Crowlers and Growlers in Beer Land!

Oh yeah, this was nice. I was so cozy, so comfortable. I was in my super soft bed in my small yet comfortable apartment in Memphis. I had a job that paid me a lot of money and work that made me feel proud. I had a cool car and lots of friends, life was good!

And then I woke up. And I began to cry. Because I wasn't in Memphis, I was on a plastic covered mattress on a tiny cot covered with a thin sheet in a shitty hostel in Nicaragua. I had come for the weekend and been here for a month now. What first felt like a fun adventure of surfing and jungle, now felt like exile island. I may have lost permanent feeling in one of my baby toes after a brush with a sting ray. I had welts and bruises and bites and scratches from jelly fish, spiders and Jurassic sized mosquitoes. And the worst part: I wasn't making any fucking beers.

The end was near, and I could feel it. And I was fine with it. I had nothing to go home to yet that seemed like a better option then remaining here. All of this started with everyone's good intentions but if I remember correctly, those are what pave the road to hell.

Do I regret it? No. Would I change it? How could I?

We make the decisions with the information and context that we have about something at the time. While its better if you can get that right the first time, the fact of the matter is sometimes we don't. Sometimes we can't. And beyond that, things change and we change and the facts change and the context changes but at the end of the day, those were some beautiful sunsets. Best I've ever seen.