Written February 2023, Fakarava, French Polynesia
One of the things I cherish most about traveling is how it constantly exposes me to different ways of living—ways that make me question what I once thought was necessary. It’s a quiet kind of reassurance, knowing that if life ever starts feeling too rigid, too predictable, too drained of color, I can just leave. I can shift, reshape, rebuild. I can sail into the unknown, drop anchor in the middle of nowhere, and decide to stay a while.
And I do.

Simplicity isn’t a sacrifice — it’s a gift
Arriving at Ramiti, I felt it instantly—this place was different. It wasn’t just the remoteness, though that alone was enough to make the world beyond it feel like a distant dream. It was the way life here seemed to hum at its own rhythm, unbothered by the frantic pace the rest of us so often fall victim to.
No locks on the bungalows because there’s nothing to lock away. Freshly caught fish every day, grilled over an open flame. A communal dinner table where stories stretch longer than the meals themselves. The lull of the Pacific crashing onto the reef, coaxing you to sleep. The first light of morning spilling across the land, gently pulling you back into consciousness.
These people got it, I caught myself thinking. They really got it.
Raw. Calm. Simple. Beautiful.


What belonging really looks like
But what really did it for me was the bird.
A big black seabird, wild and free, who had somehow decided that this was home. Every day, without fail, he would land on his usual branch, survey his kingdom of sea and sky, stretch out his salt-damp wings, and wait. Someone would always toss him a few fish, and he’d accept the offering with the kind of effortless confidence that only comes from knowing you belong.
Watching him, I wondered if I’ve been searching too hard for something he’s always known.
We spend so much of our lives searching for a place where we feel at ease, a place where we don’t have to prove ourselves or hustle for a sense of security. But this bird? He had it figured out. No fear of losing, no need to grasp or cling. Just a quiet knowing that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
And for those few days in Ramiti, so was I.
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