This past week marked my first full immersion into a slower, more intentional rhythm of living — one rooted in presence, nourishment, and trust. Rather than rushing through days or striving for productivity, I allowed each day to unfold as it was meant to, listening closely to my body, my nervous system, and the subtle cues of alignment.
What emerged was a week that felt deeply full — not because it was busy, but because it was lived.
Monday, January 5 — Learning the Rhythm of Enough
Today marked my first full day settled into Florida—not arriving, not transitioning, but being. The subtle work of adjusting had already begun: finding a rhythm, letting routines take shape, allowing work and rest to coexist without urgency.
The day started simply and well—grounding, walking along the white sandy beach, feeling my body recalibrate to warmth and light. One of the purest joys came from watching my dog experience the beach for the very first time. The white sand. The shimmer on the water. The waves rolling in with intention. Her curiosity, hesitation, and delight mirrored something in me. We didn’t stay long—just a few minutes—but the joy lingered far beyond the moment.
Later, I walked to a nearby yoga studio and thought, This is literally a dream. The space was perfect. The teacher welcoming. The warm vinyasa flow was exactly what my body and nervous system needed to begin a Monday. The studio was attached to a coffee shop, so I grabbed an iced coffee for myself and a sweet treat for Mike—small rituals that somehow made the day feel complete.
Stepping back outside, I realized I didn’t need my sweatshirt. In January. Walking down the street in a tank top, sun on my skin, I felt the contrast sharply from yesterday’s chilly wind. This is my Monday morning, I thought. And it felt like a gift—one that grounded me before stepping into my workday and holding space for clients. I noticed how resourced I felt, how much more present I could be. A better version of myself showed up because I had tended to myself first.
After finishing with clients, I sensed I might catch the last glimmer of sunset. I took the dog out and walked toward the edge of the neighborhood just in time to see the sky soften into stunning hues—pinks and golds framed by palm trees. I captured a few photos, knowing some beauty is meant to be witnessed, not rushed past. Palm trees always hit differently.
Friends and family checked in throughout the day, asking how things were going. I felt an immense sense of love—people genuinely happy for me, cheering me on in this experience. Even after just two full days here, I can feel the pace slowing. There’s more quality time, more presence, more ease. My dog seems happy too—absorbing new sights, sounds, and sensations. She’s exhausted by the end of the day, but it’s the good kind of tired. The satisfied kind.
Tonight, I found myself thinking: I think this might be what “full” really means.
Not busy.
Not packed.
But nourished.
Tuesday, January 6 — When Life Quietly Aligns
Today I found myself reflecting on all the unseen pieces that had to move, dissolve, and rearrange for me to be exactly where I am right now—renting a condo for a month in Florida, waking up to the sound of the ocean, and living days that feel intentionally chosen rather than narrowly survived.
I had to get divorced a few years ago for this door to open. That ending created space for a relationship rooted in shared values—someone who desires this slower, more intentional way of living, and who also carries the flexibility of working remotely. If COVID hadn’t happened six years ago, I likely wouldn’t be in this position either—able to work fully remote, shape my schedule, and build days that support both my nervous system and my health.
Financially, things have shifted too. I now feel stable enough to say yes to opportunities like this—opportunities that once felt out of reach or irresponsible, but now feel aligned and earned.
My cancer remaining stable has been another quiet miracle. Stretching oncology visits, bloodwork, and infusions from monthly to every three months has given me a sense of spaciousness I didn’t know I was longing for. Time no longer feels so tightly gripped. There is room to breathe.
This morning still felt surreal—waking up and walking to the yoga studio for the second workday in a row. The hot Bikram-style class challenged me physically, mentally, and emotionally. It reminded me how deeply nourishing it is to move differently, to sweat, to meet resistance, and to stay present through it.
At one point, the teacher said something that landed straight in my body:
The body wants to heal. It knows how to heal. Our job is simply to get out of its way and allow it.
That truth echoed through me long after class ended.
As I continue prioritizing cleanliness inside the body and experimenting with new rhythms here, I notice how alive I feel. I can step out of the condo within minutes and walk barefoot on the beach. The simplicity of it feels radical.
Watching the dog discover the ocean has been pure joy—her curiosity, hesitation, and excitement unfolding moment by moment. I’ve caught myself more focused on capturing her experience than my own, filling my phone with videos and photos. Somewhere in that tenderness, I realized something clearly and without urgency:
The time is now.
I am finally creating the life I’ve always wanted.
Not chasing it—living it.
And now, my intention is simple: to let this stick.
Wednesday, January 7 — Settling Into Rhythm
Today felt like a quiet return to a familiar weekday rhythm — not rushed, not forced, just gently unfolding.
