Space, Time, and Clarity

When Vision Returns

A friend of mine had eye surgery this week. Finally, after gathering courage for a long time. It was high time; his vision had greatly deteriorated. As the procedure is done one eye at a time, he removed the bandage with hesitation. What would he see? Would he see?

And he did.

He saw colors. He saw the world in hues he had forgotten existed. He was so moved by his restored vision that he wept. Now he cannot wait for the second eye to be treated and prefers to rely only on this newly opened eye in the meantime.

We cherish what we regain — especially something as precious as eyesight.

When Life Comes Back Into Focus

There are moments when I feel the same way about my own life. Sometimes I have tears in my eyes from the simple happiness of where I am today. I feel I have my life back; no longer waiting for vacation, for a break, for “someday,” but living fully in each moment.

There is a life waiting for each of us. We sense it. We work toward it. Or we quietly feel that something more is possible.

Things are not always clear. But when we pause, truly pause, and begin listening, reflecting, and gently examining our thoughts, a path starts to appear. When we voice what is within us — to ourselves, to a friend, or to a coach — we begin building forward movement.

The Power of a Pause

There are many ways to pause and reconnect. To understand what brings us joy. What we might release. What we might refine. What we might add.

I believe in slow movement, not performance but presence. Nature helps. So does stepping into new environments. When we expose ourselves to unfamiliar surroundings, we step out of autopilot. We become someone without roles to perform. We see more clearly.

For me, living part of the year in another country creates that space. I cannot control everything. I do not master the language fully. I move through daily life with curiosity rather than certainty. I follow selected news, chosen podcasts, and the rhythm of the place.

Years ago, when I lived in Bangladesh, we experienced long hartals; citywide strikes when driving through Dhaka was not possible. At first, I felt frustrated. Then something shifted. I had no power to change the situation. I could not fix it. I could only stay. And in staying, I relaxed.

There was a profound calm in simply being present with family and neighbors. No urgency. No movement. Just time.

I experience something similar at my Lake Saimaa villa during summer. Days stretch. Nothing demands. We sit on the pier. Time hangs. There is nowhere else to be.

Bringing the Island Home

When I coach people, they often mention Bali, the feeling they had there. I gently ask why. And then why again. And again. What exactly did the island give you?

My intention is not to send them back to Bali. It is to help them bring that feeling into their everyday lives. The calm of the summer cabin. The clarity of a faraway island. The surrender of a moment when you are no longer in control — and it is enough.

To make that clarity last.

To integrate it into daily living.

To return to it whenever needed.

A Gentle Invitation

Clarity does not arrive through force. It arrives through space.

If you feel that something in your life is waiting to come back into focus, perhaps it is time to create intentional space for it, whether through a reflective walk, a slow travel experience, or a structured pause guided by Luontopolku Back to Your Senses®.

Sometimes all it takes is one clear step to begin seeing differently.

Walk gently. Listen deeply. Return to your own nature.

Back in Time

A Saturday at Xaló Market

I return to the Xaló Saturday market every so often.

Sometimes I go searching for something particular. Most often, I go simply to wander along the riverside; to enjoy the music, the hum of mixed European languages, and the possibility of unexpected treasures.

In sunny February, when spring quietly breaks winter’s spell and almond trees begin to bloom, the village feels especially alive. Cyclists move through the narrow streets. Conversations flow in Spanish, Dutch, German, French, English. The market becomes a meeting place of seasons and stories.

A Gift of Time

This week my son is visiting with his friends. I asked him to find a birthday gift during our Xaló day; something I would buy for him, a small reminder of time spent together here.

I wasn’t looking for anything myself. I was simply following the young ones, enjoying their reflections, their laughter, their rhythm.

And yet.

It didn’t take long before I found myself standing before a stack of vinyl records. Ever since restoring the old record player at Blueberry Villa, these records have been quietly calling me.

Recently back in the western saddle with a new quarter gelding as a coachee, I instinctively picked up My Country – Songs, die dir Freiheit geben, with voices like Johnny Cash and Kenny Rogers.

Two euros later, “Country roads, take me home” accompanied me along the riverbank.

Treasures That Carry Stories

There is something about touching and even smelling objects from the past.

They carry lives lived.
Dreams pursued.
Time that has passed and yet lingers.

I have never felt lighter than I do now. Owning less. Needing less.

I admire the handbags I once collected. I smile at the Tiffany lamps I once searched for. Letting go has brought me closer to what truly matters.

I bought one more thing: Jules Verne’s Viaje al Centro de la Tierra in Spanish. It feels like a promise. This will be the first full book I read in my chosen language.

And then, a simple green glass jar for the stones I collect during my walks. It has been empty for a long time. Now it waits again.

The Village That Holds Stories

Our final stop was the Xaló vintage store, always worth visiting. Its owner, a photographer, once captured Finnish band Hanoi Rocks in the 1980s. The shop feels like a museum disguised as a boutique.

Whenever I bring people here, we rarely leave empty-handed. This time, my son found a shirt that felt right. Not because it was needed but because it resonated.

What Is Calling You?

During my retreats, I bring guests to this market at the end of their stay.

Before we begin wandering, I ask them to pause.

To listen.

What is calling you here?
What do you want to carry forward, not just in your bag, but into your life?

It is always meaningful to hear why they choose what they choose.

Often, the object is small. The shift behind it is not.

Choosing How We Spend Our Days

We all choose, every day, how we spend our time.

Slow markets.
Shared afternoons.
A record.
A book.
A jar waiting to be filled.

I have become ever more mindful of how I spend mine.

And if you ever feel called to wander these riverbanks, listen to what is asking to be noticed, or experience the rhythm of this valley more deeply, you are welcome to join me.

Sometimes a market is just a market.

Sometimes it is the beginning of something quieter, and more meaningful.

You can explore further here.