The best vacation I've ever taken

how recent self discovery and unplugging led to my ultimate escape

This summer has done an absolute number on me, both physically and mentally. It started with a horrible health scare on my honeymoon. I’ll spare you all the personal details, but we had to leave Africa early. I felt like a failure, ending what felt at the time like the most monumental trip of my life (though in retrospect, I know it wasn’t). I felt weak for not being able to deal with the physical, neurological pain that was racking my body. After three ER trips with zero diagnosis, I felt utterly broken.

I had been so at war with myself that I hadn’t had a quiet mind in days — weeks even. It manifested in sleepless nights, constant anxiety, negative self-talk, and an underlying sense of fear of death that felt impossible to shake. After stumbling through July and most of August in a blinding pain-induced haze, Mark and I decided to go dancing with some friends and family one night. We desperately needed respite from daily life, a break from the heaviness, the constant worry, and the health anxiety that plagued us.

For the first time in weeks, maybe months, I felt truly happy that night. The dance music coursed through my veins, making me feel lightweight and connected to others in a way that was familiar yet much more intense. My mind was blissfully empty. I experienced a gorgeous inward silence where all I could hear and see was the music and the people I love having fun. It felt like there was nothing to worry about, and everything felt so insignificant—perhaps partly due to the mind-altering substances we took, which nudged me in the right direction, reminding me that I am a small, insignificant tadpole in a sea of possibility.

The next day, I woke up feeling like I was back in the real world, back in my body, anxious about everything, wondering why I couldn’t always feel that happy. I stewed in this feeling for a while, almost regretting the unbelievable time I had. Then, over the course of a few hours, it hit me: I had experienced an ego death. I wasn’t searching for one, but somehow it had found me on the dance floor. I had lost my “usual” sense of self—my thoughts, memories, and the way I once identified had vanished.

While dancing, for the first time in weeks, I lost the feeling of pain, allowing me to live outside of my body, as part of the universe. I realized that for the better part of my life, I’d been doing everything to please other people, seeking external validation, and gaining acceptance. I thought I was as happy as I could ever be — I really did. But I wasn’t happy with myself, and I didn’t love myself. I hadn’t put myself first in a long time. I had spent years taking care of others, managing their emotions, and making sure everyone else’s oxygen mask was on before my own. When that truth finally sank in, it felt absurd. Why was I at war with myself, and why, at the age of 29, hadn’t I accepted myself for who I was?

I realized that the only person I will spend every waking hour with is myself. If I couldn’t find self-love and acceptance, life would be miserable. That was the moment everything changed. Loving and accepting myself became the obvious choice because, really, what other choice is there? I finally realized that self-love and self care doesn’t equal having a huge ego, and I had been conflating the two for so long.

Amor fati, which translates from Latin to "love of fate," is a mindset that encourages embracing everything life throws our way—both the joys and the challenges. It’s about recognizing that every experience, even the difficult ones, has its place and purpose. Those who practice amor fati accept their past with grace, viewing every moment as a necessary part of their journey. Instead of wishing to change anything, they learn to love the path they've chosen and the life they've lived. I am choosing to be grateful for the honeymoon because it was the catalyst for a huge wake-up call. Life is a rollercoaster, filled with ups and downs and corkscrews galore, but it’s worth the ride, even with physical and emotional pain. I know I will have hard times in the future, but that these rough patches will teach me patience and will highlight what really matters. My symptoms have not vanished, but they have shown me that I am capable of a level of resilience I never thought I’d know.

Every time I catch myself slipping back into old habits of negative self-talk and seeking validation, I remind myself that it’s normal to have those thoughts. But I now know that every relationship, work goal, wellness intention, and day I live should support becoming more of who I really am. I realize now that the secret to becoming free from ups and downs is to stop letting my self-worth be contingent on anything — including what happens to me and my body, who likes me, what I have or don’t have, and the choices I make.

One of the biggest realizations that followed this ego death is how much social media has amplified my need for external validation. Social media validation is the only drug I’ve ever been addicted to. I’ve been chronically online for almost 15 years, since I made a MySpace account in the eighth grade. I think back to my stint of being “Tumblr famous” (huge lol now) and having 40,000 people see my daily life for years. After spending years in middle and high school feeling insignificant and lame, the newfound attention was disgustingly addicting in a way I can’t even begin to describe. I’d wake up in the morning and have hundreds of messages from people I’d never met before, asking for outfit advice, praising me for something I had said, or just wanting to chat. It felt like a real community, and in a way it was— I made friends from Tumblr who attended my wedding, who have virtually held my hand through the highest of highs and lowest of lows, and know me on a deeper level than most. But there was always a darkness to exposing so much of my life, to putting so much of myself out there, and leaving little for just me. 

This understanding led me to examine my relationship with posting on social. As a result, I took a six-week break from writing and posting on Substack, and I’m still on an Instagram break indefinitely. Sharing every part of my life online just isn’t a priority anymore. I spent so much time trying to prove myself, being steered by the opinions and paid recommendations of others, that I lost touch with who I really am.

Questions that were hard to confront and answer kept popping into my head. What do I truly like? If I wasn’t so influenced by everyone else, would I still be doing what I’m doing? Would I still be going to the places I’m told to go, or would I be living more in the present, with more room for spontaneity? Would I be wearing the same things, supporting the same brands, reading the same books? Would I be traveling to the same places?