I woke up and began the morning with a coffee enema, which felt like a reset, a clearing that set the tone for the day. I made myself pasteurized organic eggs and enjoyed breakfast alone on the condo deck, amused by the warmth of the sun and the perfect temperature in the air. I could feel my body craving the beach — the pull was undeniable — so after eating, I took a short walk down to the sand before stepping back into my workday.
What stayed with me all day was a deep sense of gratitude. The simplicity of being able to do this — to live, work, and move between responsibility and pleasure with such ease — felt almost unreal. The weather was ideal, and I noticed an inner tension: the desire to be outside all day, barefoot and present, alongside the discipline of showing up for work. I had to gently remind myself that this life allows for flexibility, and that balance doesn’t require deprivation.
I reflected on how my life didn’t unfold into having children or a traditional family structure, and how that has created space for a different kind of freedom. I can prioritize my clients, show up virtually, and still design my days with intention and beauty. There was no grief in this reflection — just honesty and acceptance.
After finishing sessions, I stepped outside almost immediately, walking barefoot on the beach for the final moments of sunset. Later, back at the condo, I made dinner, soaked in the outdoor hot tub while returning calls, and reconnected with friends. It felt full in the most nourishing way.
At times, I catch myself wondering how to make this kind of life permanent — how to stop dreaming and turn it into a long-term reality. But today reminded me of something essential: this is my reality right now. Nothing is missing. What exists in this moment is enough, and enjoying it fully doesn’t require planning the next chapter.
All that is here now is sufficient. And for today, that is all I need.
Thursday, January 8 — A Morning That Sets the Tone
I woke and walked straight to the beach, feet sinking into the sand, beginning my breathwork as the day quietly opened. It felt almost unreal—this simple act, this rhythm—like there could be no better way to start a morning. A long-held dream, lived in real time.
The short walk to and from the beach, done in solitude, allowed me to connect more deeply with nature. I noticed the varying colors of hibiscus flowers, vibrant and unapologetic. Animals seemed drawn in—squirrels darting nearby, cats lingering, dogs passing as if we were all sharing the same unspoken agreement to slow down and notice.
The forecast had promised clouds all day, yet as soon as I finished my breathwork, the sun began to peek through. It felt like an awakening—not just of the sky, but of the day itself. A quiet reminder that timing doesn’t always follow prediction, but it does follow presence.
I jumped in the car and headed to a fresh market just minutes up the road—grass-fed meats, international cheeses, carefully selected wines, and local, vibrant foods. On the way back to the condo, I stopped for coffee and breakfast at a neighborhood café, then walked in the sunshine to the yoga studio.
Thursday brought a Yin and meditation class, and it felt like the nervous system reset I didn’t know I was craving after settling into the week. There was a softness in my body afterward, a sense of being recalibrated from the inside out.
Because I had prioritized the morning for self-care—my favorite things, done without rushing—I was able to be fully present with my virtual clients. There was no pulling or pushing, just a steady offering of attention and care.
After logging off, I walked the dog as the sun dipped below the horizon, exploring a few different neighborhoods, quietly visualizing what it might feel like to make this life a permanent reality.
The evening closed much like home: a simple homemade steak dinner paired with a glass of red wine. I felt deeply grateful—for the balance of the day, for the way each moment had supported the next. Content. Satisfied. Joyful.
Friday, January 9 — Rejuvenation in Motion
Friday felt rejuvenating.
I started my morning early, settling into a rhythm that already feels like my own. I walked to the yoga studio for a hot Pilates class, letting my body wake up through movement and heat. Afterward, I walked back and prepared breakfast, enjoying it quietly on the balcony before stepping straight into my workday.
Even though it was a weekday, the day didn’t feel rushed or depleted. It felt intentionally created — balanced, grounded, and spacious.
Later, I noticed the beach alive in a way that still feels surreal for January. Jeeps and cars were parked near the sand dunes. People were sunbathing, riding bikes, walking their dogs, simply enjoying the day. Coming from Maryland, where a beach day in the dead of winter feels nearly impossible, this felt like a quiet kind of luxury — one I didn’t want to rush past or take for granted.
That evening, I went downtown to Saint Augustine for the first time to see the Nights of Lights. I joined a tourist trolley tour, cruising through the city as music filled the air and people gathered in celebration. The energy felt high-vibration, lively, and joyful. I could feel it in my body — a sense of uplift, expansion, and play.
There was something deeply nourishing about the change of scenery and the sense of newness. Even woven into a workday, the experience felt emotionally rich and soul-restoring. A reminder that rejuvenation doesn’t always require escape — sometimes it’s simply about how intentionally a day is shaped.
