Savoring simple daily pleasures

After a busy stretch of travel — including an incredible time in Singapore — I had already planned to give myself a bit of a tech-light week. Life made the decision easier when I arrived home feeling under the weather. Rest was calling, and with it came an unexpected opportunity: a chance to unplug from something I hadn't questioned in years — my fitness trackers.

For well over a decade, I’ve relied on various devices to monitor, measure, and motivate my movement and health: a Fitbit, a Garmin, MyFitnessPal, and most recently — for the past two years — an Oura Ring. These tools have been incredibly useful. I’ve learned so much from them. They’ve given me insights into my sleep, steps, heart rate, stress levels, eating patterns, and so much more. In many ways, they’ve been wonderful teachers.

But over time, I noticed something creeping in — a subtle but persistent feeling that I couldn’t have a day without logging a meal or checking my readiness score. A walk didn't quite feel complete unless I saw the steps. A run wasn’t "real" unless it was tracked. Sound familiar?

So this week, I made a conscious choice to pause.

Movement Without Metrics

Instead of “starting an activity” or checking GPS stats, I simply… went for a walk. No duration, no heart rate zones, no step counts. Just walking — for the joy of it, and the gentle rhythm of moving my body.

With being sick, I didn’t push myself into runs or strength training. But I kept to daily walks, a little stretching, and more importantly, I let my body lead. Slower paces, shorter distances, and no pressure.

Food Without Logging

One of the biggest shifts? Not tracking meals. That muscle memory is strong — I caught myself reaching for my phone multiple times, about to log a snack or enter ingredients. But I resisted.

And surprisingly… I thrived. I found myself making solid, healthy choices without the food diary. I was actually savoring meals more. With time at home, I rediscovered the luxury of cooking — chopping vegetables unhurriedly, trying new recipes, and plating food with care, not haste. It was nourishing in more ways than one.

Rest as a Ritual

Another unexpected joy? Resting fully. Not just because my Oura told me to, or because my sleep score dipped, but because I could feel I needed it. I climbed into bed earlier, gave myself permission to slow down, and filled my evenings with warm baths, books, and stillness.

No makeup, no rushing, no pressure to optimize or perform. Just space — and skin that’s honestly never looked clearer.

What I’ve Learned

Let me be clear: I’m not anti-tracking. I’m not giving it all up for good (though my Oura subscription is up in December, and I’m still deciding if I’ll renew).

But I do know this:

• I have a solid understanding of my body, my nutrition, and my rhythms.

• I don’t need a ring or an app to tell me everything — I already know a lot.

• Sometimes, just moving, just eating, or just resting — without tracking — is enough.

• The goal of these tools is to support, not control.

This week has been a gentle reset. I’ve started my days more slowly. I’ve tuned into my body with more intention. I’ve felt more present — not chasing data, but noticing my lived experience.

Looking Ahead

I’m hopeful that next week, my energy will return and I’ll feel fully myself again. But I don’t want to rush back into the buzz. I want to bring some of this calm, this clarity, into the days ahead.

Whether I renew my tracker subscription or not, I’m holding onto this truth: wellness isn’t just in the numbers. It’s also in the joy of walking without a purpose, cooking without a plan, and resting without guilt.

Unplugging doesn’t mean going backwards. Sometimes, it’s the most progressive thing we can do.

 #3 in the Love for Imperfect Things Series

Savoring simple daily pleasures

"When we are alone in a peaceful place, we experience the stillness of our mind. It is nourishing and restorative like medicine, helping us recover our centre and feel the divinity within us. A dose of stillness once in a while does a lot of good."
— Haemin Sunim, Love for Imperfect Things

After the vibrancy, intensity, and sheer sensory overload of our recent trip to Singapore—the heat, the humidity, the constant movement—I’ve unexpectedly found myself experiencing the kind of stillness Haemin Sunim so gently encourages in his book. Though not quite how I’d have planned it, being knocked over by a stubborn little virus on our return has slowed life right down. And surprisingly, I’m grateful.

