Every morning in Atenas, Costa Rica, Susan Anderson wakes before sunrise and sits outside watching birds move across the mountains surrounding her home. The doors and windows stay open year-round. There are no screens. No air conditioning. The weather rarely shifts far beyond the 60s and 80s. By evening, the sounds of roosters, tropical wildlife and distant cows settle back into the landscape.
A few years ago, she never imagined this would be her life.
“I thought my life was pretty much over,” Anderson said. “And now I feel like I have this whole new life.”
Anderson, who asked that Qnotes not use her real name, relocated to Costa Rica earlier this year alongside her longtime friend Rick Haffner. Both are part of Charlotte’s LGBTQ+ community and are among a growing number of LGBTQ+ Americans reconsidering what safety, belonging and quality of life look like.
For Haffner, the decision to leave Charlotte came after years of growing anxiety about the political climate in the United States and fears surrounding the future of LGBTQ+ rights.
“I just felt like I kept shrinking,” he said.
Haffner and his husband, John Quillin, have been together since 1992. The couple built a life in Charlotte over more than three decades. Hafner co-founded a sign language interpreting business that eventually grew to dozens of employees and hundreds of subcontractors across the Carolinas. Quillin became the founding artistic director of the Gay Men’s Chorus of Charlotte and the Women’s Chorus of Charlotte, two organizations that have helped shape Charlotte’s LGBTQ+ cultural landscape.
For years, Haffner said, he imagined retiring in Charlotte. That changed gradually, then all at once.
“When he was running again, John and I were both saying the same tune. If he wins, we’re out of here,” Haffner said, referring to Donald Trump’s reelection campaign.
After the election, Haffner said his emotional and mental health began deteriorating.
“I was called to dark places in my mind,” he said.
Haffner said he ultimately realized he needed to make a major change for his own well-being and began exploring moving abroad.
For Quillin, however, the response was different. While he plans to eventually join Hafner in Costa Rica permanently, he has decided to remain in Charlotte for now because of his ongoing work with the city’s LGBTQ+ choral community and the organizations he helped build over decades.
“I’m right in the thick of the fight,” Quillin said. “I’m trying to make sure I’m working for systemic change. I’m working for LGBTQ+ rights.”
The couple now divide their time between Charlotte and Costa Rica while navigating a long-distance relationship after more than 30 years together. For Quillin, remaining in North Carolina is tied not only to activism, but to community responsibility and unfinished work.
“I feel like there’s never been a more important time than today for what it is that the singers and the choruses that I work with are about,” he said.
That contrast — one partner seeking distance while the other remains deeply engaged in local organizing and community-building — has become part of the emotional complexity of the transition itself.
“I want him to be happy,” Quillin said of Haffner’s decision to relocate.
For Anderson, the move represented something different entirely. Her longtime partner died years ago after the two spent more than four decades together. Anderson retired during the COVID pandemic following health complications and described slowly withdrawing from the world around her.
“I was retired, alone and I just thought that was going to be the rest of my life,” she said.
When Haffner invited her to visit Costa Rica, Anderson agreed.
“He’s my family,” she said.
The move has completely reshaped her life.
“It has been a relief,” she said. “I feel safe here. I feel comfortable here.”
Both Haffner and Anderson described Costa Rica not as a perfect escape, but as a place where the emotional pressure they felt in the United States finally eased enough for them to breathe again. For Haffner, Costa Rica rose to the top of the list after researching countries with residency pathways, healthcare access and functioning democratic systems. At the same time, both emphasized that daily life abroad is far more complicated than social media fantasies about leaving the United States behind.
“What people misunderstand about moving abroad is that it’s not the United States,” Anderson said. “Things are going to be different.”
The pair eventually settled in Atenas, a mountain town roughly 30 minutes outside San José that has become increasingly popular among immigrants from the United States and Canada, including members of the LGBTQ+ community. According to both Haffner and Anderson, local LGBTQ+ social groups regularly organize gatherings, brunches and pool parties. One recent luncheon drew more than 50 people from the surrounding area.
“I have seen gay and lesbian Costa Ricans holding hands walking in public,” Haffner said. “I’ve never felt disrespected or gawked at.”
Anderson said what surprised her most was not necessarily the scenery, but the culture itself.
“The people here value relationships,” she said. “They value taking care of people.”
Both described Costa Rica as operating at a dramatically different pace than the United States. Rather than relying on constant convenience and automation, daily life often requires slowing down, interacting with people directly and adapting to unfamiliar systems.
Anderson said she has embraced the adjustment process rather than resisting it.
“If you’re somebody who gets very hung up on, ‘This is how I have to do things,’ then you’re probably not going to be very successful moving,” she said.
Learning Spanish has become part of that process for both of them. Haffner described intentionally avoiding the mindset of expecting Costa Rica to function like an extension of the United States.
“I really, really try when I’m interacting with anybody there not to say things like, ‘Well, in the U.S. we…’” he said.
The slower pace of life has also reshaped their routines. Anderson now spends mornings birdwatching and swimming before attending Spanish classes, appointments and social gatherings with new friends. Hafner continues working remotely while adjusting to life in another country. Both said they have become more active and socially engaged than they were before relocating.
“My watch told me my average walking time had doubled,” Anderson said, laughing.
At the same time, neither romanticizes the realities of moving abroad. Haffner described language barriers, logistical frustrations and the emotional difficulty of being separated from Quillin after more than three decades together.
“What’s been surprising is not that I miss my husband,” Haffner said. “It’s that I realized you don’t fix or solve missing somebody. You just sit with it.”
Quillin acknowledged that the separation has been difficult as well.
“What’s hard is waking up and going to bed alone,” he said.
Still, all three described the move not as a clean severing from Charlotte or the LGBTQ+ community there, but as a search for sustainability, peace and a different way of living.
“Home to me is not really a place,” Quillin said. “It is an experience where family and friends are gathered around.”
For Haffner, the experience has also reshaped his understanding of what is possible later in life.
“I have shown myself that I can do it,” he said. “I can change my surroundings. I don’t have to accept the plate that’s handed to me.”
Anderson said she hopes people understand that moving abroad is not always about running away from something. Sometimes, she said, it is about rediscovering parts of yourself you thought were gone.
“I had lost the excitement for life,” she said. “And I got it back.”