The Day Everything Got Real

Our third day on the island, and the moment I realized this wasn’t meant to be perfect

Today, a year ago, was our third day on the island at Cocovivo on Isla Cristóbal in Bocas del Toro, Panama, during my first retreat, Healing Each Other Through Satsang.

By this point, we had arrived, settled in, and moved through our first full day together. And this was the day where everything deepened… but also where everything got a little messy.

Photo by: Wanderkin Photography

We started the morning on the dock instead of up at the yoga shala. Everyone’s bodies were feeling the travel, the hiking, the steep hill from the day before, and I wanted to give their legs a break. It felt like the right call in the moment.

At first, the weather was beautiful. And then, right as everyone was getting settled, the wind picked up. Mats started moving, one of them flew straight into the ocean, and within minutes the rain rolled in. Not a light drizzle, but a full shift.

Photo by: Wanderkin Photography

I made the decision to keep going. In my mind, it felt like part of the experience. We were in Panama, the rain was warm, there was no thunder or lightning, and it felt almost cleansing to be in it.

Some people stayed. Some people moved under cover. And both felt right.

Photos by: Wanderkin Photography

That was one of the first moments I started to understand something I hadn’t fully grasped yet, that the same experience doesn’t land the same way for everyone. What feels expansive for one person might feel overwhelming for another, and part of my role wasn’t to make everyone respond the same, but to let people meet the moment in their own way.

After breakfast, we made our way to the cacao farm. This is one of those parts of the day that, looking back, holds both beauty and a lot of learning for me. The land itself was incredible. We got to walk through the process of cacao from start to finish, taste it in different stages, be surrounded by so much lush growth and care.

Photo by: Wanderkin Photography

And at the same time, it stretched us.

Photo by: Wanderkin Photography

The tour took much longer than expected. The energy of the cacao farm owner didn’t fully land in a way that felt aligned for everyone. And by the time we were heading back, I could feel that people were tired, hungry, and a little outside of their usual rhythm.

It was one of those moments where I realized that even with planning, even with intention, you don’t always know how something is going to feel once you’re in it.

Even in the middle of all of that, we still found ways to laugh. I found what I was fully convinced was a pumpkin tree and was so excited about it, like I had discovered something magical. Truly believing pumpkins grew in trees in Panama. I was showing everyone, taking pictures, completely in it.

Photo by: Cara

Turns out… not a pumpkin tree. It was some old pumpkin lights from Halloween on a tree. We all got a really good laugh out of it.

And I love that part of the day, because it reminds me that even when things feel a little uncomfortable or not exactly how you imagined, there’s still room for joy.

Just as we were getting in our boat to head back to the island, I received a message from our cacao guide.

Photo by: Wanderkin Photography

She wasn’t sure she could make it. The weather had picked up, and she needed to cross open water by boat. It didn’t feel safe, and she was letting me know that it might not be possible.

So there I was, holding a group that had just spent hours at a cacao farm, with energy that had already thrown us off, knowing how much people were looking forward to the ceremony, and trying to figure out what to do next.

We talked through options together. Adjusting the schedule, moving things around, even considering creating something ourselves if we needed to. And I remember feeling the weight of that moment, not because something was “going wrong,” but because I was learning in real time what it actually means to guide.

Not control. Guide.

By the time we got back to the dock, I saw two figures stepping off a boat.

It was her. She had made it.

That felt like a moment of relief, but we were already running behind. Lunch was ready but we asked them to hold it, people hadn’t eaten, the timing was tight, and everything felt a little compressed. We moved quickly, trying to transition into the ceremony, and you could feel that the energy was still catching up with itself.

Photo by: Wanderkin Photography

And this is where the day really got real. There were moments of tension. Moments where emotions were close to the surface. Moments where I could feel how much everyone, myself included, had already moved through in just a couple of days, and how little space there had been to fully integrate it.

And instead of trying to smooth it over or rush past it, Carolyn, our cacao guide, gently stepped in and guided us to pause.

She could feel what was happening in the space before any of us said it out loud. She had us breathe, come back into our bodies, and reset together before beginning again.

Photo by: Wanderkin Photography

And that, in itself, was such a gift. The cacao ceremony itself was one of the most powerful parts of the entire retreat.

We were asked to share our life stories, what we had moved through, what we were proud of, and what we were hoping to receive from being there. And one by one, everyone opened.

Deeply. Honestly. Some stories were heavy. Some were raw. Some were things that had never been spoken out loud before.

Photo by: Wanderkin Photography

And what stood out to me most wasn’t just what was shared, but how it was held.

There was no fixing. No interrupting. No trying to make it better. Just presence. Just witnessing.

And that, to me, is what Healing Each Other Through Satsang truly became in that moment.

It wasn’t about having the perfect schedule or moving seamlessly from one thing to the next. It was about creating a space where people could show up exactly as they were and be met there.

Photo by: Wanderkin Photography

At one point, as we were closing, a hummingbird flew into the shala. It made one slow loop around the entire circle and then flew back out.

And for so many of us, it meant something. It felt like a message, a presence, a reminder that there was something bigger moving through all of this.

After the ceremony, everything softened.

Some people journaled. Some rested. Some took space in their own way. The original plan for blackout journaling didn’t happen, and instead I invited people to simply write about what they had just experienced, if they felt called to. That felt more aligned anyway.

Photo by: Cara

Later, as the day wound down, I found myself in the water. Snorkeling at night, guided by one of the chefs, who offered to take us out with a light to see the reef after dark. It was quiet, peaceful, meditative, like being on another planet. A completely different energy from the intensity of the day.

And it was exactly what I needed. Looking back now, this was the day I understood something that I carry into every retreat I guide now.

It’s not about things going perfectly. It’s not about everything unfolding according to plan. It’s about being able to stay present when things don’t. To hold yourself. To hold others.

And to trust that even the messy, uncomfortable, unplanned moments are part of what makes it real. Because they are.