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The Things We Keep

The things we keep tell stories about where we’ve been or a memory we want to hold on to a little longer.

When I was on the road, I dreamed of buying a candle. I was always on the go, so I couldn’t just bring anything with me. I had to be strategic about what went into my suitcase, pretty much only clothes, shoes, and toiletries made the cut.

So when I finally got my own apartment in Toronto, I bought a candle.

When I was moving to Bali, I initially wanted to sell every single thing I owned. I had a big sale with all of my friends, and pieces of my closet ended up scattered amongst them.

At the time, my friend Vanessa encouraged me to keep a few items. She said, maybe you’ll go away forever, but maybe you’ll come back, and you’ll want some of these things. Thank you Vanessa.

Fast forward a couple of years, I was surprised when I took my things out from my cold, dark storage locker and saw I had kept more items than I thought I did, it was a collection of little treasures.

Looking at that empty storage locker after it ALL was such a weird feeling. Like looking into the before and after of a chapter of my life, beginning and closing all in the same place. I took a moment, inhaled, pulled my storage locker shut, took my lock, and walked away.

What Stayed With Me

It’s interesting that after a few years away, where I felt like I changed immensely, that the items I kept would still hold the same depth and connection that they used to.

A pot I once found at an antique shop that says “The Wm. Mare Co. Wine Merchant. TORONTO” sits by my fireplace.

A tall black giraffe figurine that I brought back from Africa stands on my TV console.

A travertine marble platform that me and my cousin Jamie trekked to Niagara to pick up from a Facebook Marketplace post sits in the corner of my living room, with my sound bowl from Taiwan on top of it.

I found it in a small shop where the owner had initially sourced them from Tibet. The sound bowl chose me. The shop owner walked around me in circles, my eyes closed, ringing different bowls until I connected with one.

An assortment of vintage books rest on a stool and on the ground, for now. The one on top is Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. I had a vintage store called The Slow Rodeo sourcing cowboy boots, and I’ve always been a horsegirl, so that book connects. Perhaps there’s things in here that always will, that thread of myself that has always stayed true.

What Do You Love?

What flowers do you love to have around you?

For me, it’s tulips, sometimes I look at them and they give me butterflies because of their simple beauty. Right now, I have them in every room. Pink tulips sit in the window of my living room, yellow tulips in my kitchen, white tulips in my bedroom. Beauty, beauty, beauty.

The Little Things

The little things are the big things.

My friend Alexa loves picture frames and mugs and her moms old art books.

These things tell me about her and I love to know these things, I know her better because of them.

This is an invitation to lean in on the things that you love.

My friend Robin called my space a sanctuary, and I’m happy she feels that, because it was and is continually crafted with love.

Not a Checklist

The items I keep matter because they mean something to me. I don’t want this to feel like a shopping list to click and buy, more just inspiration to bring more of yourself into your space and to think thoughtfully about what you choose to surround yourself with.

Here are a few things I love right now:

1. Flamingo Estate Green Goddess Candle

2. Health Hut Soap + Lotion

3. Openwork Basket Bowl

4. NORMY Blanket

5. Bonsai Plant

6. BINU BINU Cypress Incense

7. Matcha Bowl

8. Square Serving Bowl

9. Sabre Butter Knife

10. Japanese Mino-Yaki Plate

11. Candle Holder

12. Horse Knife Rests

13. Milk Glass Ruffled Vase

I invite you to get honest about what you love, this practice is deeply personal.

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Am I Bored or Am I Just at the Tail-End of Completing All of the Things?

For the past few years, my life has been built on movement and momentum.
Moving from Toronto to Bali, travelling, living out of a suitcase more or less.
That freedom and lightness was like a drug.

I would hop on my motorcycle and zip around Bali, wind in my hair, listening to this exact playlist.

I loved it, I loved the adventure in every sense of that. Being my most raw, natural self. Days evolving without plans, the warm sun, surrounded by friends at every checkpoint of the day. It was really something. I’m so grateful for my experience and so grateful that I lived it fully. No one can ever take that away from me.

The Decision to Come Home

As I got closer to two years in Bali, something in me knew I was ready for my next life stage. Then came the decisions.

Moving back to Toronto, getting a job, a car, finding an apartment, furnishing an apartment. My mind was constantly going from one thing I had to do to the next.

Now all of those decisions are done.
I’m sitting here, in my place, with my things.

What now?

My Instinct is to Keep Going

I notice my brain immediately goes to: okay, what do I need to do? What’s the next thing?

I have a hard time staying still, I love to be on the go.
My default is moving at a million miles per second.

The Pause

But then there’s a quieter, wiser part of me that says:

Wait.

What if I just sit here for a second,
and breathe,
ground.

I look around and enjoy the culmination of a million and one decisions.
I feel so proud, and good, and happy.

I’m trying to enjoy exactly where I am right now.

Micro-Moments

On the weekend, I woke up to the sun kissing my face, what a treat.

Then I went to the farmers market and spoke to my honey guy about his bees, and my egg guy about the black and white chickens that give birth to his green eggs.

Then my step-sister brought over a potted tulip plant with no flowers, and suddenly, within two days, pink flowers have come through.

It’s BEAUTIFUL, and so exciting and satisfying.

I love these micro-moments.

They remind me that life is beautiful.

I always used to think that life is about the crop, like cropping a photo.
What you choose to notice and what you choose not to.
You can zoom in or zoom out, but you’re in control of what you see.

A Reminder

Don’t Hesitate
by Mary Oliver

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the
case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

Just Here

For once, maybe for the first time ever, I’m not trying to figure out what comes next.
I’m just here.

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After two years of living in Bali and on the road, I made the decision to come back to Toronto.

This came from wanting to set my life up in a way where I could put roots down, be close to friends and family, have a job, build a family… all that traditional stuff. When it comes down to it, I’m very much traditional, with a curiosity for the world that needs constant tickling.

When I arrived back in Toronto, I was incredibly thrown off. I felt unsettled, almost like I had landed somewhere that didn’t match the version of me I had become. There was this constant push and pull between wanting to continue travelling, and staying here, in the city where my roots are.

Then I made a choice: to be here, to stop negotiating on place with myself. Once I committed to that, the rest flowed.

