(Or, what happened when I threw out the itinerary and finally listened to that quiet inner voice)
This isn’t an anti-blog. It’s not a rebellion against to-do lists, or a rejection of all the amazing things Bali has to offer. It’s simply an invitation to do things your own way.
There was a plan. There were driving routes, pins saved, and even a driver lined up. Everything was ready to go. But when the time came, something inside me resisted.
Did I really want to be in a car for hours every day? Or did I want to just... be here?
It turns out, I needed to just be.
And yes, at first, I thought the same thing you are probably thinking: What a wasted opportunity.
I told myself that for weeks. But as I adjusted to a new pace and to this completely different shape of “work” and life, I started to realise something deeper was going on. What I really needed was to let my body and mind recalibrate. I had planned for a couple of weeks. It turns out I needed two months and I’m not sure I’m finished yet.
Letting Go, For Real
After reading Michael A. Singer’s The Surrender Experiment, I decided to actually surrender. No plans. No itinerary. No expectations.
And what happened?
I started to open up creatively. With nothing to cling to or push against, my mind was free to wander. And in that space, it began to organise the ideas that had been circling for months, maybe even years. None of this inner work is ever really done, but I felt clearer than I’ve been in a long time.
The Gift of Doing Nothing
Rest is one of those strange concepts in modern life, simultaneously a privilege, a necessity, and, to some, a sign of laziness. Everyone needs it, but very few know how to truly allow it. And when you do, your version may look indulgent to someone else. But honestly?
Who cares. It’s your life. Your body. Your mind.
Only you know what it truly needs. Only you can hear its call for stillness. For silence. For space.
So no, I didn’t repeat all the activities from my previous trips.
No white-water rafting, no ATVs, no hiking, no cooking classes, no coffee plantation tours, no silversmithing. I had one soft, curious day out exploring, and the rest was spent turning inward.
I listened. In every yoga class. In every quiet moment of meditation. In the pauses between writing blog posts. In the scribbled margins of my journal.
Sometimes my inner voice was screaming at me to do more, to be productive. Other times she simply whispered, Thank you.
We’re still getting to know one another. There’s a remembering happening, a reintroduction. And you know what? I kind of love her.
She’s still a bit messy. She swears too much and gets angry at injustice. But she’s warm. She smiles at strangers. She wants to be gentle and fierce in equal measure.
The Ripple Effect
The most surprising thing? Letting go of my own expectations seemed to give my husband permission to unravel, too. As I softened, he did as well. I think the light that began to return to my face and the faces of the strangers smiling back at me mirrored something in him.
It was a shared unravelling. An accidental reminder that we can guide one another home, even when we don’t know we’re doing it.
No Photos, Just Soul Memories
Did I have a better experience than the one I would’ve had if I’d followed the itinerary?
Yes. Without a doubt.
There are no adrenaline photos. No perfectly filtered shots of jungle swings or mountain sunrises. But there are moments etched into my soul. A kind of slow joy that doesn’t scream for attention — it just hums quietly in the background, long after the bags are unpacked.
Permission to Pause
This trip reminded me that we don’t always need to see more or do more to experience more. Sometimes the most profound journey is inward.
Let this be your permission slip, if you need one. To pause. To be still. To wander without a list. To listen to that quiet voice within — and maybe, finally, start to trust her.
