The Coconut Zone

I’ve got big, life-shattering news to share with everyone: I’ve finally found a time machine. It’s the beach. Or more specifically, it’s the beach here in Sayulita.

This beach here has a magical way of whisking away the days in a way that seems contradictory. Life here adopts the slow, steady pace of the crash of the waves upon the sand, yet each day seems to rush by in a flash.

Since I am obviously the first person who has ever recognized this effect of the beach, I’m the lucky one who gets to name it, and I shall call it The Beach Force.

No, wait, that’s sounds like a Jedi’s vacation or a bad action movie. How about The Limey Influence since everything here is served with limes? No, that’s a little too British and there just aren’t enough jellied eels around for that. What about The Palm Frond Effect? That sounds nice…but has too many other connotations. Ooh, I know: The Coconut Zone. That kinda works – but also sounds like I’ve been listening to too much Jimmy Buffett.

Man, I suck at naming things. Fine then, we’re going with The Coconut Zone.

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The Coconut Zone

I’ve been living in The Coconut Zone for five weeks now, but it feels like I both just got into town and have been here forever. My days have developed a nice, slow rhythm to them as my daily routine has evolved. Every day I wake up shortly after sunrise to the nice relaxing sound of the surf crashing on the beach, which is interrupted shortly thereafter by the neighbors 3-year old kid crying because he doesn’t want to go to school. I guess someone took away the cheeseburger in his paradise.

After my morning coffee, I sit down and work on the project I have thrown myself into: an e-course called Travel School that’s set to launch in February (more on this soon). I work all day until the evening, when Kim and I make our way down to the beach to bob around in the salt water or for evening drinks to watch the spectacular sunsets.

The Coconut Zone has given me something that I didn’t realize I was missing: a routine. It’s like someone found my lost shaker of salt and returned it to me. (Damn you Jimmy Buffett, why must your lyrics be so easy to explain beach life!!)

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A normal evening in the Coconut Zone

For nearly three years now, my day to day life has been nothing if not erratic. It’s been a hodge-podge of planes, trains, cars, busses, cities, mountains, beaches, churches, temples, museums, restaurants, cafes, street stalls, and the all-consuming search for free Wi-Fi. At the risk of sounding overly clichéd, inconsistency has been the only consistent, and it has taken being in the same place for a month to realize how much that has worn me down.

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Churros are an essential part of my recovery

But the Coconut Zone has eliminated that inconsistency. My own private Margaritaville (last one, I promise) has let me take a deep breath and focus on what I want to focus on. I’ve ditched the planes, busses, and cars and now travel only at the speed my flip-flops allow.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe it’s 5 o’clock somewhere.

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Author: Brian

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