What I’m realizing now is that where I am today is the cumulation of a million micro decisions. The funny thing is, those micro decisions didn’t start when I landed in Toronto. They started the moment I decided to go to Bali. I told myself I’d be there for two years and have a grand adventure, so I got a two year visa and went on my way. It’s interesting, because just as those two years hit, that’s when I was ready to leave and prepare for my next life stage.

Opening the Door

I truly believe the universe conspired in my favour. I opened the door, and the rest was out of my hands.

I wrote a question on my Substack: “Does life happen to you or do you happen to life?”

I think both. The universe conspires in your favour, but you still have to open the door.

After I made the decision to be in Toronto, I knew it was time to get my own apartment and stop crashing at my family’s place. When I began looking, the unit I ended up getting was the very first listing I looked at, and the only one I visited. Getting it was seamless and easy. The universe was supporting me, but I still had to open the listing.

Grounding

Two years ago, I put my things in storage. Last week, I took them out. Now my things are here in my own place, and for the first time in years, I feel grounded.

I’m where my feet are, not second guessing or wondering about other destinations. Just here and I’m really enjoying here.

When I was living on the road, I couldn’t collect things. My life had to fit inside the confines of a suitcase, so I didn’t really have “things.” I streamlined everything as much as possible. I loved the lightness of that, it was so freeing.

It’s interesting how that concept has translated into my new space.

Now, I only want things with meaning that I love, no extras or fluffy stuff.

My friend came over and I gave her a bunch of things, and she remarked how decisive I was. But of course I am. If an item isn’t useful or doesn’t elicit a feeling, it goes.

I don’t want to store things for the sake of storing them. I want to be surrounded by beautiful things, and less is more.

I’m going through this exercise even with furniture. I spend hours on Facebook Marketplace, and then I close the tab. It’s this dance between wanting to make this place feel lived in, but also keeping it very clean and minimal.

It lets the space breathe, and it lets me breathe. Space is so important.

My First Week Here

These photos are from my first week in my new apartment.

I bought flowers, and I admired the morning light. The light casts shadows on the wall with a rich, warm glow.

I keep questioning if I should share these photos before the space is “complete.” But I actually think it’s cool to track the evolution, and document the stage I’m in now. This is only the beginning.

I feel so inspired here. When I picked up my camera to shoot the light, I felt like my best self.

In my new space, I always have music on and a candle or incense burning. I really believe music is the closest thing we have to magic. How is it that something we can’t touch or hold has the ability to move us so deeply? To relax our nervous system, remind us of a person, a place, a time. It’s magic and beautiful.

Right now I have ancient Indian prayers on and they bring me peace.

The Rock

By my kitchen sink is a grey rock.

Years ago, I found it on the beach in Key Biscayne, Florida. I picked it up because it was the perfect hand feel. It has weight to it, it’s smooth.

I brought it to my grandparents to show them, and then I left Florida. When they came back to Toronto, they brought me the rock.

Somehow, even after I sold most of my things two years ago and put the rest into storage, the rock still ended up here on my kitchen counter.

Now when I look at it, I think of my grandparents. Yesterday I held it while I spoke to my grandfather Harvey, who has since passed away.

The rock represents grounding and connection. It represents Harvey and Grandma.

Be Here Now

I tell myself: enjoy this stage fully and completely without trying to get out of it before it’s even begun.

Each stage has its place.

And one day this stage will be over.

Enjoy it.

Be present.

Be here now.

Be here now.

Be here now.

There’s nothing else that is real except this moment.

And this moment.

And this moment.

So be here now.

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This journal entry is about returning to myself through small moments of observation and connection with my body.

This week, I didn’t really journal, I also cancelled all of my yoga sessions.

I started a new job, and the time I used to have to myself shifted into new responsibilities. I’m so happy and proud of myself, but like any transition, it’s a change. And change can feel disruptive, even when it’s good and necessary in order to grow.

Tonight, as I sat down to write, I felt a bit blank. When I don’t make time to go inward, I have less to share here. I move through my days doing what needs to get done but I’m not checking in with myself as much, it feels a bit like autopilot. Doing, but less being.

Until Saturday. I woke up and walked to yoga. For the first time all week, I slowed down. I kept my phone in my pocket and noticed the birds. They flew above the buildings in a group, dipping down toward the street before lifting back up again. I wondered where they had been and what they had seen. The stories they could tell

When I got to yoga, I lay on the mat with my eyes closed before we began. It was the first moment all week where it felt like it was just me with myself, I noticed how tired I was. Instead of trying to push past it, I let it be there. I wondered what it would feel like to accept the moment exactly as it was.

In class, we moved through three short meditations. Sun Salutations A and B with long holds. One breath per movement. For that hour, nothing else was competing for my attention. I felt spacious in my mind and settled in my body. I could feel how much I’d been holding without realizing it, and how much calmer things felt once I connected with myself.

That feeling stayed with me for the rest of the day. I was more present, less reactive, more mindful in conversations with friends. I felt grounded in my body instead of distracted by the running list of everything I still needed to do.

The yoga mat reflects life back to me.

How’s my breath?

Am I rushing?

What am I trying to control or perfect?

Can I give myself a little more grace?

Who am I comparing myself to?

Saturday reminded me that when I stop making space for myself, I also stop noticing. And when I return, even in a small way, everything feels better. Life feels juicier.

If I’m always rushing to get to the next thing, what will I remember when I look back? Yoga is where I come home.

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This journal entry is about falling apart in order to rebuild, choosing certainty when everything feels uncertain, and learning that sometimes the bravest thing to do is stay.

September was one of my lowest points. I came back to Toronto after over two years of travel and felt like I was at rock bottom. I was in the same city with the same friends and family, but no home of my own, no job, and no stability. I was spiralling, and I can admit that I wasn’t okay. Spiralling was exhausting.

My tools helped me, journaling, yoga, connecting with friends, therapy, meditation, and avoiding alcohol but clarity didn’t actually come until I made a decision about where I was going to live.

I had returned without knowing what I was doing. Was I staying? Was I leaving? Where was I going next? Constantly tossing between ideas of moving to Sydney, Tel Aviv, or Portugal. All of this questioning didn’t allow me to be in Toronto, but I also wasn’t anywhere else. I was in limbo, held in indecision, and that indecision was a place I couldn’t stay in forever.

