From Alone to Aligned: How a Lakeside Cabin Taught Me to Listen

Not long ago, the thought of solo travel—or even a weekend cottage trip—made me pause. I was used to being surrounded: by people, work, responsibilities, the constant motion of a busy life. But before I even realized burnout was knocking, I sought space and solitude. Not just physical distance, but emotional space. Space to hear my own thoughts again.

I returned to something deeply familiar: the Finnish lakeside. A simple Blueberry Villa my father built in the 1990s. A silent forest—or so it seemed. I used to hate driving there alone, getting busy with the garden, treating the terraces and pier, or clearing the forest. We’re self-sufficient there: wood-burning oven, fireplace, and a lakeside sauna tucked into our own woods.

At first, I brought all my thoughts with me—the mental noise, the pressure to produce, the urge to fill the silence. But over time, the quiet worked its way in. While exhausting myself outdoors, I noticed the gentle fall of a pinecone, the texture of birch bark, the whisper of the lake, the humming of the tall pines on our land, a place we call the Pineman. The forest was not so silent after all.

I began to relax during my weekend getaways, becoming mindful of the path with its exposed roots leading from the villa to the lakeside, listening to the waves while sitting on the pier, simply enjoying the stillness. The traditional sauna ritual—throwing water on the hot stove, listening to the fire crackling beneath it, and dipping into the cold lake between steam baths—was profoundly calming. I swam in icy water, and something in me softened. I didn’t need to speak to belong. Nature welcomed me without needing me to be anything more than I was.

I realized I was alone, but I wasn’t lonely. I was part of nature—something bigger. I was beginning to feel again. I started journaling—not because I had to, but because my hands wanted to remember what my heart was trying to say.

Though the awakening during my sabbatical journey changed me, I realized I had already taken the first steps earlier. Transformation isn’t a single event; it’s a series of quiet, essential shifts. The times spent at our lakeside cottage reawakened my senses and kept me going. They gave me clarity—then and now. They reminded me of something vital: the journey back to ourselves often begins with the simplest acts of presence. Since I managed alone there, I could manage journeying anywhere. Everything beyond that only added to my contentment.

This experience became the foundation for my signature program at The Journey Studio: Back to Your Senses.

It’s a guided path to reconnect with what you may have lost touch with—your body, your emotions, your sense of wonder, and the clarity that comes from being truly present once you start to listen.

The program is built around five natural elements:

• Earth for grounding and physical awareness

• Water for emotional flow and softness

• Fire for courage and personal ignition

• Air for mental clarity and breath

• Space for stillness, intuition, and trust

You can begin with 1:1 coaching from anywhere in the world. Or, you can join me in Finland at a peaceful lakeside villa, embracing the roots of Finnish happiness—or in Spain, where we walk and reflect among mountain paths, citrus groves, and ancient watchtowers. Each experience is curated not just to inspire—but to help you listen.

Because when you start to listen, you start to return to yourself.

If you're navigating a life transition, healing from burnout, or simply feeling called to explore your next chapter more consciously, this program is for you.

Learn more about the Back to Your Senses Life Reconnection Signature Program or schedule a free clarity call at www.thejourneystudio.co

Solo Travel: From Fear to Freedom

After years of traveling with family, I found myself in unfamiliar territory—alone. My children had moved out, and I had separated. Business trips on my own had always been manageable, but the thought of solo leisure travel made me cringe. I remember driving to our family cottage, teeth gritted, struggling to embrace the solitude.

And yet, looking back, I realize I’ve always enjoyed little solo moments—even on trips with others. Whether sneaking off to a museum, climbing a hill to explore a fortress, or wandering through a park, I’ve always found joy in those spontaneous encounters with nature, art, and culture. Still, there was a quiet hesitation about taking a full trip alone. As a woman, it didn’t quite feel natural. There’s a saying that you shouldn’t travel with someone you don’t love—but even when love is there, schedules rarely align.

