What Alaska Did to My Sense of Time (And Why I Keep Thinking About It) 💛

I ordered reindeer sausage from a café in Alaska because the sign on the door told me to.

Not literally. But it was RIGHT THERE, and I am not the kind of person who walks past reindeer sausage and does nothing about it. That is not how I travel. That is not how I live.

It was amazing, for the record. Slightly smoky, a little sweet. I think about it more than I should.

That moment — seeing something unexpected and just going for it — is kind of the whole story of Alaska for me. I went in knowing it would be beautiful. I did not expect it to be the kind of beautiful that makes you go quiet without meaning to. The kind that makes you put your phone down not because you remembered to, but because you forgot it was there.

I kept waiting for a lull. You know that feeling on a trip where you've done the big thing and now you're just killing time until dinner? I kept bracing for it. It never came.

The wildlife showed up like it had somewhere to be and was just passing through — which, it turns out, it was. The history was layered and surprising and kept making me want to ask more questions. The people we met, both locals and the folks we cruised with, were the kind that make you think why don't I know more people like this at home? And the scenery kept delivering in a way that felt almost unfair. Like Alaska knew exactly what it was doing and had absolutely zero humility about it.

In Juneau, we had one of the best excursions of the whole trip — the kind that hits every note without you being able to explain exactly why afterward. (If you want the full breakdown of our favorite stops, I wrote about those here.) And then, the moment the excursion ended, the sky opened up. Not a sprinkle. A full, dramatic, Alaska-is-done-with-you-now downpour. We made it back to the ship. Others from different excursions weren't so lucky — the storm came in fast and not everyone got back before it got serious.

We stood on deck watching the rain and I thought: we timed that perfectly and it had absolutely nothing to do with us.

That's travel. You plan everything you can and then you stand back and let the weather decide the ending. Alaska is very comfortable making that call for you.

I talk a lot about intentional travel — slower pacing, breathing room, trips that actually feel good instead of just looking good. Alaska didn't require me to try for any of that. It just was that. There was nowhere to rush to. No FOMO. The place itself had this quality where the urgency I carry around at home simply didn't make the trip with me. I've written before about why travel isn't our escape — it's how we maintain our marriage and Alaska was the clearest example of that I've ever had.

I came back slightly more patient. Slightly more willing to look at something without immediately thinking about what comes next. I noticed when it started to fade — that slow exhale that Alaska gives you — which is how I knew it had been real.

I'm in the early stages of putting together a small hosted group cruise to Alaska for 2027 — because I want to bring people there who need exactly what I got. Not the reindeer sausage specifically. (Although truly, do not rule it out.) But that feeling of being somewhere so genuinely big that your regular-life problems shrink down to a manageable size. Where you can't rush the glacier. Where the wildlife is on nobody's schedule but its own.

If you've ever thought Alaska someday — I want to hear from you. Because someday is a lot better when you're not going alone.

Want to be first to know when spots open up? Reset and Roam interest list. I'll reach out personally when we're ready.

Why We Keep Traveling Together

There was a time when travel felt like a reward. 
Something earned after a busy season. Something impressive. Something to “do right.” 

That’s not why we keep traveling now. 

We keep traveling because it’s one of the few spaces left where we can really be together without distraction. No half-listening. No multitasking. No rushing to the next obligation. Just shared time, shared moments, shared stories that don’t need to be documented to matter. 

One of the strongest reminders of this came on a simple trip, not a big one. We didn’t go far. There was no packed itinerary. But something shifted. We talked more. We noticed things about each other that had been buried under routine. We laughed at things that wouldn’t have surfaced at home. The trip didn’t change our relationship because of where we went. It changed it because we were finally in the same place, mentally and emotionally, at the same time. 

Travel has changed for us as life has changed. 

It used to be about squeezing everything in. Early mornings. Late nights. Checking boxes. Now it’s slower. More intentional. Built around energy, not ambition. Around presence, not performance. We leave space. We choose comfort sometimes over novelty. We plan knowing that people bring their whole selves with them, not just their excitement. 

And that’s exactly why it works. 

Showing up together matters more than the destination ever could. Because trips are rarely just about the trip. They’re about what happens when you step outside your usual patterns and see each other more clearly. They’re about remembering how to be teammates. About learning how someone rests. What they need. What they enjoy when nothing else is competing for their attention. 

You don’t need a bucket-list destination for that. 
You don’t need a perfect plan. 

You just need the choice. 

Travel is just another way of choosing each other. 

Not rushed or overstuffed.
Not built around proving we did everything.

Built around connection first.
Energy that fits.
Space to experience a place without losing each other in it.

💛 If you enjoy thoughtful travel and connection-first trips, join the newsletter here.