So about a month ago, I decided to stay in Toronto and look for an apartment. I really believe the universe rewarded me for making a choice. I found an apartment easily, it was the first place I saw and it felt like a deep exhale, somewhere I could make into a home. I have to believe that I can still travel, just in a different way, from a stable base. I’ll have roots to rise.

This process reminded me of The Alchemist, a book I recently picked up again. On his journey to find a secret treasure, Santiago, a shepherd, encounters guides and mentors who help him along the way. One of the core lessons in the book is that when Santiago trusts himself, tunes into what’s unfolding in front of him, and pays attention to the world around him, the universe conspires in his favour.

I’ve been practicing coming back to certainty and trusting that everything is happening exactly as it should. Doubt creates instability and keeps me stuck in my head, trying to control outcomes I was never meant to manage. When I trust the process, things move more freely. That doesn’t mean hard times aren’t painful, they are. But even then, I trust they’re preparing me for something greater.

Coming back to myself has shown me that the wisdom I’ve been looking for has been here all along. In my journal entries and in the remembered intelligence of my experiences. Sometimes the work isn’t finding the answers, it’s remembering how to listen.

I did a yoga class yesterday, and the teacher said that everyone talks about “listening to your body,” but we’re so busy that we rarely slow down enough to actually do it. We held malasana, a deep yogi squat, for three minutes in stillness. When things went quiet and I got really still, I could feel myself be so present in that exact moment. My thoughts slowed down, and I just was, exactly as I am.

Certainty doesn’t mean having everything figured out. It means trusting, releasing the need to control every outcome, and allowing things to unfold. In September, I was at rock bottom. Now it’s January, and it feels like I have a clean slate to rebuild from, which feels so empowering and beautiful.

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This Stay Note revisits my October 2024 stay at The Atlantic, Byron Bay. After 20 years, this dear inn has closed its doors, but I loved my time there and felt it was worth honouring such a charming place.

When we arrived at the Byron Bay airport, we called an Uber into town. The ride took about 40 minutes, and our driver, who had lived in Byron Bay his whole life, turned it into an impromptu guided tour. He pointed out where the Hemsworth’s had a house.

“If you look to your right,” he said, “imagine behind those trees there’s a long driveway leading to their secluded home.”

“Oh yeah,” we nodded along, pretending we could see absolutely anything at all.

We passed rolling green hills, blue water with sandy beaches below, and boutique shops where we kept nudging each other and saying, “we should go there,” before arriving at The Atlantic.

The property felt like a white-washed cottage, with decor inspired by Caribbean and surf culture. Our room was part of a small house with a shared kitchen, dining table, and our own balcony and terrace.

In the mornings, we wandered outside to lounge by the communal pool, often sitting beside the property’s roaming pet bearded dragon.

The Atlantic’s location was perfect, an easy walk to the beach, nearby cafes serving the best coffee and acai bowls, as well as shops and restaurants. We walked everywhere and used the hotel’s bikes to get around whenever we explored further.

Byron Bay felt like a breath of fresh air, a low-key surf town where everything feels just right.

Since The Atlantic has closed, these are a few other accommodations I came across while researching for this trip:

• 28 Degrees Byron Bay

• The Lord Byron

• The Sunseeker

• The Bower

• Swell Hotel

I’ll be sharing a Wander Guide to Byron Bay soon, where I’ll round up all of my favourite spots from this visit.

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After living nomadically for the past few years, airports slowly became my safe place. I’ve refined my carry on setup over time. When everything has a place, traveling feels way less hectic. This post focuses on my perfect personal item, my travel tote bag, and everything that goes in it.

The Tote Bag

After years of using a more structured bag, I finally gave it up because it felt limiting. I wanted something that could fit my laptop, my camera, allow me to throw a sweater on top, and slide easily over my suitcase handle, whether I’m travelling carry on only or checking a bag.

This tote does all of that. It’s super lightweight, soft (so it fits neatly under the seat or can be gently shoved overhead), and comfortable to carry over the shoulder.

I’ve convinced both my mom and grandma to switch to this bag, which feels like the highest endorsement.

Featherlight Tote - Away

How I organize it

Soft pouches

Everything inside my tote has a place. I keep all of my small items in soft pouches, which makes it easy to stay organized and find what I need quickly. I use different pouches for beauty + wellness, tech, and sleep. I love finding new pouches while travelling.

Personalized soft travel pouch - The Roan Edit

Striped soft pouch - Amazon

Puffy pouch - Rare Beauty

Beauty + wellness

I keep a few makeup and skincare items together in a soft pouch. If it’s a liquid, it goes into a clear ziplock bag. I like to bring electrolyte packets to add to my water and stay hydrated during flights, and I always bring multiple pens and my journal.

A close friend got me a custom journal from Papier for my last birthday, and it’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever received. It says “Maddy’s many thoughts, notes & ideas” on the cover, it comes with me everywhere.

Electrolyte packets - Organika

Small travel hair brush - Tangle Teezer

Hand cream - L’Occitane
I like that it’s small and the cream is thick and hydrating.

Tech

All of my electronics live together in another pouch: portable charger, cables, adapters, and AirPods.

Portable travel charger It charges quickly, has two cords for iPhone and AirPods, and is compatible with the Apple Watch.

Multi-charging cable (one cord for everything)

Universal travel adapter

Laptop sleeve (charger lives in the pocket)

You’ll usually have to take your laptop out at security, but it keeps it protected while travelling.

Sleep

If my tote ever has to go overhead, my sleep pouch comes out first. Inside it are my eye mask, ear plugs, lip balm, and pill box. I also grab my neck pillow so I can settle in without getting up.

Travel neck pillow - Cabeau
I’ve now bought this neck pillow three times, either because I forgot it at home or lost it while travelling. I love that it has a back strap that attaches to the headrest to keep you upright, plus a chin strap so your head stays supported in the pillow. It’s very comfy and makes a huge difference on longer flights.

Foam blackout eye mask
I’ve used contoured foam eye masks for years. They create a blackout environment, don’t press on your eyes, and make sleeping on flights so much easier without leaving marks on your face.

Wax ear plugs (the only ones that actually work)

Pill box (melatonin, Advil, Gravol, etc.)

Lip balm - Summer Fridays
A comfort item I always have on hand. I love the Vanilla Beige and Pink Sugar scents, but you really can’t go wrong.

