Perhaps We Need to Learn to Enjoy

I have been thinking a lot lately about how difficult it seems to be for some of us to simply be happy.

Not to achieve happiness.
Not to earn it.
Not to arrive somewhere first.

Just to enjoy.

I come across many achievers and performers in my work, perhaps because I recognise them so easily. I am one of them.

We know how to do. We know how to take responsibility, create, perform, organise, build and keep moving. We can become remarkably good at turning something we love into our work.

But there is a strange danger hidden there.

When you get to do more of what you love, you may simply end up doing more.

When even what you love becomes work

I was deeply touched recently watching the documentary Ismo – Maailman hauskin ulkopuolinen, about Finnish comedian Ismo Leikola.

His journey is extraordinary. From performing in front of small audiences in Finland to becoming known internationally as the “world’s funniest man”, filling larger and larger venues and having his work seen by millions.

It is wonderful when somebody manages to build a life around something they genuinely love.

And yet what stayed with me was something much quieter.

The work.

The endless work behind what from the outside may look like success, freedom and even glamour.

There really isn't much glamour in working all the time.

You can work a full day doing something you love. You can do it again tomorrow. You can eventually create a life in which there is always another idea, another audience, another opportunity and another thing that could be done.

And somewhere along the way you may have to learn something surprisingly difficult:

how to enjoy it.

Building a life with space in it

That thought has stayed with me because I am consciously building my own life differently now.

I work as a travel coach and happiness coach. I take people on journeys. I walk beside them, listen, reflect, create experiences and hopefully help them see something about their own lives more clearly.

For me this work is not separate from life. It is very much a lifestyle choice.

People can connect with me in Finland, Spain and sometimes somewhere in between. My surroundings change with the seasons. My work moves with me.

But I no longer want to fill every available space with it.

That is perhaps one of the biggest changes I have made.

I used to look at an empty space in my calendar and think:

What can I put there?

Today I am learning to think:

Does something need to be there at all?

I want the things I say yes to to remain meaningful.

And that also requires learning to say no.

Not only to things we don't want.

Sometimes we need to say no to perfectly good opportunities.

Because there is another question beneath all the opportunities:

Can I still hear myself?

Listening before the world gets loud

My mornings have become very important to me for this reason.

Before I look at my phone, I listen.

I open the window or balcony door and step outside. I breathe in the morning. I stretch and move my body a little and notice how I actually feel.

I prepare my matcha.

Then I sit down and write my morning notes.

Nothing sophisticated. Dreams, thoughts, something that has stayed with me overnight, a feeling I cannot yet explain.

I listen to myself before I begin listening to the rest of the world.

Only after that do I make my juice, pick up the phone and allow the day to begin.

And I try to continue that listening throughout the day.

I keep the appointments I have made and do the work that matters. But I give myself pauses.

I walk.

I exercise.

I do Pilates.

I spend time with horses.

I take the bike out, although these days with a little more caution.

And sometimes I simply go outside.

These things are not what I do when the important work is finished.

They are part of the important work.

Because the person living your life needs to stay present inside it.

Keep yourself with you

Perhaps this is one of the problems we achievers face.

We become so focused on where we are going that we slowly leave ourselves behind.

We manage our schedules, projects, businesses, families, goals and responsibilities.

But do we remain good company for ourselves?

I am beginning to believe that when you can hear yourself, respect your own rhythm and live reasonably close to your values, something else happens too.

You become better company for other people.

More present.

More curious.

More generous.

More alive.

Perhaps even more attractive, and not because you are achieving more, but because there is room around you.

You are actually there.

Happiness may be a practice

Finns are often introduced to the world as the happiest people on earth.

Yet happiness is not something even Finns automatically know how to feel.

Maybe happiness is not the prize waiting for us when the work is finished.

Maybe it is a practice.

Pausing long enough to notice the morning.

Leaving something undone.

Walking into the forest.

Saying no.

Laughing.

Stretching your body.

Listening to yourself before listening to everybody else.

And allowing yourself to enjoy what you have already created.

Perhaps some of us don't need to learn how to achieve more.

Perhaps we need to learn how to enjoy more.

Keep yourself with you.

Throughout the day.
Throughout the week.
Throughout the journey.

Give yourself some of your own time.

And enjoy the process of being happy.

If these thoughts resonate with you, I invite you to explore where you are, what you may need more or less of, and what happiness could look like in your life in a complimentary Discovery Call with me.

