The Dark Winter
Norway's winters are beautiful but brutal. As a teacher in Oslo, Eilin had learned to cope with the darkness—the months where daylight is a scarce commodity, where the sun rises late and sets early, where vitamin D supplements and light therapy lamps are standard equipment.
But this particular winter felt harder. At 29, in a relationship that was slowly dying, teaching classes that felt increasingly repetitive, Eilin felt herself sinking into a heaviness that went beyond the seasonal blues she'd always experienced.
Her doctor suggested the usual remedies: increase her vitamin D, try a sun lamp, consider antidepressants. But Eilin wanted something more radical. She wanted to flee the darkness entirely, to chase the sun, to remember what warmth felt like—both external and internal.
She applied for an extended leave from her teaching position, citing mental health reasons. Her request was approved for three months starting in January—the darkest, coldest part of the Norwegian winter. Now she just needed to figure out where to go.
Finding Zeneidas
Scrolling through surf camp options, Eilin was drawn to Zeneidas Surf Garden not because of the surfing (she'd never surfed and wasn't sure she wanted to) but because of the emphasis on wellness, yoga, and community. The photos showed sunshine, yes, but also genuine smiles, people of various ages and backgrounds, activities beyond just surfing.
"I came for the waves but stayed for the warmth—in the sun, the water, and the people," Eilin now says. But initially, it was really just about escaping the Norwegian winter darkness for anywhere with reliable sunshine.
She booked six weeks, figuring that would be enough time to recharge before returning to Oslo and her teaching position. She had no idea it would change the entire trajectory of her life.
The First Sunset
Eilin arrived at Santa Teresa in mid-January—high season for both surfing and for Scandinavians escaping winter. Her first evening, sitting on the beach watching the sunset, she felt something shift inside her.
The sun was setting at 6 PM—not the 3 PM darkness she'd left behind in Oslo. The air was warm—not the bone-chilling cold that had become her constant companion. And all around her, people were laughing, playing music, celebrating another day in paradise.
She cried. Not sad tears, but tears of relief. She hadn't realized how heavy the weight she'd been carrying was until she felt it lifting. The warmth on her skin felt like medicine.
Reluctant Surfer
Surfing was included in her package at Zeneidas, but Eilin approached her first lesson with reluctance. She'd never been particularly athletic, and the idea of battling waves while trying to stand on a slippery board sounded more stressful than therapeutic.
But her instructor had a gentle approach. "We're not battling the waves," he explained. "We're dancing with them. The ocean isn't your enemy—it's your teacher."
That reframing made all the difference. Eilin stopped seeing surfing as a challenge to conquer and started experiencing it as a moving meditation. Yes, there was technique to learn and physical strength to build. But fundamentally, surfing was about being present with water, responding to its rhythm, trusting it to hold you up.
Her progression was slow but steady. She wasn't trying to become a pro surfer—she was simply enjoying the feeling of moving through water, of being held by the ocean, of successfully riding waves into shore. Each successful ride felt like a small victory against the darkness she'd left behind in Norway.
The Yoga Practice
While Eilin was ambivalent about surfing initially, yoga clicked immediately. The morning sessions at Zeneidas became her favorite part of each day.
As a teacher, she was used to giving—pouring energy into her students, managing classroom dynamics, meeting curriculum requirements. Yoga was one of the few times she gave to herself, where the only person she was responsible for was her own body and mind.
The combination of yoga and surfing proved powerful. Yoga improved her surf performance—the flexibility for pop-ups, the balance for standing on the board, the breath control for staying calm when underwater. But more importantly, both practices cultivated the same quality: presence.
Whether on her yoga mat or on her surfboard, Eilin was learning to be fully in her body, fully in the moment. This was medicine for someone whose depression often manifested as disconnection—from her body, her emotions, her environment.
The Warmth of Community
Coming from Norwegian culture—reserved, private, slow to form friendships—Eilin was surprised by how quickly the Zeneidas community embraced her. Within days, she had friends from five different countries. Within weeks, they felt like family.
There was something about the shared experience—learning to surf, pushing through challenges, celebrating small victories—that fast-tracked friendship. The vulnerability required to look silly while learning something new created openness. And the daily rhythm of activities meant constant opportunities for connection.
Eilin found herself opening up in ways she rarely did at home, sharing her struggles with depression, her doubts about her relationship, her questions about her career path. The responses were uniformly supportive, non-judgmental, helpful. This community held space for complexity in a way her Oslo social circle hadn't.
The Creative Awakening
One rainy afternoon (rare in Santa Teresa during dry season), Eilin joined a ceramics workshop at Zeneidas. She'd always loved art but hadn't pursued it since childhood, dismissing it as impractical when she chose teaching as a career.
Working with clay, she felt something awaken. The tactile experience, the focus required, the creative decisions—it filled a part of her she hadn't realized was empty. She returned to the ceramics studio repeatedly over her stay, creating pieces to bring home, learning from the instructor, discovering a talent she didn't know she had.
The ceramic work became a metaphor for her transformation. Just as she shaped clay into something beautiful and functional, she was reshaping her own life—deciding what to keep, what to discard, what to add.
The Relationship Reckoning
Three weeks into her stay, after a particularly difficult phone call with her boyfriend back in Oslo, Eilin made a decision she'd been avoiding for months: the relationship needed to end.
The distance and the time apart had given her clarity. She could see how much energy that relationship was draining, how it had been holding her back from growth, how staying was about fear of being alone rather than genuine love or compatibility.