There is something undeniably restorative about being home. Not just physically back, but truly present in my space—no plans, no pressures, no expectations. For the first time in a long while, I’ve allowed myself to fully sink into the quiet. No makeup, no schedule, no need to be “on.” Just soft loungewear, a warm mug of tea, cozy mysteries, and the soothing rhythm of birdsong drifting through open windows.

This unexpected pause has felt like a gift. A dose of stillness.

I’ve been thinking back to another time life slowed down: the COVID lockdowns. A chapter of collective upheaval, yes—but also, personally, a chapter of deep grounding. We spent months at home, and while the world outside felt uncertain and often frightening, inside our four walls, I found a sense of safety and contentment I hadn’t known before. As a homebody, I soaked up the long, unstructured days with my family. I remember the simplicity of those moments: cooking slowly, reading often, moving through the day without urgency.

This past week—though triggered by a pesky throat infection—has returned a bit of that forgotten rhythm to me. The slower mornings. The luxury of reading in the daylight hours. The kind of rest that comes not just from sleeping, but from not needing to be anywhere or do anything. In this quiet, I’ve noticed something magical: my mind feels clearer. Unrushed, it has space to catch up with itself—to sort, dream, create, and clarify.

Haemin Sunim reminds us that peace isn’t something we need to travel far to find. It’s not a destination or a reward for productivity. It’s here, within us, always waiting for a moment of quiet to rise to the surface.

Stillness, in this context, isn’t the absence of life or energy. It’s a return to centre. It’s the moment your soul exhales after being stretched too thin. It’s noticing the freshness of the cooler air, the way light softens through your windows, and the nourishment of fruit prepared slowly, savoured fully.

We often push stillness away—filling every gap with tasks, goals, screens, and stimulation. But perhaps, as Sunim gently teaches, stillness is not a luxury, but a medicine. One we’d do well to take regularly, before life forces our hand.

So today, as I sit in the quiet with nothing more urgent to do than rest and recover, I’m leaning into this space with full permission. I’m letting myself be still, and in doing so, I’m finding a depth of peace I didn’t realise I needed. A peace that doesn’t demand perfection or productivity—just presence.

And maybe that’s the lesson here. Sometimes, the universe slows us down so we can hear ourselves again. So we can realign, refocus, and remember the divinity within.

A dose of stillness, once in a while, really does do a lot of good.

Savoring simple daily pleasures

 Series: Love for Imperfect Things – Entry #2

"Emotions are like uninvited guests. They come whenever they want to, and leave once you acknowledge their presence. Although emotions are born inside you, don't assume they belong to you. That is why they rarely listen to you."

— Haemin Sunim

Today, I’m writing from my sofa rather than my desk, wrapped in a blanket with the quiet hum of a kettle in the background and the aftertaste of ginger tea still lingering. A common virus has made its way into my body, gently forcing me into a rare and necessary state of stillness.

Normally, I’m an active relaxer—the kind of person who thinks rest means ticking off domestic tasks or reorganizing cupboards between cups of tea. Even when I’m unwell, I tend to push through, convincing myself that productivity is a form of self-care. But not today. Today, I have done nothing but rest, sleep, hydrate, nourish, and listen—to both my body and the weather outside.

After a morning of torrential rain, the sun has now emerged cautiously from behind the clouds. The wind, still strong, is drying the laundry I managed to hang out earlier—a quiet triumph. I’m about to take a short walk by the beach, a slow wander for some fresh air before returning home to curl up again with a book. There’s no pressure to do more. No guilt creeping in. Just presence.

And it’s in this space that I’ve been reflecting on Sunim’s words. Emotions are like uninvited guests. They show up unexpectedly—fatigue, irritation, worry, restlessness—especially when we’re forced to stop. In the past, I’ve tried to ignore them, override them, or fix them with productivity. But like any guest, they don’t leave until they’ve been acknowledged.

