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.

What Our Alaska Cruise Taught Me About Slowing Down

I will always remember my first trip to Alaska, and I hope it’s the first of many. 

What stays with me most isn’t a single excursion or a checklist moment. It’s the memory of sitting on a lower deck, wrapped in stillness, watching mountains and water slide past as if time itself had decided to be gentle for once. Sometimes we watched for whales. Sometimes we waited a long time and saw nothing at all. And somehow, that waiting was part of the beauty. 

There was no rush to fill the space. 

That rhythm carried through the entire trip. We were laid back in a way that felt natural, not forced. There was a lot of connection. With each other. With family who came along. With new friends we met somewhere between sea days and shared meals. Conversations unfolded slowly, the way they do when no one is checking the clock. 

Even the ports felt different. Unhurried. We wandered more than we planned. We didn’t feel the need to “do it all.” Some of my favorite moments came from stopping into small shops and talking with the people who worked there, asking what it’s like to live and work in these places we were only passing through. Their stories added texture to the trip, grounding it in real life instead of postcard perfection. 

Looking back, I realize Alaska didn’t just slow me down while I was there. It changed how I travel now. 

I notice myself choosing fewer plans. Leaving room to sit, to watch, to wait. I care less about squeezing in everything and more about how a place feels while I’m in it, and how I feel when I leave. That trip taught me that not every beautiful moment announces itself loudly. Some of them drift by quietly, asking only that you stay long enough to notice. 

The best souvenirs are the habits we bring home. 

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