Saturday, January 10 — A Soul Reset
I woke up this morning and chose to honor what my body was asking for. Instead of pushing myself to attend a hot Pilates class, I allowed a slower start—rising when my body felt ready. I moved simply on the balcony, breathing in fresh air, letting the morning meet me where I was.
I held space for a couple of virtual Saturday clients, reflecting with them on their winter breaks and the feelings that arise as we step into a new year. It felt like an honor—to be a steady base as they found their footing again. After wrapping up the short workday, I planned to take the dog out for a quick walk. Instead, it turned into a spontaneous stroll down the street to the coffee shop—always a special adventure for her, and a reminder for me of the joy of being out in the world, unhurried.
The warmth in the air—the warmest day since arriving here a week ago—mirrored my internal state. It felt like a preview of the beach days still to come. I packed fresh snacks—mixed fruit and hummus—and settled onto my beach blanket. I didn’t feel the need to distract myself with a book. I practiced simple breathwork and let myself soak in the good-feeling energy until evening clouds slowly rolled in.
There was no desire for elaborate Saturday night plans. Instead, I enjoyed what I’ve come to call my favorite kind of evening: a “no-shower happy hour” back on the balcony. Goat cheese, sourdough crackers, apples, organic wine, and the sunset. No urgency. No agenda. Nowhere to be.
It felt like settling into a different frequency of life—laid back, grounded, unforced. A true soul reset. Exactly what I needed.
I ended the day with a FaceTime call with my mom, laughing as I summarized the week and joked about the idea of someday moving here permanently. I felt happy. Content. Grateful. Like I was taking another quiet step toward a full, embodied life—becoming the woman I’ve always felt myself growing toward.
Sunday, January 11 — A Sunday That Nourished Everything
Today truly embodied a full, slow Sunday.
Last night, I felt a spark of excitement when I discovered there was a weekly Sunday farmers market in Saint Augustine—less than ten miles from the condo. Back home, most farmers markets are held on Saturday mornings, which often conflict with my work schedule. Sundays have always felt sacred to me for food shopping and gentle preparation for the week ahead, so this felt like a quiet gift waiting for me to find it.
I rose slowly from bed, honoring my body’s rhythm. A coffee enema to reset from the week, then off to the market. Every stand seemed to call to me. I joked that my credit card company might be concerned by the back-to-back charges, but the energy was so alive and joyful. Organic produce, teas and tinctures, fresh sprouts, mushrooms, olives from Italy, handmade skincare, dog treats—and even a personal sourdough pizza made with fresh ingredients. It felt deeply nourishing, not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually too.
I left the market floating, thinking about the large wicker basket I bought months ago, imagining future farmers market days. Carrying multiple bags today confirmed it—I’ll be back every Sunday while I’m here, and I found myself telling each vendor exactly that.
Though the morning was misty and cool, the sun peeked out just in time for a solo mindfulness walk on the beach. No distractions. No stimulation. Just settling into a gentle pace, letting everything land.
The rest of the day felt like a familiar Sunday rhythm from home: stopping by the fresh markets for the remaining groceries, running produce through the ozone machine, tidying up, washing towels and sheets, changing the bed. I made a nourishing dinner using my farmers market finds, sipped fresh kombucha, and ended the night on the couch—snuggled with the dog, a castor oil pack resting on my belly, journal open.
Earlier, I told my cousin how this way of living feels like my dream. She replied simply, “That’s what we should be doing.” It’s hard to believe it’s only the beginning of the new year. I feel deeply grateful—settled into this rhythm, adjusting to life here, aware that this stay is only a month… or maybe the beginning of something else entirely.
I’ve been attuned to signs everywhere: angel numbers appearing constantly, a tortoise crossing my path on the way to the beach—content, slow, deliberate. And the crows—loud, impossible to ignore—perched in the tree outside the condo as I stepped onto the balcony yesterday morning. Ominous or protective, I’m not sure, but undeniably symbolic.
I live each day excited to see what the universe has in store, trusting that I’m continuing to create a life that feels deeply aligned.
Weekly Journal Reflection Questions
• Where in your life are you learning the difference between being busy and being full?
• What daily rhythms help regulate your nervous system and support your well-being?
• How has your life unfolded differently than you once imagined — and what gifts has that brought?
• Where might you be rushing permanence instead of savoring what already exists?
• What signs, patterns, or moments have been quietly asking for your attention?
• How does your body let you know when something feels aligned?
• What would it look like to trust timing instead of trying to control outcomes?
• If you allowed yourself to live as if the time is now, what would change?
