I’m discovering that life, like travel, can mean ‘becoming lighter’.

I’m discovering that life, like travel, can mean ‘becoming lighter’.

Home sweet home. The suitcase and backpack are back on their shelf; a Japanese cat magnet grins on the fridge. The weeping cherry in the front garden is bursting into blossom, and the cats—fresh from their holiday at the Cat Cave—are auditioning for extra snacks. Travel expands me, yes—and coming home frames what has shifted, and what I want to carry forward.
I am home from my first holiday taken purely for pleasure, with my partner, Graham. For 17 days, Graham and I (75 and 74) wandered Japan—from trains to shrines and temples, markets to side streets. We learned about Japan and ourselves as we navigated the heat and explored the complexities of new cities in a new country.

The weather, the walking, the wisdom

We hadn’t realised the weather would sit at around 30 °C most days, with high humidity. Water bottles were our constant companions. The combination taxed our energy, especially on lengthy, organised walking tours with many steps. Busy train stations felt overwhelming at first—rivers of people flowing north, south, east, and west. And yet somehow, never a push or a shove: a quiet choreography, everyone seemingly gracefully gliding to where they needed to be.
By the final day, we were fitter thanks to all that walking. We also became wiser about conserving energy: when in doubt, we opted for a short cab ride to a tour rendezvous point rather than wrestling with transfers. It eased stress and left more joy for the actual seeing. We also decided there was no ‘must’ on how we would spend each day; we didn’t have to do ‘everything’ because it was on the tour list; it was okay to alter our pre-planned itinerary to suit ourselves.

Everyday kindness (and on-time trains)

The Japanese people we met were consistently polite, helpful, and kind. Trains? On time to the minute. Life in general? Also, somehow on time—neat, attentive, and gracious. Google Maps helped us find our way, and the ChatGPT app (hello, GPT-5) helped with quick translations. For instance, the clarity given in responding to questions like, “Which platform for this train?” greatly reduced our margin for error. Often, shop assistants or security guards would pause in what they were doing and kindly us lead us to where we needed to go.

The food

We loved the abundant, nutritious food—beautifully prepared and presented. Bento boxes like tiny galleries; steaming bowls that tasted of care; fruit so perfect it felt ceremonial. Eating well felt like part of the culture’s heartbeat, and we were glad to fall into step.

Umbrellas with a dual purpose

Rain or shine, pedestrians in Japan are prepared. They carry a brolly—either to keep dry from a sudden downpour or to shield from the hot sun. Across roads and along footpaths, a sea of umbrellas appeared to move as one. Again, the movement was fluid—no push, no shove.

What we’ll do differently next time

Travel is an investment in life; we can’t put a price on its return to mind, soul, and body. Still, we’ll take a few new practices into adding shine to our next trip:
* Stay longer, move less. At least four nights in each location. Less unpack-repack, more belonging.
* Book less in advance. Unless something is very special, we’ll decide locally. Our best days often unfolded with no plan.
* No herding. We’re not keen to be ushered on and off a bus by a harried guide waving a flag. We prefer to soak up a place at our own pace. We find this approach more meaningful.
* Spend energy where it counts. If a short taxi gets us to a meeting point calm and on time, that’s a win. Well worth the cost.
* Pack half as many clothes. Our stowed luggage weighed only around 18kg each, and yet we could have left almost half of our clothes at home. Travel light; live lighter.

The diary

Late afternoon. The kettle clicks; another cuppa awaits. The front door is open, and spring air wafts through. My neighbour, Sharon, arrives with an armful of mail collected from my letterbox during my absence from home; another neighbour, unbeknownst to me, has been parking their vehicle in my driveway to suggest that my property was occupied. I feel blessed to have caring neighbours looking out for me.

I could use my diary to make a list a mile long—things to catch up on, tidy, achieve—until I remember that being alive is not a task. It’s okay to go slow: take a walk, read the latest crime novel from the library, call a friend. Do what I feel like. Be kind to myself.
My diary—my constant companion since 1963—travelled everywhere in Japan. For years, I would seek a quiet corner to curl up and fill the page; however, on this holiday, a change takes place. Diary entries often comprise only a sentence or two, dictated to the Day One app on my iPhone, the words often illustrated with several photos.

Once, I would have considered a short entry a failure—today, it’s proof I am on the move, busy living in the moment.
Once, I would have over-analysed a multitude of situations that occurred during the day; today, my focus is on have fun now and letting the rest go. Magical.

Being tender with transitions

We have come home with stories and photos; we’ve made a video (300 images—perhaps too many, but we love them all and smile as we relive memories of our trip). I’m catching up on emails (two new books released this year mean fresh promotional work) and with family and friends. At the same time, I am aware there’s no rush to adjust.
Adjusting to a travel itinerary, away from one’s usual daily routine, can evoke anxiety and a desire for control. My earlier self would have tended to isolate, restrict, over-organise, and push through at a self-imposed pace. This time, I learn that letting go and being free isn’t a single brave act, but a string of minor permissions that revolve around trust, sharing, and collaboration: to be fed, to be held, to be respected and seen in the process.
New experiences were embraced. I drank matcha, hot and cold, for the first time in Japan. Granddaughter Olivia tells me it’s popular with Gen Z. LOL—grandmothers can like it too. This is living. Ordinary magic. And ordinary is what enriches us.

What travel gives back

This trip has helped me feel more alive, more present. Japan has reminded me that aliveness is made of small consistencies: trains that arrive when they say they will, meals prepared with care, strangers offering help without fuss. If I can carry forward even a fraction of our travel pace—curious, unhurried, attentive—this adventure has been a success in every way.

At 74, I’m discovering that life has parallels with travel. Living can also mean becoming lighter. We can choose to travel through each day with less luggage, fewer expectations, and more presence.

Travel has a way of giving us back to ourselves. Thank you, Japan. Thank you, Graham, for being by my side, for making me laugh, for holding my hand and giving me courage (like when we rode to the 350-metre level of the Tokyo Skytree, Japan’s tallest building).

Travelling with Graham purely for pleasure marks a significant ‘first’, a new achievement on my path of self-growth. Whoopee! We’re already planning for and anticipating our next destination.