Sometimes, it takes a change of scenery to truly see yourself again.
Our trip to Japan was supposed to be about family time and exploring somewhere new, and it was. But honestly, it also became a bit of a wake-up call for me.
For years, I’d been trying to manage my health while still showing up for my family and everyday life. And looking back now, I think I was mostly surviving more than actually living. Between health flare-ups, stress, routines, and the constant mental load of daily life, I had slipped into autopilot without even realizing it. It wasn’t until I stepped out of my usual environment that I noticed how disconnected I’d become from the present moment. Somewhere along the way, I had gotten so used to pushing through that I stopped fully experiencing my own life while it was happening.
I’ve always naturally been a morning person. There’s something about those quiet moments before the rest of the world wakes up that I’ve always needed.
One morning on our cruise, even though I’d been feeling tired, stressed, and restless, I found myself awake long before sunrise. So I quietly slipped out of the cabin, put on my headphones, and made my way up to the deck. Everything was still. The ocean was calm, the air cool with just the slightest warmth beginning to come through. My music played softly while the sky slowly shifted from deep blue into shades of gold and orange. Then the sun finally started rising over the horizon, casting this soft glow across the water while the breeze moved through the deck. And for the first time in a long time, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time – stillness.
That morning reminded me why I’ve always valued quiet moments so much, the same kind I try to create at home sometimes, sitting on my deck with a warm drink and a book before everyone else is awake. But out there on the ship, it felt different. The ocean stretched endlessly in every direction, calm, steady, almost grounding in a way that’s hard to explain. As the sun slowly rose each morning, it felt like the world was gently waking up around me, and honestly, it felt like something in me was waking up too.
After that first morning, I found myself waking up early every day just to go back out there again. It became this small ritual I started looking forward to, just me, the sea, the changing sky, the warmth of the sun, and sometimes my little one beside me too.
In that quiet, I finally found the stillness I hadn’t realized I was missing. It was the kind of environment that encourages reflection, where you can finally hear your own thoughts. I started noticing how often I’d put myself on the back burner. I was constantly “on,” showing up for everyone else. I realized how much the weight of long-term family dynamics and the emotional stress of my parents’ situation had been wearing me down. I had been operating in survival mode just to get through the day, assuming that was simply what this stage of life required.
Over the days (through quiet moments, real conversations, and simply being around the people I love), I started to feel more present. I remembered the small things I used to value and realized how much I had missed those simple interactions. Along the way, other experiences gently nudged me back to the things I once loved, the little joys that somehow got lost in the shuffle of everyday life.
In the evenings, we attended a few musicals on board. While they were different from the productions back home, being there brought back a familiar feeling. I’d forgotten how much I used to love musicals, how they used to light me up. Over time, I just stopped going. The kids aren’t really into them, and while my husband would come if I really wanted, I always felt like I was dragging him along. So I slowly let it go. But that night in the theatre, even with a smaller stage and simpler set, I felt that old spark again. What made it even sweeter was finding out my niece loves musicals too. We made a little promise to catch a show together when we got back home , and I’m really looking forward to that.
Another unexpected moment that truly stayed with me was an art auction during the cruise. My brother-in-law had been invited, so we tagged along just for fun; I’d never been to one before. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but as I spent time looking at the paintings, I felt a distinct shift. It was a sense of emotional clarity and openness that I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
There was one artist in particular whose work I connected with: Slava Ilyayev. His paintings are defined by vibrant colours, heavy texture, and warmth, often featuring trees and winding pathways. That kind of art has always been my favourite, nature scenes, especially with paths that seem to lead somewhere unknown, offering a little adventure with twists and turns, full of possibilities. Maybe it’s because they remind me of quiet walks or peaceful moments, the kind of little things that help me slow down and breathe. Maybe it’s the dreamer in me, or the part that’s always looking for meaning and direction, even when life feels messy.
His work resonated on a deeper level than I expected. Many of his paintings featured two small figures walking down a path, and for some reason, something inside me stirred. The first person that came to mind was my grandfather. I often dream of us walking through the forest together – just the two of us. I always had so much to say, and he would listen, really listen, like no one else did. This quiet rush of emotion caught me off guard. It was such a comforting feeling, and honestly, it made me seriously consider bringing that painting home. There was one painting of his – the very first one I saw, that I instantly fell in love with. The texture was just stunning. But truthfully, it was way out of our budget. Still, every painting of his was beautiful in its own way, each with unique colours and textures. I would’ve taken them all home if I could!
When I found out we were actually bringing one of his paintings home with us, I was honestly over the moon, and a little shocked too, especially because my husband had been pretty firm about us not getting it. Now it hangs right above my desk, and every time I look at it, I feel this quiet sense of warmth and happiness. It’s more than just a painting at this point. It feels like a small piece of that moment, that feeling of slowing down, being present, and reconnecting with myself, brought back home with me into everyday life.
Since returning, I have been focused on maintaining that perspective. II am not chasing perfect routines or ambitious goals right now; I simply want to be more present. This means checking in with how I actually feel, slowing down, and making space for the things that bring me genuine satisfaction. That means doing more of what I used to love. Whether it’s visiting a museum, catching a musical, or being a little more adventurous in my daily life, I am reclaiming the interests I had set aside. Traveling reminded me how much joy there is in simply getting out there and trying new things – or old things I haven’t done in a while. It’s not always easy to carve out time, especially as a mom, but I’m learning that reconnecting with the parts of me that make me feel alive isn’t selfish. It’s actually one of the best things I can do for the people around me.
If you’ve been feeling a bit off or disconnected lately, just know you’re not alone. Life can get so full that we forget about the simple joys. But it’s never too late to come back to yourself – one small step or sweet reminder at a time.
Simply Salt & Soul
The Salt (The Science): What I experienced on that deck is what scientists call “The Blue Mind” effect. Research shows that being near, in, or under water can lower cortisol levels, reduce heart rate, and increase “feel-good” neurotransmitters like dopamine. It’s a literal physiological reset for a stressed nervous system. You don’t need a cruise ship to access this; even a quiet bath or a walk by a local pond can help trigger this calming response.
The Soul (The Wellness): We often treat “self-care” as another task on a to-do list, but true restoration is often about “being” rather than “doing.” My trip reminded me that Awe, the feeling we get from a beautiful sunrise or a moving piece of art, is a vital nutrient for the soul. Awe pulls us out of our “autopilot” brain and reminds us that we are part of something bigger. Today, try to find one moment that makes you stop and appreciate the beauty in your surroundings. It is often the exact mental shift we need.