Today, instead of shooing them away, I’ve opened the door and let them in. I’ve offered them tea, asked what they need, and in doing so, they’ve softened. Some have already left. Others are still here, lingering in quiet corners. And that’s okay. The point isn’t to control them. It’s to witness them. To understand that although they arise within me, they don’t define me. They don’t need to be wrestled into silence or judged for showing up.

As I sit with this insight, I can’t help but notice a gentle joy beginning to rise. Not because I’m well again—not yet—but because I’m aligned. Aligned with what my body needs, with what my spirit is asking for, and with what this moment is offering: rest, release, and reflection.

There’s something oddly liberating about letting go of the need to do. In illness, we’re given a chance to listen more deeply—to slow down not out of luxury, but necessity. And in that slowness, something beautiful often emerges. A kind of clarity. A reconnection with what is essential.

So if emotions are uninvited guests, perhaps rest is the home they’ve been looking for. Not to stay forever, but to be seen, heard, and gently released.

And for now, that is enough.

 Savoring Simple Daily Pleasures

We landed in Singapore under a sky that shimmered as brightly as the city itself. From the moment we arrived, it was a whirlwind of opulence—rooftop infinity pools, mirrored skyscrapers, immersive art, tasting menus that looked like sculpture, and boutiques so beautiful they felt like galleries. Every hour was curated, every view Instagram-worthy. It was exhilarating, indulgent, unforgettable.

But something unexpected happened on the flight home.

In a rare moment of stillness, cruising above the clouds somewhere between time zones and to-do lists, I opened Love for Imperfect Things by Haemin Sunim. 

I read it cover to cover in one sitting. It felt like it had been waiting for me. One quote, in particular, landed with the kind of gentle clarity that only comes when you’re truly ready to hear it or be reminded: Something I have frequently referenced or written about personally, but after the saturation of glamour and abundance and stores with no price tags it was apt and perfectly timed to read;

"The nice cutlery set, tea, wine, clothes, pen, quilt, that you have been saving for a special occasion—use them whenever you get the chance. Special moments are not separate from our everyday lives. When you make use of something special, it makes the moment special."

It echoed inside me.

After days of high-end everything, I suddenly longed for the quiet beauty of home: the favorite mug I always reach for, the scent of clean sheets drying in the breeze, the dog-eared pages of a favorite book. It was a reminder that luxury doesn't always need to come from the outside. Sometimes, the truest luxury is presence, and a home that you've created as your sanctuary.

There’s no denying the thrill of a five-star hotel or the magic of city lights reflecting on the Marina Bay Sands. But now that we’re back, I’ve found myself lighting the good candle just because, pouring tea into the "special occasion" china, and pulling the good quilt over my knees as I read - feeling the cool after the drama,tically different temperatures.  Not waiting. Not saving. Not separating joy into compartments.

Singapore gave us the gift of beauty, but coming home gave us the invitation to recognize it—in the simple, in the slow, in the small.

I freely admit I love the atmosphere and cool air conditioning of a high-end mall- and in Singapore their air is even fragranced with expensive scents- the little buzz of wondering what you might spy (or whom!) and the holiday feeling of freedom that you might splurge perhaps.... The window displays of Haute Couture and the dazzle of jewels and watches worth as much as our home- but I had fully reached saturation by the end of our trip, and longed for birdsong, cooler temperatures and the treetop view from our tranquil bedroom. I was shopped out- a very rare occurrence for me! 

The trip reminded me how it feels to be dazzled. The book reminded me that I can feel that way, here, at home, in the everyday. My daily walks, the silky soft rumbling pile of fur at the end of our bed, the iris blooming in the garden, spring bursting forth, even picking up fresh produce locally and bumping into many familiar faces and members of the community, stopping to catch up, exchange a greeting or enquire as to their health. 

Real, simple, unfiltered everydays. 

And I think that was always the point.