I’ve come to a surprising realization: I’m not planning any trips in the near future, and that actually feels… wonderful.
Looking back, I’ve been away a lot. Over the past year, I was technically out of the country during parts of October and November, half of December, eleven days in January, one day in March, and fifteen more days in April. In between those trips, I was often sick. I even came down with something at the end of my January travels and didn’t feel fully recovered for at least two weeks after I got home. After my April trip, I had a lingering, aggressive cough that stuck around for three solid weeks.
Since I returned home over a month ago, I’ve felt a quiet sense of peace settle in. I haven’t had to think about unpacking only to repack again. No booking hotels or flights, no managing packing lists or blocking out my work schedule. I haven’t had to juggle currency exchanges or map out shore excursions. And I certainly haven’t missed the long TSA lines, waiting to board planes, hauling luggage into and out of overhead bins, or arranging transport to and from cruise ports.
Instead, I can wake up and just be here.
There’s something deeply grounding about having nowhere to go. No countdowns. No checklists. No pressure to do something really interesting every day. Just the simplicity of home, routines, and rhythm.
And honestly, this pause couldn’t have come at a better time. I rarely travel during the summer anyway—it’s just too hot almost everywhere. Plus, with kids out of school, I can work both mornings and evenings, which gives me even more flexibility and flow in my days.
So for now, I’m staying put—and it feels like exactly where I’m meant to be.