If the sea is the same, why does it feel different here?

On travel, distance, and the quiet shift that happens inside

I keep thinking about that quiet shift - the one that happens inside you. When your brain slows down, your shoulders drop, and the noise in your head softens from a shout to a whisper.

I feel it here, in this little corner of Croatia. Swimming in water that holds you differently - not just cooling your skin, but clearing the clutter upstairs. And yet, I live in Bali? A place many dream about, the place they call their escape.

So why does this island, far from home, calm me more than where I actually live?

Travel is strange like that. You fly across the world to do what you could’ve done down the road: swim, sip or scull your morning coffee, read by the sea. The actions don’t change, but the feeling does. The permission to be different does.

I talked to a local who couldn’t believe we came all this way. “But you live in Bali,” he said, half amazed, half confused.

It’s funny how we want what someone else has - the unfamiliar feels like freedom, even if it’s just different from what we know.

Maybe it’s not the place that shifts us, but the distance it creates.

The time difference lets me be selfish. “Sorry, I’m eight hours behind. I’ll get back to you later.” A built-in excuse to slow down, one I definitely utilised this trip.

Maybe it’s the chance to put myself first. To choose a one-hour laze and swim combo before my daughter wakes over emails, without guilt. To pick the calm, finally, over the busy. To be lazy, or selfish, and not actually feel bad about it.

There’s so much noise every day - WhatsApp buzzing, Shopify dings, 27 emails waiting each morning. But here, the noise feels softer.

The chaos doesn’t stop; I just don’t let it crowd me.

That’s what travel gives me: permission to be a calmer version of myself.

The one who doesn’t check her phone every five minutes.
The one who reads a whole book (granted, over 7 weeks but I’ll take the win here).
The one who listens to the sea and lets her brain rest.

Truthfully, I’m learning if I can carry that calm back home - I’m not entirely sure it’s possible, but it could be a work in progress.

Can I stand on the beach 15 minutes away and say, “This is enough”?
Can I give myself that permission without the flight, the time zones, the distance?

I don’t know yet. But I’m holding onto the question.

Because maybe the sea doesn’t change - maybe it’s us.