Physical books

I love completely disconnecting when I’m in the air. Something about airplane mode makes me feel totally at peace. I’ll usually opt out of inflight wifi, airplanes have become one of the most sacred places in the world because you’re truly disconnected. I always bring a physical book so I can be electronics free.

I’ve been reading Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach and highly recommend it as a plane read.

All set for takeoff

Keeping my travel tote bag organized makes me feel so much more calm when I’m moving through airports or settling into my seat on a plane. It really makes all the difference. What’s always in your carry on?

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Wow, I can’t believe today is the last day of 2025. I’ve been feeling especially reflective and wanted to share what’s been alive for me lately. This journal is about moving through life with ease rather than friction.

I’ve been studying Kabbalah for a few months now and recently I learned about the concept of Tzimtzum, the practice of restriction. In Hebrew, it means a kind of stepping back. Not as punishment or denial, but as a way of creating space to let more light in.

Relationship Inventory

Lately, I’ve been taking inventory of the relationships in my life and noticing which ones feel healthy for me, and which ones create friction. My body usually knows before my mind catches up.

When I stop giving certain situations so much power, my body relaxes. I understand that the right relationships will stay, the wrong ones will fade away, and I don’t actually need to force anything. Stepping back doesn’t mean I’m losing something. It means I’m creating space to allow more good in.

In the past few days, I’ve been practicing this. When I feel tension with another person, I try to send them light, love, and kindness. I wish them well. In doing so, I’m also offering those same feelings to myself and choosing to operate from a place of compassion for both myself and others.

When I shift from asking “Why is this happening to me?” to “What is this here to teach me?” I meet situations with more lightness. The things that trigger me most are often the ones that point me back to what needs my attention, so I can work through it and grow.

When Attachment Takes Over

When I catch myself obsessing over a situation, it’s usually a sign that I need to loosen my grip. If it starts to control my thoughts, replaying or overthinking it, that’s my sign to pause. Because when something is controlling me, I’m no longer acting from myself. I’m operating from the thing I’m attached to, and that doesn’t feel good.

Pausing

This doesn’t come naturally to me at all. It’s an active practice, something I have to try to remember in the moment. Pausing isn’t pretending I don’t care. It’s reconnecting with myself first by coming back into my body, noticing my breath, and creating space between impulse and action. That’s the moment of restriction.

As soon as I feel compelled to do something, I pause, delay the impulse, and let it pass so I don’t respond from a reactive place.

I’m learning that this applies everywhere, not just in relationships. Most of the time, whatever feels urgent isn’t as deep as it seems.

Letting Go Is Expansion

Letting go isn’t about losing, it’s about expansion. I’m not left with less, I make room for more. When I don’t trust that more is available, I settle for breadcrumbs. It’s the difference between operating from abundance versus scarcity.

Letting go isn’t diminishing myself, it’s trusting that I’m meant to have everything.

I recently heard a quote that stayed with me: the universe wants to give you everything, just not all at once.

Becoming Less Reactive

Reacting gives short term comfort, but pausing builds long term strength.

When I respond from a place of calm instead of reaction, I regain my power. It’s the difference between staying within my window of tolerance and letting my emotions run the show. Giving myself space allows me to respond intentionally, rather than reacting when I’m upset, anxious, angry or overwhelmed.

Practicing Certainty

Every time I soften instead of trying to force an outcome, I choose a calmer way of moving through life. For me, the path of least resistance is practicing certainty that everything is working out.

Not because everything is perfect, but because I trust that what’s meant for me will find its way and I don’t need to push or try harder to receive.

Sometimes the most powerful thing I can do is step back and let life come to me.

These photos are from The Mazi Yoga Retreat in Kalamata, Greece.

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This June, I spent a few dreamy days on the island of Naxos, Greece.

This trip was incredibly last minute. As in, we decided the day before that we were going. With zero planning involved, these few days turned out to be absolutely perfect with waters so sparkling blue that we kept calling them “delicious.”

Here’s how we got there, where we stayed, what we ate, and the beaches we spent our days at.

Getting There

To reach Naxos, we flew into Santorini first, then took a ferry over to the island. We booked through Ferryhopper, which made everything easy. The ride took about 1.5 hours.

Best Time to Visit

I may be biased, but June felt perfect.

Warm, sunny days without crazy heat (around 22-28°C), and where we stayed, a kitesurfing spot, there was a cool breeze that felt really refreshing. There were fewer crowds than peak summer, everything was open, restaurants were easy to get into, and the island felt relaxed.

Other great months are September to early October. I’d personally avoid July and August, when it’s hot, busy, and windy.

This is where the free version ends. If you want to keep exploring Naxos with me, you can become a paid subscriber and access all of my Wander Guides from my favourite places around the world.

Read more

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The past few days, I’ve been caught in an anxiety loop with the same thoughts on repeat. This journal is about me sitting with my anxiety, what helps and what brings me back to myself. These are a few reflections from this morning in Florida, and what I’m learning about meeting my anxiety with a little more kindness.

Songs on repeat

I like to play the same song on repeat. Sometimes for days, other times for weeks. At the moment, I have two on the go. You and Me by Penny & The Quarters and Through the Echoes by Paolo Nutini.

Listening to these songs on repeat gives me a comfort that I can’t really put into words. I think it’s the predictability of it, knowing what’s coming next, there’s something calming about it. It’s almost like whatever is going on in my brain gets gently hummed a little quieter. I get lost in an almost trance-like state with the music.

Learning to slow down

This morning I was walking on the beach in Florida. Walking quickly, trying to conquer the walk. I think I’ve become so conditioned to rush through things that I don’t really count the steps along the way. I noticed my speed, stopped and surrendered to the moment. I turned and stared straight out at the horizon. My eyes slowly scanning from the far left to the far right.

I became aware of the vastness of the water, of other times I’ve stared out at it, like in Bali. Of my size, and how much room I’d take up in that water, not much at all, 1.63 meters.

I felt like a drop in the ocean, a very small part. I noticed how the ocean and I are not that different, that we’re both made up of existence itself and I felt at peace.

Knowing I’m a part of something bigger than me put my anxieties at ease. The water calmed me. I watched the ebb and flow of the tide come in, touch my ankles, and then recede back out.

My anxiety and I are good friends, but sometimes my anxiety takes over and it’s no longer me anymore. And I let it. Sometimes it feels too strong to tell it to shut up.