Maybe I had simply sat with my solitude long enough. Maybe I had grown. Or maybe the title “sabbatical journey” sounded just grand enough to give myself permission. Whatever it was, I felt ready—excited, and terrified.

From the start, there were challenges: language barriers, navigation issues, strange door locks, power outages, and the ever-present need to plan for safety and timing. But I’ll never forget the thrill of that first full day—driving across Spain, meeting my deadlines, and finding my way. When I finally reached the Valencian coast before sunset, I unpacked in a tiny Airbnb and walked down to the beach. The sea whispered softly, the wind gentle against my face. I wept—not out of fear, but from relief, joy, and pride. I had made it. On my own. And it was more than okay. It was beautiful.

Solo travel became a grounding, empowering experience—one that now strengthens how I move through daily life. I learned to ask for help, to adapt, to trust. Gradually, the anxiety faded. I found myself meeting wonderful people, stumbling into unexpected experiences, and noticing things I might never have if someone had been beside me.

That’s the magic of solo travel: your attention shifts inward and outward at once—not toward someone else, but toward yourself and the world around you.

Now, I recommend solo travel to everyone, especially those navigating change. Whether it’s a weekend away or a long sabbatical, go when you're ready, and let the road meet you where you are. We are different travelers on different journeys, each one leading to another. Traveling solo to meet friends or join a retreat is a beautiful way to begin—traveling alone, together.

As a transformative travel coach, this is one of my passions—supporting others through life transitions or reflective chapters to plan and embark on solo journeys. I offer guidance before, during, and after the trip, helping travelers integrate their insights and carry them home.

Because the real journey often begins the moment we return.

Learn how you can begin your journey.

How the journey began

The first step wasn’t Machu Picchu. It was exhaustion.

I had been running on empty. My days were filled with responsibility, achievement, and the subtle weight of being everything to everyone—except myself. I knew something had to shift. My body knew it before I did. My spirit had started to whisper what my mind tried to ignore: You’re burned out. You’re disconnected. You need more.

People take breaks for all kinds of reasons and spend them in countless ways. For me, it was clear from the start—during my sabbatical, I would travel. But not just anywhere. And not to escape. I would travel to reconnect, to recover, and, if possible, to rediscover who I was beyond my roles, routines, and responsibilities.

The Route

I’d been planning the journey for a year—maybe longer, if I’m honest with myself. The decision to apply for a sabbatical came from a deep inner nudge that kept growing louder. I needed self-love and self-care. I needed soul searching. I needed to feel alive again, to build back the courage I feared I had lost.

I mapped my route with intention: Peru, where I would climb Machu Picchu—something I had dreamed of for years. But before that, a meaningful stopover: Iceland, a place that called to my curiosity and solitude. It would be a journey between two sacred landscapes. I’d travel alone—but not to isolate. I still longed to meet people, to see the world through fresh eyes. I just needed to begin on my own.

What I Carried

Before I fully understood what I was doing—or what it would do to me—I began stripping things away.

• My car: a symbol of status and control.

• My jewelry, clothes, and career wardrobe: curated identities I no longer wanted to perform.

• My environment: even my organization changed during my leave, as if life was quietly aligning with my internal shifts.

Transformation isn’t always a thunderclap. It’s often subtle, layered, and slow. There wasn’t one moment of change, but many. Moments of truth, of pause, of awakening. Some came before the trip, others mid-flight, and many more are still unfolding.

What I Sought

I didn’t just want a vacation—I needed to feel something new, to step away from the familiar, to find zest for life again. I longed to be inspired, to discover who I was without the structure of my career, my relationships, or the labels I had worn for so long.

I was curious. I was afraid.
But I was ready to move.

Transformation, for me, meant creating space to ask:
What makes me feel alive?
What do I need to feel like myself again?
What would happen if I followed that?

This journey wasn’t just about geography. It was personal. And though I didn’t yet know it, I was beginning something that would change how I live, love, work—and travel—forever.

Learn how you can begin your journey as well.