Photo by Claudia Boos.

Finnish Happiness Camp: What Can Happen in Two Days?

Not much. And everything.

We continue to protect ourselves from others, from a world that meets each of us differently, and from ourselves, the thoughts and old stories we carry. We cross our arms without even noticing.

When I welcome people to the 2-Day Finnish Happiness Camp, I begin with simple questions.

Where are you now? How do you feel?

As we leave the city behind and make our way to Blueberry Villa on its island, we cross bridges where Lake Saimaa stretches out on both sides of the road. The conversation slowly settles into what each of us has brought along in our invisible backpack.

Arriving Without Expectations

When we arrive, I invite you to pause.

This is your time. Your time only. Time you have deserved and chosen for yourself.

You do not have to do anything. You may simply sit on your chosen corner of the terrace or the pier and listen to the birds.

After local refreshments; spruce tip refreshments, fresh strawberries, rye crisps with goat cheese, we wander into the garden and forest, following whatever feels most alive that day. Perhaps it is foraging, walking quietly beneath the pines, reflecting together, or taking to the water.

Lake Saimaa usually has the strongest pull.

We row to nearby rock paintings, created more than 5,000 years ago, where our ancestors travelled these waters as their highway and settled beneath the ancient Castle Rock. The lake has always connected people, and somehow it still does.

The Quiet Magic of a Nordic Summer

There is something magical about Nordic summers.

The white nights. The soft evening light. Collecting wildflowers for midsummer crowns.

The gentle act of gathering flowers and weaving them together becomes a quiet reflection on our own lives; choosing what still calls us forward and leaving behind what no longer belongs.

Nobody knows you here.

There may be a public version of you somewhere else, but that is only one part of who you are. Here, you are free to set every role aside.

You need no titles, no expectations, no hats.

Only your new crown.

The Sauna, the Lake and the Senses

We slowly light the fire in the 18th-century wood-burning lakeside sauna and prepare fresh birch whisks, gently blessing ourselves as generations before us have done.

The warmth of the sauna followed by a swim in Lake Saimaa becomes one of the most natural ways to experience the Finnish summer, with every sense awake. The heat, the cool water, the scent of birch, the silence, the smooth stones beneath your feet.

Become aware of your senses.

Perhaps somewhere along the way you notice yourself crossing a threshold.

Simple Food, Deep Nourishment

Dinner is built around the season.

Fresh salads, local cheeses, rye bread, new potatoes, salmon smoked or baked with chanterelle sauce gathered from our own grounds, and blueberry pie with a rye crust served with vanilla sauce.

Simple, pure tastes.

The kind that remind us how little we actually need.

Just Be

As the evening sun turns red and melts into the lake, colouring the water with the sky itself, there is nothing left to do.

Only be.

Not do.

We often speak about being human beings, not human doings.

And I quietly ask:

Who are you when you are no longer defined by doing?

Taking Something Home

The next morning begins slowly, entirely at your own pace.

Perhaps you swim before breakfast. Perhaps you pick blueberries in the garden, sit on the terrace, or spend a quiet moment with the horses grazing in the neighbouring field before riding through the forest.

Brunch is filled with local favourites: homemade lepuskas, rye bread, Karelian pies, nettle and feta omelette, homemade juices, berries, yoghurt, muesli, tea and coffee.

Before we say goodbye, I hand you a small card or one of my little signature notebooks.

I invite you to write.

What are you taking with you?

What did you realise during this pause? During this sensory awareness?

You tell me what you want to carry into everyday life, and together we reflect on how that new understanding can become part of the way you live, long after you leave Blueberry Villa.

Leaving With Open Arms

At the pier, there is one final goodbye to the lake.

Some people throw a small stone into the water. Others choose one to take home, a quiet reminder of this place, together with the note or drawing they created.

They spread their arms wide and simply twirl in the wind.

I trust your inner nature.

Like the willow that bends with the wind without breaking. Like plants that somehow find their way through concrete toward the light.

This weekend's Finnish Happiness Camp was beautiful.

The arms that arrived crossed tightly over the chest left wide open.

Sometimes, happiness doesn't arrive because we find something new.

Sometimes, it arrives because, for two quiet days, we finally remember who we were before we began protecting ourselves.

I remain here for you. You can book Your Happiness Camp here.