Today I wrote: “It comes and goes in waves. Let it.”

My toolkit

There are some tools that help me, ones I try to always remind myself of. I keep them in my little toolkit.

My toolkit includes:

• Listening to the same song on repeat

• Daily movement, usually walking, yoga or pilates

• Journaling

• Connecting, talking to friends or my therapist

• Engaging in something creative like drawing

• Sauna time if possible

• Meditation, usually the Calm app or a body scan

• Breath work, something like box breathing

• Remembering to eat nourishing food

• Avoiding caffeine and alcohol

• Reading

• Putting my phone away on do not disturb

• Going to sleep early

I’ve had anxiety for most of my life, but when I reflect, I can see that I manage it a lot better now than I did in the past. I just have to remember to come back to my tools, because they really do help.

Loving this part of me

I don’t like who I am when I let my anxiety take over but I think I’m learning to love that part of myself too. It makes me a deep feeler, highly sensitive, attuned to my needs and the needs of others, empathetic and caring.

Inviting anxiety to tea

I’m reading Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach, and one of the exercises talks about inviting your anxiety to tea. Instead of trying to fix it, suppress it, or run from it, you turn toward it with kindness. You let it sit with you, just as it is. Her core teaching is that healing doesn’t come from fixing ourselves, but from befriending ourselves.

She shares how she names what’s happening when she feels anxious before giving a talk. Saying things like: afraid, afraid… tight, tight… story about blowing it… fear of rejection… judging, judging. Just gently noting what’s there. She says that even if anxiety is still present, the simple act of naming it helps her feel more at home with herself. (Page 75)

That really stuck with me and I tried it.

Noting

I wrote: anxious, anxious, anticipation, butterflies in stomach, nervous, worried, concerned, inconsistent, heart palpitations, shortness of breath.

Just by noting what was going on, I felt the sensations ease a little. When things bottled up again, I came back to noting and it was temporarily soothing. I’m learning how to be with what’s happening inside me with more curiosity and I can feel myself growing.

Hand on heart, from me to me, I tell myself: I’m safe here.

What a gift

I’m also studying Kabbalah (a Jewish spiritual tradition focused on understanding the deeper nature of the soul and the universe), and there’s a practice of stepping out of what’s happening by pausing and saying: “What a gift.”

This morning on my walk, when I stopped, I tried it.

What a gift to have my feet pressed into the sand.

What a gift to feel the warm air on my skin.

What a gift to have a cool breeze touch my hair and my ears.

These photos are from Indonesia.

Loosening my grip

The goal isn’t to get rid of my anxiety (that unfortunately won’t happen), but to learn how to sit with it, to come back to my tools, and to soften instead of fight. I visualize loosening my grip when I feel like I’m holding on too tightly to the stories I tell myself.

Music, the ocean, and letting myself feel helped today.

I’m part of something bigger than me.

What a gift.

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This postcard is from my September 2022 visit to the Maasai Mara, Kenya, where we had the chance to spend time with members of the Maasai community.

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In the vast landscape of the Maasai Mara, with its wide open plains, we were welcomed by the women and children with song and dance. Their warmth and big smiles immediately put us at ease.

We were shown their homes, built by hand using natural materials.

We then visited the local market, where small booths were set up selling handmade trinkets, plates, dishes, and beadwork.

I was drawn to the colour of their garments and their vibrant, beaded jewelry. These details carry meaning, identity, and history, often marking life stages, roles within the community, and personal expression passed down through generations.

In big cities, where everything seems to lean toward black, white, and grey, being here felt like the opposite. Colour wasn’t something to tone down, it was something to embrace. It felt joyful and alive.

I love these photos for the way they carry the warmth of the people and my connection to them, preserved in time.

If you enjoyed this post, please tap the heart or leave a comment below. It really helps my Substack grow and get discovered. If you’re planning a trip to Africa (or anywhere) and want some help, I’d love to chat. You can reach me at maddy.slatt@fora.travel. Also, say hi on Instagram.

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This Stay Note revisits my September 2024 stay at Numazu Club, located in the quiet port town of Numazu, Japan. It was a peaceful escape between Tokyo and Kyoto.

Checking In

Numazu Club is a small property designed around slowing down. It’s made up of a restored 1907 teahouse and a newer guestroom complex built using traditional techniques and natural wood. The property is surrounded by old growth pine trees, manicured Japanese gardens, and a serene inner pond.

The design leans into Japanese wabi-sabi, minimal and timeless. Inside the rooms, everything feels intentional. Tatami floors, sliding panels, low furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows frame the gardens to let nature become the focal point.

There’s a spa with saunas, hot and cold pools, private soaking tubs attached to each room, and a restaurant housed inside the historic teahouse serving multi-course Chinese meals. Every part of the property encourages you to slow down, which is exactly why it felt like the perfect stop between cities.

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This journal came from a moment of realization: I’d been holding on so tightly to my “travel self” that I forgot to let myself live where I actually am. Returning to Toronto after being away for so long felt strange and uncomfortable, and I resisted it for weeks. This is a reflection on what it’s been like to slowly surrender to being home… at least, for now.

Coming Home After My Travels

When I first returned to Toronto after two years in Bali (and mostly on the road), my entire world felt thrown off. Suddenly, I was back where I’m from, but I wasn’t the same. I had two years of experiences that shaped and shifted me in ways I’m still unpacking. Coming home felt like being placed back into a past version of myself, familiar people in familiar places, while inside everything had changed.

The Disconnect

The strangest part was how quickly conversations snapped back into Toronto life: What are you ordering for dinner? What show are you watching? I didn’t have the long debriefs I imagined I’d have. I had so much to share, so much I’d seen and learned, and none of it was being asked about and I don’t take it personally. It’s just what happens. Life here hasn’t changed in the same ways that I have. But I still had my baggage. Maybe that’s why Substack has become the space where I slowly unpack everything I’ve been carrying.

A Poem That Explained What I Felt

There’s a poem my good friend shared with me called “After the Adventure” by Morgan Hite. I can’t read it without crying because it encapsulates everything I’ve been feeling so incredibly well. Here are two excerpts, and I encourage you to read it all.

