"Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without."
I am generally a busy, restless person – the kind who fills her days to the brim and wants to do a bit of everything and, if physically possible, even at the same time. The person who can best attest to this is surely my Mom, whose most frequent reprimands typically involve the need to slow down, to enjoy the now, to meditate, to do nothing for a change.
Although I’ve always had a general propensity to have a full schedule and a full mind, this year has been above average in its complexity. In times like these, you think the worst possible thing you could do is drop everything and leave. Planning a trip adds another series of items to your long to-do list and a whole bunch of decisions to make when the most predominant symptom of your fatigue is precisely the inability to make any decision easily.
But the main decision was made, somehow: I had booked a trip to Corfu, Greece. It was the middle row of a sandwich that involved two other countries (England and Germany), but the ratio of work and play was life’s ideal ratio: one third work, two thirds play. Corfu was a longstanding dream of mine, though I barely knew anything about the place and could not even remember seeing an image of it that could explain why it called me as much as it did.
So, I set out to recenter myself, to regain peace, to heal, to float in salty seas, to rejuvenate in the sun, to take pictures and write, and to refuel after a string of noisy and mentally draining months that would push anyone sane to their limits.
The one third work went fairly well. To my greatest shock, it was the two thirds play that proved to be the challenge. I had always been an expert traveller, in the sense that it never took me long to feel immersed in my new surroundings – meditative and inspired, carefreely collecting moments and memories. This time, it was not happening. A day, two days, three days in Corfu and my mind kept racing, with my words not lagging far behind, spewing out everything my mind touched on, very little of it meditative, inspired or carefree. Everytime I felt myself feel something profound and beautiful, my mind instinctively redirected the thought to a worry or complaint.
It was a bit paradoxical. I was aware of it and totally irritated by it, but I somehow couldn’t change it. I blamed the events of the past months, the race against time that had become a habit, the to-do-lists, the competing priorities, the pettiness of everyday annoyances, the late nights where neither good work nor good sleep could be properly accomplished, the invasive loudness of social media and the multi-tasking while eating. The balance had tipped so far that it just couldn’t regulate itself, at least not without conscious effort.
Has that ever happened to you while trying to relax? It was entirely new to me.
Although I’ve always had a general propensity to have a full schedule and a full mind, this year has been above average in its complexity. In times like these, you think the worst possible thing you could do is drop everything and leave. Planning a trip adds another series of items to your long to-do list and a whole bunch of decisions to make when the most predominant symptom of your fatigue is precisely the inability to make any decision easily.
But the main decision was made, somehow: I had booked a trip to Corfu, Greece. It was the middle row of a sandwich that involved two other countries (England and Germany), but the ratio of work and play was life’s ideal ratio: one third work, two thirds play. Corfu was a longstanding dream of mine, though I barely knew anything about the place and could not even remember seeing an image of it that could explain why it called me as much as it did.
So, I set out to recenter myself, to regain peace, to heal, to float in salty seas, to rejuvenate in the sun, to take pictures and write, and to refuel after a string of noisy and mentally draining months that would push anyone sane to their limits.
The one third work went fairly well. To my greatest shock, it was the two thirds play that proved to be the challenge. I had always been an expert traveller, in the sense that it never took me long to feel immersed in my new surroundings – meditative and inspired, carefreely collecting moments and memories. This time, it was not happening. A day, two days, three days in Corfu and my mind kept racing, with my words not lagging far behind, spewing out everything my mind touched on, very little of it meditative, inspired or carefree. Everytime I felt myself feel something profound and beautiful, my mind instinctively redirected the thought to a worry or complaint.
It was a bit paradoxical. I was aware of it and totally irritated by it, but I somehow couldn’t change it. I blamed the events of the past months, the race against time that had become a habit, the to-do-lists, the competing priorities, the pettiness of everyday annoyances, the late nights where neither good work nor good sleep could be properly accomplished, the invasive loudness of social media and the multi-tasking while eating. The balance had tipped so far that it just couldn’t regulate itself, at least not without conscious effort.
Has that ever happened to you while trying to relax? It was entirely new to me.
Of course I felt amazed by life on Corfu island. My senses were astonished by everything I saw, smelled, heard, tasted and felt. The only trouble was that my mind was louder than my senses.
On our third day in Corfu, I fell in love with a place called Barbati. On the north-eastern coast of the island, it was known for its gorgeous turquoise waters and for its stunning views of the Albanian hills across the way.
On our third day in Corfu, I fell in love with a place called Barbati. On the north-eastern coast of the island, it was known for its gorgeous turquoise waters and for its stunning views of the Albanian hills across the way.
Barbati from above (C) Veni Etiam Photography
Arriving in Barbati (C) Veni Etiam Photography
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An immediate kinship (C) Veni Etiam Photography
| We parked our little car on top of the cliff and started our walk down what felt like hundreds of steps under the beating sun. I immediately felt a kinship with Barbati. The area of the beach we stumbled upon by chance was secluded and tiny in comparison to the vastness of the sea and the towering Pantokator mountain overhead. |  Down the steps (C) Veni Etiam Photography |
Feeling so small yet so at peace (C) Veni Etiam Photography
I swam out really far, first to see the summit of the mountain behind me, and then as though I was trying to escape, trying to shake off the “other me” who had taken hostage of my free spirit. “Stop!” I told myself when I felt my mind start up again, “Just look. Just feel. Just be!” I floated on my stomach for a while, feeling the waves push and pull me, breathing in the salt as the water played under my nose. I watched the silvery white Albanian hills disappear and reappear between the billowing waves. “Remember this”, I forced myself. “Remember this whenever you mind races, and bring it back to this moment”.
I was grateful for Barbati, because mindfulness and inner peace started to come more naturally to me after that day. It became a priority – the only urgent task. More urgent, still, than seeing everything I had initially set out to see. I could not help but breathe more frequently and more deeply – the waves gave me no other choice. I ate mindfully, slowly, breathing in, listening to locals, looking at the view (and what a view, each time!). I limited time online to a small fraction of my early morning routine, I limited time looking through the day's photos and preferred, instead, to look at what was live in front of me. I acknowledged the to-dos or worries that periodically wafted through my mind; I would deal with all of them when the time came. I embraced the feelings of utter fear as we drove along the narrowest, windiest, cliffiest mountain roads, knowing that a gorgeous beach and an authentic tavern would reward the journey in a short while! I slept late and woke up early, yet I was rested. The days were long and slow and perfect.
Barbati colors (C) Veni Etiam Photography
At times, life takes us far from our center and we have to fight to take control of our core again, to painstakingly sift through what defines us and courageously discard the rest.
A delicate balance (C) Veni Etiam Photography
It seems it is not always the case that a vacation is the cure, nor that a vacation is by default mindful and restful. It really is a conscious choice and a difficult exercise – to recognize when the balance has tipped and to try your hardest to stabilize it again. The trigger can be a person, a moment or a place. In my case, I was grateful to Barbati for throwing me a life-ring.
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