11 articles

Someone asked me recently: how do you know when you're ready to start over? And my honest answer was: you usually don't. You start before you're ready, because the alternative, staying still in something that no longer fits, has finally become more uncomfortable than the fear of moving.

Lately, I have been thinking about the ways we outsource our wellness. We seek advice. We ask for reassurance. We hand our experiences over to others to interpret. And sometimes that is necessary. Reflection and projection are powerful tools; being witnessed in our struggles can soften their edges. Community matters. Guidance matters.

What happens when the dust settles after eleven months of wandering? After living out of a single suitcase and a "long list of hell yes's" alongside an even longer list of "no’s," you eventually find yourself standing in the quiet of what used to be your life.

A reflection on wellness, wholeness, and the quiet lessons that keep arriving. Your thirties are a middle ground, old enough to know better, young enough to still test the edges. Somewhere between who you thought you’d be and who you’re becoming, life starts to whisper its truths. This is the decade when awareness deepens, priorities shift, and the surface begins to crack in the best possible way.

When I set out on what I half-jokingly called my adult gap year, I had a very clear picture of what I was chasing. I wanted adventure. Something new every day. A change of scenery. Access to incredible things for my photography.

Home has been in flux for me lately. With travel comes the idea that I’m a nomad, that I can become comfortable wherever I lay my head. And to some extent, it’s true. I open a suitcase, light some incense, set up a playlist, and move on my yoga mat, and I feel grounded. A sense of home lives in these rituals.

I wrote this piece back in April 2022, and it feels poetic that it still holds relevance now, three years later, in April 2025. I’ve left most of it unchanged. It speaks to something tender about the way time carries us—sometimes with a gust, other times with the softest nudge from one place to the next.

Why Slow Travel in Bali Changed Everything. After the privilege of visiting Bali five times, I’ve realised we no longer need to chase the tourist trail. We’ve already ticked off the temples, the beaches, the day trips. So this time, we chose to stay still. We let Bali show us something else entirely: a slower rhythm, a different kind of magic.

Ubud isn’t just a destination; it’s an experience—a place where time slows, where nature and culture intertwine, and where every moment invites you to be fully present. Known as Bali’s cultural and spiritual heart, Ubud offers an escape from the rush of modern life, drawing you into a rhythm that feels intentional, unhurried, and deeply connected.

What is it to communicate, and do we do it honestly? Verbal is only 7% but it's how we learn, how we trust and how we talk. How much of the other 93% do we miss, ignore or filter out. Are we all listening wrong, should we be listening with our eyes, not our ears.

In a time such as now, it has been impossible to plan anything and those of us who used to travel the world collecting memories from all the places we visited are a little stuck. What is there to look forward to? What can we do to find this value in our everyday lives?