1. After the adventure I am expected to go home. I arrive there, carefully carrying the thick, tattered web of bonds I had with my fellows, torn apart and divided up too hurriedly at the parting. All their ghosts are still with me, as they will be for days, and the lot of us barely fit through the door together. My family and friends look somehow wrong, as if they are being played by actors. I go to sit down, but old chairs do not feel the same with all my new parts, new muscles. I greet my old lover and silently wonder, alone, if this is the correct universe.

2. I remember: be kind to those who welcome you. They have been expecting my old self and are a little afraid that this is not the person who has arrived. Their world did not move in the short time that I have been gone forever. There was no rift in reality here; nothing occurred that did not already have a name. Their eyes do not see into the place from which I come. They will listen eagerly to my story, but then excuse themselves.

Reading this poem suddenly made me feel less alone, like someone gave words to the feelings I couldn’t quite articulate. It reminded me that nothing was wrong with me for feeling unsettled.

The Resistance Phase

At first, I wasn’t surrendering at all. I was resisting every part of being back. I resisted grounding here, routine and even admitting that I was in Toronto. I journaled things like, “I’ve been back in Toronto for two weeks and I still haven’t gotten groceries.” Instead of trying to stay, I poured my energy into planning where I might go next. Mapping out future travels, what my next months would look like. I was getting dizzy tossing the options between Sydney, Portugal or trying Sri Lanka out.

I even booked a flight in November, and then cancelled it. Something in me told me to stay a little longer. Give this place a chance. I wasn’t giving Toronto an opportunity, but I was also so quick to try to leave again. I felt like I needed a moment to settle, and maybe settling wasn’t going to happen so easily.

Alyssa, My Angel

On another call with , she asked how I was, and I told her I felt paralyzed, not wanting to be here, but not yet somewhere else. And because of that in-between, I wasn’t giving anything a chance. I wasn’t stepping outside the walls of my family’s apartment, where I’ve been staying. I wasn’t going for walks, or to restaurants, or seeing friends.

She said, “You love restaurants. Go to restaurants!”

She was right. I was scared that admitting I was here would make the version of myself I’d become while travelling slip away. I love my explorer self. The one who lived out of a suitcase, mastered airports, navigated new places, and felt alive through novelty. That identity felt so aligned that I was scared Toronto would dull her. I didn’t want to lose her.

Loosening My Grip

Resisting everything made me miserable. Toronto felt grey and flat, mostly because I wasn’t doing anything.

So I tried a few small things.

I went for a walk, and it was nice.

I went to the Saturday farmers market, and I liked it.

I went out for dinner with my grandma, and I enjoyed that too.

Slowly, I began surrendering to being here for now. To letting this chapter exist without threatening the travel version of me. That’s when things shifted. When I loosened my grip, I stopped protecting one version of myself and made room for both, the girl who moves and the girl who grounds, to exist together.

Letting Myself Rest

When I think of my travel self, I still get emotional. I never want to lose her. She carried me through the most transformative years of my life. But surrendering to being here hasn’t made her disappear, it has just given her space to rest.

Now, when someone asks, “Are you back?” I just say, “Well… for now.”

I don’t know where I’ll go next or when I’ll leave. I’m still figuring things out. But softening into this chapter has helped me stay instead of run. It’s allowed me to be present rather than plan my escape. And I’ve realized that a lot of good can come from being in one place. Slowing down, reflecting, and finding the things in Toronto that bring me joy and peace.

Where I Am Now

I’m realizing that surrendering doesn’t erase who I was. It allows me to grow. I can love the girl who moved through the world and the girl who’s learning to land. For now, I’m choosing to be here, trusting with certainty that the next chapter will unfold exactly as it should.

These photos are from Sydney, Australia with .

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This August, I spent a few days in Barcelona. It was my first time there, and I honestly didn’t know what to expect. All I knew was that it was a city set on the beach, which instantly reminded me of places I already love like Sydney.

I fell into a routine that felt very me, with morning movement, bike rides to cafés, galleries, boutiques, and really good food. The city felt inspiring at every turn. I loved the balance between nature and city energy. It felt easy to breathe, and each neighbourhood had its own charm.

Here’s what my perfect 48 hours in Barcelona looked like, captured through the places, food and moments that stood out.

Day 1

Morning

We woke up at Borneta Barcelona. Our room overlooked Parc de la Ciutadella, and I loved the rooftop pool, the curated spaces and the warm, welcoming vibe. It felt like home instantly. Designed by the team behind Soho House, it was the perfect base for exploring Barcelona from the heart of El Born.

We started the morning with a run along Barceloneta Beach before the crowds arrived. After our run, we walked to La Cala for a coffee and wandered back for a breakfast buffet at the hotel.

This is where the free version ends. If you want to keep exploring Barcelona with me, you can become a paid subscriber and access all of my Wander Guides from my favourite places around the world.

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This postcard is from my September 2022 safari in the Maasai Mara, Kenya. Our days were spent in a 4x4 on early morning drives, stopping for picnic lunches in the middle of the savannah and heading out again for night safaris.

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Being in the Mara made me feel so connected. I loved watching the lions cuddle and sit still under the rain, herds of buffalo moving across the plains, zebras resting their heads on one another, and elephants roaming so gracefully. It was an honour to be let into their world.

I felt so small there, so inconsequential in the best way. It put everything into perspective. I was in their territory and they ran the show, so different from city life, where I forget how far we really are from the animal world.

Looking back at these photos now, I get emotional. I felt so connected to the land and the animals, especially the lions. I hope you enjoy seeing the Maasai Mara through my lens.

If you enjoyed this post, please tap the heart or leave a comment below, it really helps my Substack grow and get discovered. If you’re planning a trip to Africa (or anywhere) and want some help, I’d love to chat. You can reach me at maddy.slatt@fora.travel. Also, say hi on Instagram.

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This journal explores what it’s been like to return to Toronto after years away, noticing how quickly consumerism slips back in, and learning to create a little distance between myself and my desires.

A Quiet Realization

I noticed the shift. I even said the words out loud: “consumerism crept back in.”

It took about two months since I returned from my travels back to Toronto to slide right back into consumerism mode. I lived in Bali for around 2 years, and during that time I’d start my day by riding my motorcycle to my favourite yoga class, then to a cafe where I’d run into my friends and catch up on the morning. We’d co-work, grab food, build beach bonfires, and watch the sunset.