She ended it over the phone—not ideal, but necessary. The grief was real, but so was the relief. She'd been carrying the weight of a dying relationship on top of her seasonal depression. Releasing one made dealing with the other feel more manageable.
Her Zeneidas friends rallied around her. They took her on a sunset surf session, organized a bonfire on the beach, reminded her that she was worthy of love—both from others and from herself. This is what community looks like: showing up for each other's hard moments, not just the celebratory ones.
The Seasonal Shift
As the weeks passed, Eilin noticed something profound: she hadn't felt depressed in almost a month. Yes, being in sunshine helped. Yes, being away from Norwegian winter darkness was a factor. But it was more than that.
She'd created a life structure that supported her mental health: daily physical activity, regular social connection, creative expression, time in nature, proper sleep, nourishing food, practices like yoga and breathwork that regulated her nervous system. This wasn't just a vacation—it was a template for how she needed to live.
The question was: could she maintain this back in Oslo?
The Extended Stay
Eilin extended her stay twice. Six weeks became ten weeks, which became three months. She was using all of her approved leave, pushing it to the maximum. Her school expected her back in April, but Eilin was beginning to wonder if she'd return at all.
She'd become an intermediate surfer, comfortable in most conditions. She'd deepened her yoga practice to the point where she was considering teacher training. She'd created a portfolio of ceramic work. Most importantly, she'd rebuilt her mental health from a foundation of daily practices rather than just medication and therapy.
She'd also fallen in love—not with a person, but with a lifestyle. The pura vida philosophy of Costa Rica resonated with something deep in her Nordic soul. Yes, she'd been raised in a culture that valued restraint, planning, stability. But maybe there was another way to live—more spontaneous, more present, more connected.
The Decision
On her last scheduled week, Eilin made a series of life-changing decisions:
She resigned from her teaching position via email, thanking them for the opportunity but explaining that she needed to pursue a different path.
She asked her landlord to let her out of her Oslo apartment lease, arranging for friends to pack and ship her essential belongings.
She applied for long-term stays at several properties in Santa Teresa, including Zeneidas, piecing together housing for the next six months.
She started developing a business plan for teaching English online, which would provide income while allowing her to live in Costa Rica.
It was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. She was abandoning stability, disappointing people back home, making choices that seemed reckless to her practical Norwegian family. But she was also finally listening to what she needed, choosing her mental health and happiness over others' expectations.
The New Life
A year later, Eilin is still in Santa Teresa. She teaches English online to students around the world, working from beachside cafes and her small apartment near Zeneidas. She surfs almost daily, practices yoga regularly, continues her ceramic work (now selling pieces to local shops).
More importantly, her depression has remained in remission—not because Costa Rica magically cured her, but because she's built a life structure that supports her mental health. When she does feel the darkness creeping in, she has tools and a community to help her through it.
She still returns to Norway for summers—the glorious midnight sun season when her homeland shows its best face. But winters she spends in the warmth, and she no longer feels guilty about this choice.
The Misconceptions
Eilin is careful not to present her story as "move to a tropical paradise and all your problems disappear." Depression is complex, and hers required both environmental changes and continued therapeutic work.
But she does believe strongly that environment matters deeply for mental health. "We're not meant to live with so little sunlight, so much isolation, so much disconnection from nature and community," she says. "Some people can manage that better than others. I couldn't, and instead of accepting suffering, I changed my circumstances."
She's also careful to note that her choice isn't escapism—it's intentional living. She hasn't abandoned responsibility; she's redefined what her responsibilities are. Teaching English online is still teaching. Creating community in Santa Teresa is still contribution. Prioritizing her mental health isn't selfish—it's essential.
Advice for Seasonal Depression
For others struggling with seasonal depression, Eilin offers this advice:
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Take it seriously: It's not just "winter blues." Seasonal Affective Disorder is real and debilitating.
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Consider geographic solutions: If you have the means and flexibility, spending dark months in sunnier locations can be life-changing.
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Build a life structure that supports mental health: Daily movement, social connection, time in nature, creative expression—these aren't luxuries, they're necessities.
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Challenge the conventional path: You don't have to live where you were born, stay in a career that drains you, or meet others' expectations for your life.
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Invest in community: Wherever you are, find your people. Mental health struggles are harder in isolation.
The Ripple Effect
Eilin's choice has inspired others in her life. Several Norwegian friends have visited her in Santa Teresa, experiencing the Zeneidas community and reconsidering their own life structures. One friend made a similar move to Portugal. Another negotiated remote work to spend winters in southern Spain.
She's become an advocate for mental health awareness, particularly around seasonal depression and the courage required to make major life changes. She writes about her experience on Instagram, connecting with thousands of others struggling with similar issues.
Your Journey
"I came for the waves but stayed for the warmth—in the sun, the water, and the people," Eilin says. But really, she stayed for herself—for the version of herself that could thrive with the right support, the right environment, the right community.
Her story isn't about running away from problems. It's about running toward a life that works for you, even if it looks different from what you planned, what others expect, or what society deems conventional.
If you're struggling with seasonal depression, feeling stuck in a life that doesn't fit, or simply curious about what might be possible, Eilin's message is clear: change is possible, different paths exist, and sometimes the most radical thing you can do is choose your own happiness.
Zeneidas provided the environment where Eilin's transformation could happen—the sunshine, the activities, the community, the space to breathe and rethink everything. But the transformation itself? That was all her, making brave choice after brave choice until she'd built a life worth living.
Your transformation is waiting. The question is: are you ready to chase the sun?