I haven’t written a blog in over two months.
That’s probably the longest stretch since I started writing.
At first I thought it was because I was busy.
Then I realized something else.
I think I was hiding.
Not intentionally.
I just wasn’t ready yet.
I wasn’t ready to put words around something I didn’t fully understand.
I’d open my laptop.
Stare at a blank page.
Close it again.
Because every sentence felt too small for what I was trying to say.
And honestly…
I just couldn’t find the words.
But now, after promoting these Greece trips for a year and finally standing on the other side of them, I am filled with so much emotion as I try to process how I have grown and transformed.
Because I did.
Something happened.
I can feel it.
I came to Greece expecting to lead transformation. I thought my job was to create space for other people to slow down, reconnect, and remember who they are.
I never expected the experience would quietly do the same for me.
I left realizing there are still places within myself that are asking to be loved.
I’m still figuring out exactly what that means.
But I know something shifted.
The Moment It Became Real
One of my favorite days is always the very first day everyone steps on board.
There is so much excitement and anticipation in the air.
Everyone is chatty.
The energy is high.
The excitement is palpable.
As each person walks the plank, I begin hearing the “ooohs” and “aaahs” about how beautiful the boat is.
How lovely the accommodations are.
The prosecco and charcuterie board are waiting on deck.
The sun is shining high overhead.
The birds are chirping.
And the Ionian Sea is waiting for us.
As we pull away from the dock, people settle in and eventually make their way to the bow of the boat.
Drinks in hand.
Wind blowing through our hair.
The boat moving steadily toward a week we can’t even begin to imagine.
Before long, we’re chatting and laughing together like old friends.
It happens that fast.
This is the moment I treasure.
The moment I look around and quietly think…
“It’s here.”
“This is actually happening.”
Sometimes I even have to pinch myself.
When I Finally Put My Phone Down
Both weeks were lovely.
Strangers becoming friends.
Couples dancing.
The splash of someone diving into the sea.
Someone paddleboarding while another guest quietly reads beneath the shade of the sail.
These moments became routine.
And what a beautiful routine it was.
Gentle yoga each morning.
Maybe an early swim.
A healthy breakfast onboard.
Then setting sail toward our next adventure beneath bluebird skies and across crystal-clear turquoise water.
I would settle on top of the catamaran near the captain with my sunscreen, a drink, and my earbuds, simply staring toward the horizon.
The wind whipped through my hair.
The salty air brushed my face.
And I’d think…
“It doesn’t get better than this.”
It was during those moments that I’d reach for my phone.
I just couldn’t do it.
I could still take photos.
But I couldn’t bring myself to turn those moments into content.
Every time I tried, a voice inside my head whispered,
“No.
You don’t need to do this right now.
Your head is always in your phone.
Look around you.”
So I did.
I put my phone down.
I looked toward the endless horizon.
The other sailboats drifting quietly in the distance.
The deep blue stretching forever ahead.
There was an entire world unfolding right in front of me.
Why would I choose the tiny screen in my hand instead?
The phone would still be there when I got back to land.
And guess what?
It sure as shit was.
Here I am again.
Back on land.
Back on my devices.
But I am so grateful I didn’t let those precious moments pass me by.
Instead…
I looked out toward the horizon.
Belting out my favorite song at the top of my lungs.
Drink in my hand.
A huge smile on my face.
And the fullest heart I’ve felt in a very long time.
Only afterward did I realize what had happened.
I had unintentionally practiced exactly what I teach.
Presence.
At first I actually felt guilty.
Why?
Why should being fully present make me feel guilty?
Why did slowing down feel like I was doing something wrong?
Maybe because we’ve been conditioned to always produce.
Always document.
Always achieve.
Always prove.
Instead…
For one glorious week…
I simply allowed myself to be.
The Mirrors I Didn’t Expect
Something beautiful happens when you slow down.
Conversations become deeper.
People become more honest.
One conversation has stayed with me.
A woman shared that after her breakup, she had slowly made herself smaller because she believed his career and dreams mattered more than hers.
Before I even realized it, I interrupted her.
“Stop.”
“Stop right there.”
“That is complete bullshit.”
I almost yelled.
Then I apologized because I hadn’t meant to.
But afterward I realized…
I wasn’t only talking to her.
I was talking to younger versions of myself.
Through meditation, journaling, and healing work, I’ve realized how often I shrank myself around men.
I’d minimize my accomplishments.
Pretend to like things I didn’t.
Drop my own plans the moment someone wanted my attention.
I wasn’t being myself.
It’s only recently that I’ve been willing to admit that.
It’s a hard pill to swallow.
And an even harder mirror to look into.
Around that same time someone asked me,
“So…what exactly is a Travel Coach?”
I laughed.
I get that question a lot.
I said,
“I help people travel with intention. Because travel shows us possibilities we can’t always see from inside our everyday lives. It reminds us life doesn’t have to look the way we’ve been told it should. That maybe…just maybe…there’s another way.”
She looked at me and smiled.
“Fuck yeah.”
“What a cool job.”
I smiled too.
Because for maybe the first time…
I realized how proud I am of the life I’ve created.
Fuck yeah.
This work matters.
And for the first time…
I completely believed myself.
Still Becoming
Until recently, I never realized what a deeply emotional person I am.
When you’ve spent years being “the strong one,” eventually you begin believing that’s all you are.
But underneath all of that…
I’m soft.
Much softer than I ever allowed myself to be.
People joke about how deep I’ve become lately.
The quotes.
The reflections.
The song lyrics.
The conversations most people never have.
Honestly?
I don’t care anymore.
It’s freeing.
Because I spent years pushing all of that down.
Now…
I want people to really see me.
Not the polished version.
Not the retreat leader.
Not the yoga teacher.
Just…
Me.
So it probably isn’t surprising that throughout these two weeks I found myself tearing up over and over again.
Not because anything was wrong.
But because my heart kept opening.
Sometimes it was received.
Sometimes it wasn’t.
I realized that even after all these years of healing…
There is still a part of me that longs to be chosen.
I thought I’d already healed that part.
Apparently healing isn’t something we finish.
The tears finally came during an impromptu speech on the bow of the boat at the end of my second week.
The sunset painted the sky orange, pink, violet, and blue.
Everyone stood there holding their drinks.
Looking toward me.
I only meant to thank everyone for coming.
Instead my voice cracked almost immediately.
“I’m sorry…I’m getting emotional.”
“I’m just so grateful every one of you came.”
“I truly believe the right people find each other on every retreat.”
“I think we’re together for reasons we may never fully understand.”
Whether someone learns from me…
Or I learn from them…
Or two guests unknowingly change each other’s lives…
The magic has already happened.
Even if we can’t see it yet.
That realization brought me to tears.
The Real Transformation
If these Greece trips taught me anything…
It’s that transformation doesn’t end simply because you’ve already transformed once.
There are always new layers.
New fears.
New dreams.
New places within ourselves asking for our attention.
I came to Greece believing I’d be leading transformation.
Instead…
I found myself right in the middle of my own.
I discovered I feel more comfortable in my own skin than ever before.
I discovered the responsibility that comes with leading people.
I discovered how deeply I love watching strangers become lifelong friends.
And I discovered there are still tender places inside me.
Places that still long to be chosen.
Places that still long to be loved.
Sometimes that still hurts like motherfucking hell.
But maybe that’s the point.
Maybe we never actually arrive.
Maybe we simply keep becoming.
And somehow…
It feels a little less like failure…
and a little more like being alive.