Every stopping point of my day was filled with connection, community, and presence. The idea of buying things or even looking at things to buy just wasn’t on my radar. And I loved that. I loved being in the moment and building relationships that revolved around joy, not material things.

The Toronto Pattern I Noticed

When I came back to Toronto, I noticed it right away, this shift from enjoying the day to consuming the day. I wasn’t as present either, I was scrolling more and watching screens more. Having conversations with friends about the things they wanted to buy, what they just bought, or what they were planning to buy next, and realizing I was slipping into the same thing. The energy was contagious.

It almost felt like I was one purchase away from becoming a better version of myself.

Let me just say, I used to be a shopper. I loved shopping and I still enjoy beautiful things. But now I’m trying to stay a bit more distant from my desires. To stop. To think. To actually ask myself if something is required or if it’s just habit. And I don’t think this is just Toronto, it feels like a wider pattern, something that’s so easy to fall into without noticing.

Black Friday and the Sock Spiral

With Black Friday everywhere, my inbox has been screaming at me to buy things I don’t actually need. But maybe I do? That’s the tricky part.

This week I went into a deep hole on socks. I need them, my feet get cold, but the hunt became the game. What socks are other people wearing? Which ones are cool? Cotton? Cashmere?

I sifted through Substack gift guides, screenshotting socks, going to a store to feel the socks, buying five pairs. You’d think that would be enough.

Then I walked past a Mongolian cashmere pop-up with 100% cashmere socks in the window. I had to go in, they were so soft. And of course I thought, my mom would love these too. I walked out with four pairs of cashmere socks on top of the five I had just bought.

I got home with a bag full of socks and realized I was back in the loop. Consumerism crept back in.

Buying not for the socks, but for the chase. And now, days later, they’re still sitting in their packaging. Yesterday I noticed my friend’s socks and asked for the link. I opened it at home and just laughed. No more socks.

The Reminder

It’s hard to step out of it once you’re in it. And after only two months back, I’m already pulled right back in.

Lately I’ve been thinking about distance, not the cold kind, but the spiritual kind. In Sufism, there’s this beautiful idea that creating a little space between yourself and your desires is actually part of the path. Not giving everything up, not running away from the world, but gently loosening your grip on the things that pull you out of yourself. They say material attachments can act like a veil between you and your own clarity. The practice is inner detachment, noticing the desire without letting it take over. And I love that. It feels exactly like what I’m trying to practice: more space and more awareness.

I’ve also been sitting with this fear that my life will slip me by if I spend it looking at screens. Half the time, I don’t even remember what I’m looking at, just hours disappearing into nothing. I want to be an active creator in my life, to actually live it, rather than wondering where the time went because I had my phone held up as a kind of distance between me and the world.

The Great Unplugging

Maybe it’s not just me feeling this way. Gary Vee, an entrepreneur and cultural trend-reader, has been talking about something he calls “the great unplugging.” His prediction is that by 2026, people will start choosing more offline, real life experiences again. Because we’re all craving something more human. He says we’ve hit peak digital saturation, and I feel that deeply.

Consumerism isn’t just buying things, it’s the constant consumption of screens, content, noise. And the more I’m plugged in, the easier it is to slip back into scrolling, wanting, and adding unnecessary things to my cart. None of it holds the key to feeling better or different about my life.

I don’t need material things to be happy. I’m happiest when I’m around the people I love, when I leave room for new experiences and moments that bring me peace.

The Practice I’m Trying

I’m practicing keeping distance from my desires, and even though it’s tricky, that distance feels empowering. Suddenly I’m not at the mercy of Instagram ads, TikTokers selling me a face-lift-in-a-bottle, or insisting that a new sweater will change my life.

I save money, but I also get time back. Time away from my device, and time to bring joy into my life.

I’m learning to see the things I want and pause, breathe, and ask myself if I can let them go. Sometimes I’ll add something to my cart and just leave it there. If I still remember it in a few days, maybe it’s worth thinking about. Most of the time, I’ve forgotten it completely, the socks and all.

If anything, this whole spiral reminded me how normal it is to slip back into old patterns, and how powerful it feels to gently step out of them. I’m choosing a slower, more intentional way of being. Where I create more than I consume and where my desires don’t run the show. I’m not perfect at it, but I’m trying.

These photos are from Kado Kubo in Uluwatu, Bali.

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This postcard is from September 2022, from the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest in Uganda, where my family and I went gorilla trekking. I’ve never shared these photos until now, more from this trip to come.

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The Bwindi Impenetrable Forest is an ancient rainforest that protects the Mountain Gorillas of Uganda, Rwanda and the DRC. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site known for its steep terrain, rich biodiversity and unique wildlife. It’s home to roughly 400 gorillas, living deep within the dense, enchanted hills of the forest.

Here’s how our trek worked: we began at the trekking headquarters to meet our porters and guides. The guides stay in constant communication with trackers to locate the gorilla families. Depending on where the gorillas are, the trek can be anywhere from 30 minutes to most of the day. It’s the wild, if a gorilla decides to move, everything shifts.

Our trek was short, maybe 45 minutes from what I remember. We hiked through rugged, overgrown hills, with our guides clearing the path using machetes, until we reached the wall of the forest and continued the trek inside. Once we reached the gorillas, we were told to keep a safe distance and stay silent, moving with quiet, subtle steps as we gently observed them in their natural habitat.

We watched massive silverbacks (the male gorillas who lead the family) come down from trees, babies playing in their mothers’ arms, swinging from vines, and gorillas sitting on the ground eating bamboo shoots. We were told not to make eye contact, but they’re so beautiful and majestic that it felt almost impossible not to. They were so much like us, expressive, loving and playful. A female gorilla looked up toward the sky with the sun on her face, and in that moment, she felt like me, or I felt like her, when the sun warms my skin.

It was a once in a lifetime experience where I found myself face to face with an animal that has human eyes and human traits, and I felt more connected than ever. We had one hour with the gorilla family, and it felt like such a privilege to be let into their world.

I still think about that hour often. More from Africa coming soon.

If you enjoyed this post, please tap the heart or leave a comment below, it really helps my Substack grow and get discovered. If you’re planning a trip to Africa (or anywhere) and want some help, I’d love to chat. You can reach me at maddy.slatt@fora.travel. Also, say hi on Instagram.

