Field notes from a hotel room in Bali

Hello Reader,

Meditation in the jungle. Palm trees swaying with legs in yoga poses. Foam-crested waves lulling me into an afternoon nap on white sand.

This is how I imagined Bali.

When I arrived at the crowded Denpasar airport and weaved through hours of traffic to get to Ubud, my driver overtaking cars like he was playing GTA, I realized the Bali in my mind was more fantasy than reality. Isn’t this often the case?

Yet, it delivered exactly what I needed: a change in routine. A hard stop. I had been going, wheels spinning, for almost two years, writing, then promoting Welcome to the Creative Club, and building my creative business.

It had gotten to the point where my grounding practices, meditation, movement, and journaling, allowed me to drive fast without crashing, instead of creating space for expansion, play, and ideas.

It was time to pull myself out of pedal-to-the-metal mode (or as my friend Hayden says, “balls to the wall”) and drop into another world.

As I stepped into my hotel room in Ubud, a splurge for my birthday inspired the three-week adventure, a dark chocolate cake with “Happy Birthday Pia” spelled in white frosting glistened on the coffee table.

I don’t know if it was because I was jet lagged after a 20-hour trip, including a three-hour layover in Dubai and a three-hour ride from the airport, but I had to draw a line down the middle to stop myself from devouring the entire rich and velvety cake.

This first act of rebellion (I normally don’t eat half a cake) set the tone.

Waking up to sunlight escaping the edges of heavy burgundy curtains and white frangipani flowers and sandalwood smoke creeping under my door, I decided not to have to do anything.

No morning pages, meditation, newsletter issues, social media, client calls, nothing. Not because I don’t enjoy them, but because I wanted to drop the "I HAVE TO or else" feeling that had wrapped its wiry fingers around my solar plexus.

Or else what? I’d come apart at the seams, and lose my audience, momentum, opportunities, and connections - my inner disciplinarian's list is long. All based on the idea that “success” is contingent on productivity (a sticky cultural story). That if I stop doing, dreams and opportunities will shrivel like raisins in the sun (or my fingers after a long surfing lesson).

Here, in this quiet lush hotel room, balcony opening to a slice of the jungle, my intuition’s louder, no longer whispering, now clearly calling bullshit, inviting me to relax into myself, this moment, and do whatever I want to do. Continuously choosing what I want to do next with no pressure, just curiosity and freedom.

This wasn’t a picturesque pleasure fest.

It felt like an internal struggle. The vigilant part of me struggled to let go, and the knowing, soft part of me was patiently being with it while it unclenched. There were moments when I released into the present and felt pure joy, other times that gnawing feeling that I should be doing something or else I won’t make it, chomped at the bit.

This letting go felt wildly uncomfortable at times, but I had a felt sense this unmooring was exactly what I needed. It became easier to listen because this intuitive voice was not only heard but felt, gurgling through my bloodstream.

I let it all be. I took my first surfing lesson, felt oddly scared, and realized the fear came from not knowing what I was doing or what to expect - the unknown. My second lesson went much better, the fear lessened, and I actually stood on the board.

I got a massage and a mani-pedi, ecstatically danced at a yoga center, had fascinating conversations with strangers, saw monkeys, waterfalls, and rice fields, swam in an infinity pool, practiced yoga, and wrestled with allowing and receiving life.

In the midst of it all, I got a powerful download. The universe said, “Girl, take your foot off the gas, pull over, and let me do some of the driving. I’ve got places I want to take you.”

A memory flashed on the surface of my mind.

Seven years ago, when I was one of three partners building a creative studio, pouring blood and sweat into it, Lone, a planner and partner of the agency network we belonged to pulled me aside one day.

“Sometimes, Pia, there is going to be shit on the floor. If you pick it up quickly, no one will know you did. Sometimes, you gotta let it sit. Let people notice the stench. Then pick it up. Other times, let someone else clean it up.”

Somehow, this felt connected to my Bali trip.

Sometimes the most powerful choice is not to act. Not to fix, manage, or pick it all up. To let the universe take the wheel.

Letting life be. Stopping to receive it. Trusting it.

Releasing the idea of control, of punishment or consequence, old deeply embedded stories and behaviors, feeling the fear of the unknown, the energy of the wave, and standing up anyway. Seeing where it takes us.

What might happen when we let go?

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to find out.

(The first experiment went glowingly well, she says as she wipes chocolate from her mouth).

Keep creating,