The Place That's Always There

Read time: 3 minutes

Welcome to The Ascend Archives, a weekly newsletter where I share a story about a transformation, revelation, or change in thinking that has improved an aspect of my life.

I dropped my bag next to the twin bed and looked around the loft.

The sheets for my bed were wrinkled on the floor. It was hot. No A/C. I could hear someone in the kitchen below talking loudly on a Zoom call.

This wasn’t what I pictured.

When my friend said I could come stay at the house he rented in Costa Rica, I jumped on the opportunity. Beaches, adventure, a house full of other entrepreneurs? I didn’t ask many questions. I just booked the flight.

Now I was realizing the house wasn’t close to the beach. Or the town. I didn’t have a car. And the “other entrepreneurs” were actually just a mix of people from different chapters of my friend’s life. A friend from church. A girl on sabbatical. Someone my friend had met randomly a few weeks prior.

I had flown down hoping for inspiration and relaxation. Maybe I’d meet a founder to collaborate on a project with or I’d come back with a fresh framework that would level up my business. Maybe I’d get an epic experience in paradise.

Instead, I was lying on a used mattress, sweating, Googling how to rent a car.

—

That was last year.

I told myself the lake would always be there. I’d been going to Deep Creek Lake for the 4th of July with my family for years. But in 2023, I had just moved to Dallas for a new job.

New city, limited PTO, five days a week in the office. Logistics were tough and I missed it.

Then 2024 came around and I had total flexibility. I was out on my own. Freelancing. Working remotely. I could go anywhere.

But I chose Costa Rica.

Because I thought that kind of opportunity doesn’t come around often. And I figured I could always go to the lake next year.

That week, I got texts and photos from my family at Deep Creek. My little cousins had organized a “Lake Olympics”—an afternoon of games and competitions for everyone. They wore red, white, and blue bandanas. They made signs. They had my whole extended family racing through obstacle courses and tossing water balloons.

I laughed at the videos. And then I felt a little sad.

Because memories were being created. And I wasn’t there for it.

—

This year, I finally made it back for the first time in 3 years. 

And I couldn’t have been happier.

My little cousins are old enough now to really experience the lake—fishing, tubing, s’mores by the fire, and shooting hoops. The stuff I used to live for as a kid (and still do).

My six-year-old cousin challenged my uncle to a hot dog eating contest. His 8 year old sister took over the Spotify and blasted Taylor Swift through the outdoor speakers for twelve straight hours. I stayed up past midnight playing games and laughing with everyone. 

And on the final night, we all sat together on the ledge by the water watching the sunset—me, my girlfriend, my sister, her boyfriend, and the cousins.

We were swapping jokes, recapping the weekend, and soaking it in.

I felt at ease. I felt full. I felt grateful.

Last year, I dropped my bag in Costa Rica and wondered what I was doing there.
This year, I dropped my bag at the lake and immediately felt at home.

And in that moment—sitting by the water, surrounded by the people I love—I realized:

I didn’t need a new place or new people to feel something special.
I just needed to show up to the place I love with the people I love.

Thank you for reading! As always please reply and let me know what resonated, what didn’t, or what you question. I love chatting about this stuff!

Cheers,

Andrew