Jumping Back Into the Pool

Whenever Kerri and I come back into the US, it takes me about 24 hours to re-adjust. 24 hours before I stop telling the taxi driver "derecha", "izquierda", and "directo". 24 hours before I stop saying "Buenas" to every cashier I walk up to. 24 hours before I stop pulling out the colored bills from my wallet and instead start reaching for the boring green ones.

And then the same thing happens again when I go back to Costa Rica. For 24 hours, I forget how to speak Spanish altogether. I walk out of the airport and break into English with Christian, our Costa Rican driver. He just gives me this look as if to say, "So do you think I learned how to speak English in the two weeks you were gone?" Disculpe, Christian—mi culpa. But by the next morning, it has all come back to me.

It's like jumping into a really cold pool. Right when you jump in, all you can think to yourself is, "What was I thinking???" Then after about 2 minutes, you've adjusted to the temperature, it feels fine, and you're now talking everyone else into getting in the pool because "the water is actually quite pleasant." Right.

The next time you go to jump in, you know it will eventually feel fine—but the first 2 minutes are still rough. And so are the first 24 hours off the plane.