it was time to meet Andrea, but she wasn’t there. She was always a little late so I didn’t think much of it. Twenty minutes later the set was over, but still no Andrea. They were setting up for the next band and I was a little bit in the way, so I decided to head over to the tent to wake her up. When I got there, it was empty. No sign of her having been there at all. I started getting a little worried and went to all our regular places—the food areas, the shop where she’d agonized about the skirt (wouldn’t be surprised if I found her back there, returning it!)—and called her about a thousand times. No answer. After looking absolutely everywhere, I heard them announcing Nahko on the main stage and felt a strong pull to go back. The one place she’d go back to if we lost each other would be the last place we decided to link up, right? Andrea wasn’t there, but I decided to watch the show from that spot, up close. I wasn’t in the crowd but almost onstage, to the right of the artists. I didn’t have any big expectations for the show and was mostly worried about Andrea—where could she be?—but when the music started . . . something happened to me. Nahko started singing and all of time stopped. There was something about the music, the lyrics, the beat, the message, all of it together that just blew my heart wide open. For the entire length of the set I stood almost frozen. “I believe in the good things coming, coming, coming, coming,” he sang. “Everything’s already all right always all right always all right.” It was, hands down, the most powerful concert experience I’d ever had. I was all alone, one with the music. A photographer took a photo of me in that very moment—she e-mailed it to me later—and my entire face is beaming. It’s one of my favorite photos I have of myself.