When I was influencing, was I even recommending and posting things I truly liked and believed in, or was I posting things I knew would bring attention, followers, and that sweet hit of validation? I was spending way too much time trying to prove myself, oversharing every detail of my life, trading bits of myself for internet popularity and relevance. 

I now know that no one cares where I’m going or what I’m doing, and that realization is so comforting. I love being a nobody. For now, I’m craving a life of privacy, under-sharing, and just being hot and mysterious—for myself, because I can. The people who are in my life and actually care about what I am doing will reach out and ask. I know this, because they have. I know this because my husband has been chronically offline for the entire time we’ve been together, and he is the most self-aware, beautiful human I know, who has made and maintained so many deep, flavorful relationships, without a trace of internet presence.

After deleting Instagram, it took two weeks for me to stop compulsively checking my phone. My thumb would hover over where the Instagram app used to be, and I’d inevitably open the NYTimes app by accident, which filled its place. But slowly, I’ve started to feel a sense of clarity. I’ve spent more time in nature, walking 10-15k steps a day, and I’ve finished some incredible books I wouldn’t have prioritized otherwise. I have so much more free time now. I have so much more family time now. I realize how many minutes of the day I was wasting, tallying up to throwing away hours of my life, and why I felt constantly bad and anxious. Now when I am bored, I read, walk, send voice notes to friends, or work on projects that excite me for the right reasons — things that actually add value to my life.

This shift in perspective has also changed how I approach work and travel. I used to say “yes” to every travel planning project and every client because I wanted to make others happy, to get them to like me, to validate that I was needed when it came to planning these huge life adventures. But now, I truly feel like I have the agency to say no to projects I don’t want to work on or don’t think I could add value to. I only say yes to clients I’m passionate about working with, clients whose needs I truly understand.

I still love exploring and traveling, but not at breakneck speeds. I found myself taking 10-12 international trips a year, and it was clearly taking a physical and mental toll on my body. Of course, the trips were for me and I chose to go on them, but a lot of the time, I felt like I had to constantly post about my whereabouts and the fine details of every vacation, justifying it by telling myself it was work! People needed to know where I was, and that I was competent in planning a wonderful time! Yes, I still love to travel, but I’m choosing to also love the day-to-day stillness, vacations with a less rigid schedule and more spontaneity, and not having my real-time location known by anyone and everyone.

I’ve spent the last few weeks in nature, photosynthesizing with a book in my hand, and holding hands with the people I love as much as possible. I’ve danced more in the past month than I had in the past 4 months combined. This slowness and stillness and self-awareness has made the end of summer feel like an extended-release capsule of warmth and positivity, a welcome reprieve from the preceding months that flew by in fear and worry.

A few weeks of beach walks, no makeup, 10 mile hikes, mom time, impromptu swimming in underwear at the lake, epic snack plates, watching the moon rise, and communing with nature

This dive into self-discovery, reprioritizing self-love, and stepping away from screens has been the best vacation I’ve ever taken. I finally have a quiet mind, a break from all the noise of the world, and I’ve started realizing what I love, without the opinions and influences of others.

Here’s what I know about myself:

I love to write my newsletter, and I don’t care who reads it. I will continue writing it, because it brings me immense amounts of joy.

I love dancing with friends and family, and I don’t care what I look like when I’m doing it.

I love friend dates and spending time with those I love, but I hate shallow conversation — I want to ask and be asked more questions. I want to talk about the hard things because they’re worth talking about, and I want to celebrate the most simple joys with the people I love. I am done with small talk.

I love taking myself on dates to bookstores and coffee shops. I love taking edibles and wandering around art museums looking at impressionist paintings. I love spending time with myself.

I love being in the ocean, swimming, floating, and feeling weightless. When I am at the beach, I feel most connected to nature and the universe.

I love my home. I love being a mom and I love my family. I love the family I’ve chosen and worked hard to build.

I love bringing people together for moments of connectedness, whether it’s planning a dinner party or a friend trip. I love travel, and I love planning meaningful trips and adventures for others, especially if these trips provide people with growth opportunities and exposure to new things and experiences. This is my purpose in life.

I don’t know how long this vacation from validation and overstimulation will last.But what I do know is that things cannot go back to how they were, and if I ever do come back to social media again, it will be on my terms, with strict guardrails in place. I honestly do miss knowing what my friends are doing and where they are. I feel disconnected, and I’ve missed the announcement of some major life events. I hate that I feel like I need social media so I can be clued in on these big moments — engagements, wedding photos, birth announcements. I don’t miss posting, but I do crave being a lurker and passively observing the lives of the ones I love.

This is the new chapter of my life — a chapter where self-love, clarity, and meaningful experiences take center stage. I look back at all the wonderful, freeing vacations I’ve taken, and the ones where I was completely off the grid stand out to me the most—like climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I felt such a sense of peace and accomplishment being away from everything I knew, away from all the comforts I was used to, away from all of the noise, deeply connected with the world and its wonder and mystery.

Maybe the biggest mountain I’ve climbed, after all, is this climb to self-realization and the pinnacle of self-love. I hope that you, reader, understand that you deserve a love summit of your own.