I’ve started noticing a pattern. A slightly concerning one.
Whenever it’s time to book a holiday, I don’t look for luxury resorts. Or crowded beaches. Or places where someone greets you with a welcome drink. No.
Apparently my brain goes:
“How far away from civilisation can we realistically get without needing Bear Grylls?”
Last year we slept in a tipi. In the middle of nowhere in France. No neighbours. No traffic.
Just trees, silence… and me voluntarily jumping off Mont Blanc with a paraglider because apparently sleeping in a tent wasn’t adventurous enough. Completely normal holiday behaviour.
This year?
Italy. Again…In the middle of nowhere. Google Maps confidently guided us to the last paved road…
and then basically said, “You’re on your own now, good luck.”
The final ten minutes were off-road. No phone signal. No Wi-Fi. No civilisation. The nearest neighbours? About six kilometres away. The locals? A family of wild boars. And somewhere around the property, a pack of wolves had been spotted more than once.
Oddly enough… That wasn’t the part that made me uncomfortable. At first, I kept checking my phone.
Nothing.
Still nothing.
Eventually I stopped checking altogether. And that’s when I realised something.
The silence wasn’t empty. It was exactly what I’d been craving. For most of the year my life is wonderfully full.
Work.
Family.
Two kids.
Two rescue dogs.
Deadlines.
Responsibilities.
A brain that always seems to have fifteen browser tabs open.
Out there… None of that followed me. My kids don’t care what my job title is. The dogs certainly don’t. Wild boars aren’t impressed either. And I’m fairly sure wolves don’t hand out LinkedIn endorsements. They only care whether you brought steak. Fair enough.
It made me wonder…
Is booking these ridiculous places an unconscious cry for help? Or is it simply my way of recovering from the life I genuinely love? Because here’s the funny part… I’m not trying to escape my life. I’m trying to escape the noise. There’s a difference. The deeper we’re tucked away from the world… The lighter I seem to feel. No notifications. No expectations. No pressure to be available every second of the day.
Just the people I love. Two slightly spoiled rescue dogs. A freezer full of steak. And enough silence to hear myself think again.
Every year I come home feeling different. Not because I’ve “found myself.” I’ve never looked behind a tree and thought, “Oh… there I am.”
No.
I think I simply leave behind the version of me that believes everything is urgent. Because almost nothing is. Maybe that’s why I keep booking places where Google Maps starts questioning my decisions. Not because I’m running away from life. But because I’m finally running towards the part of it that matters most.
The Woman Behind the Jersey 