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When people think of Bali, they are usually picturing something that actually looks a lot more like Lombok. Some describe Lombok as what Bali was 30 years ago, it feels raw in a way that Bali no longer does because of the overdevelopment. When I lived in Bali, I always escaped to Lombok for that reason. Lombok has long stretches of white sand beaches, endless palm trees, amazing surfing, local warungs, cute cafes, and smooth paved roads for easy drives. On those drives you’ll pass water buffalo, monkeys and the bluest water. It’s really magical.

This guide begins with an FAQ because I wish I had something like this when I first moved to Bali and had a million questions about how to plan my travels. After that, I’ll walk you through my favourite restaurants, cafes, beaches, stays, yoga studios, gyms and sunset spots I always find myself returning to each time I visit Lombok.

I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know if you make it to Lombok!

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to design my life, and how wild it is to even have that thought. That I have a choice to rethink…everything. Where I live, my relationships, how I take care of myself, how I spend my time, and what still works or quietly doesn’t anymore.

Thinking about all of this feels like standing on the cusp of something both scary and freeing at the same time. If I let go of everything I’ve known, then who am I? And if I can go anywhere, how do I even begin to choose?

The Old Template

For so long, there was only one way to “do life”:

Stay in one place forever, go to school, get a stable job, get married, buy a home, have kids, retire, travel a bit, die.

A neat, predictable line. Familiar. Safe. Expected.

Of course there’s more along the way, but you know what I mean.

In 2023, I challenged that. I didn’t want to wait until retirement to live a different life, so I picked up my things and moved to Bali while I was still young enough to climb the hundreds of beach stairs and ride a motorbike everywhere. I wanted to experience a different lifestyle while I could. I’d always imagined myself living abroad for a while, meeting new people, having new experiences, and breaking out of the familiarity of the life I knew so well. I wanted a softer life.

I remember when I was first deciding whether to stay in Toronto or move to Bali, I made a pros and cons list. And it wasn’t an easy choice. I would stare at that list for days, contemplating, going back and forth with myself. But eventually I made the decision to let go of it all and begin again. To see what could happen if I just went, if I surrendered to the unknown.

The Generation of Choice

I think we’re the first generation who actually gets to choose differently.

Remote work, social media, e-commerce, all of it has cracked the old blueprint open.

Now, if you work online, you can live anywhere, work from anywhere, be anyone.

I also understand that this is a privileged position to be in, not everyone has a remote job or the flexibility to pick up and go.

Of course, the trade off is real: less stability, distance from the safety of family and friends, and the familiarity of what you once knew. And I won’t lie, when I first moved to Bali all of this felt very destabilizing, it’s part of it.

But in exchange? That “aha” moment where you realize you don’t have to live in the place you were born. That you’re more capable than you ever imagined. New experiences, new friendships, more life in your days, and an expanded worldview. It’s empowering and freeing. It’s like being confronted with the fact that, at the end of the day, you’re alone in this world, but instead of taking that as something scary, you think: if that’s true, then I can do anything.

The Real Question

I keep questioning what life could look like if I designed it from scratch. How big I could dream. What it might feel like to build a life around art, yoga, slow mornings, good food, nature, connection, and freedom.

I don’t think most people genuinely dream of spending their days in offices and cubicles. I understand that blueprint offers financial security and that matters, it always has but maybe the mold that held us in place for so long is finally breaking.

Living in Bali made me see that more clearly. Everything was cheaper, rent, food, experiences, and it made me wonder why we’re so tied to one way of living when another way is completely possible.

The Mold Is Cracking

It wasn’t long ago that people spent their entire lives in one job.

Now people pivot. Risk. Start over. Choose creativity over convention, even when it comes with sacrifice.

We’re seeing the shift everywhere:

Less “what should I do?” and more “what feels right for me?”

What I’m Learning About Designing a Life

I’m realizing there are so many areas I can design:
Where I live, how I work, who I love, how I spend my days.

My first big risk was choosing not to take a traditional job. Everyone around me had a clear path. I had no blueprint, just intuition. And now I feel like I’m questioning the next layer of convention.

If we only get one life (as cliché as that sounds), it makes sense to design it in a way that feels genuinely exciting and true to you at your core. To follow the joy. To move toward what lights you up.

The Life I Dream Of

I don’t dream of multiple properties or fancy cars.

I dream of a calm life by the sea.

Walking barefoot. Floating in the water. Farmers markets. Yoga. Community.

Something that feels spacious and human.

Daily connection to nature and water.

A life that feels like me.

What do you dream of?

Maybe the Point Is Simplicity

Maybe designing your life isn’t about chasing more, maybe it’s about chasing less and choosing what matters.

Letting go of the noise and coming back to yourself.

And deciding, with honesty, what makes your life feel meaningful.

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This Stay Note revisits my August 2024 visit to Innit Lombok, where I stayed in a private beach house along the white sand of Ekas Bay, Lombok, Indonesia.

A Little Escape From Bali

When I was living in Bali, my daily life was very “city,” with cafés, pilates classes and dinners with friends. There’s often constant noise from motorcycles going by and construction everywhere. Sometimes I craved the quiet, somewhere raw and removed to escape to. Lombok was always that for me.

I’d never heard of Innit until I came across an Instagram post of it. It’s a design hotel and I was so intrigued by the architecture and the beach houses on white sand, I knew I had to go there. That’s the beauty of being based in Bali, you can escape to places that feel so much farther than they actually are.

The journey to Innit felt like a little adventure. After flying to Lombok, we drove through quiet village roads, getting further and further away from anything that felt busy. We passed palm trees, local homes, and kept turning down roads that barely looked like roads at all. We were a bit skeptical about where we would end up, but when we arrived, it clicked. This kind of stillness only exists when you’re far enough away from everything else.

The first thing we saw was the infinity pool stretching toward the white sand and ocean under the afternoon sun. Guests were reading on loungers, tanning, floating in the pool. It was so quiet that even the swimmers barely made a sound.

We were escorted to check in inside their open-concept communal dining space. After checking in, we were shown to our room, one of seven modern beach houses lined up on white sand looking out over the ocean.

It immediately felt like we’d stepped into our own private corner of the island. It felt so different from the Lombok I knew before.

I’ll pause here, but if you want to see the beach house, the food, the lobster experience and hear why this is one of my favourite stays in Indonesia, subscribe to keep reading below.

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