nathalie shushan

Despite my best intentions to deal with my emotions in stillness, I explored Morocco with exhausting speed and determination. I spent as much time traveling between cities as I spent in them. There was an unrelenting pressure to see as much as possible in short windows of time, to show my mother the magic of a country I loved, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that every decision I made was the wrong one. There was always more to see, more to do, something better to experience than what I had chosen. I was hardly writing, certainly never resting. I realized that I left my job in an attempt to alleviate pressure in my life and discovered that I was the source of my pressure all along.

Exploring the Cyclades in the low season seemed to be the perfect antidote to the residual stress I still felt from my time in Morocco. I wanted to move from taverna to beach and back again, writing and reading, focusing on myself with no distractions. A bed & breakfast in a quiet town along a beautiful beach could only bring me peace. After long deliberation in Athens, Naxos was the next destination.

I didn’t anticipate the deep loneliness that would emerge from feeling entirely isolated on an island. I had been alone in Athens, too, but I felt comforted by the familiar bustle of a city. Being in Naxos in the low season bared my soul in a painful way. No one else was staying at my bed and breakfast, shops and restaurants were just beginning to open in preparation for the high season of tourism, and the nearest town was a dangerous hour and a half walk along unpaved roads. Desperate to embrace the experience as one that would bring me relaxation, I ignored my emotional discomfort and it became visceral, fighting to be felt. I went to bed itchy every night. I tore through sheets searching for some external cause of my discomfort, changed apartments, washed my clothes but, still, it persisted. 

Feelings I’d managed to evade for months came for me with a vengeance and there was nowhere to turn for distraction. I was alone with my greatest enemy. I had no choice but to deal with it. I wrote constantly. I went for long, silent walks along the shore. I meditated longer each day. I recognized that I was harboring resentment toward the people I was interacting with – my ex-boyfriend, who blamed me for his unhappiness, and my father, who I blamed for mine. I explored the ways I associated love and pain, how deeply intertwined they were and why.  Unable to escape my own company, I was forced to confront unfamiliar parts of myself.

Not knowing where to go next, I booked an extra night in the silence of Naxos while I figured it out. I vaguely remembered hearing of a global hotel chain that fostered a sense of community. I reached out to a friend to find out what it was called and, to my great relief, I saw that one had just opened on the neighboring island. I made plans to head there the next day. I quickly saw that there was a focus on wellness, with yoga and group exercises in the morning, and meditations held in the evening. Confident in my decision, I booked three nights, feeling like I’d be able to reset and find my center so I could move onto the next phase of my travels. There was no way I could have predicted the deep bonds I’d create when I arrived, no way I could have expected an unwillingness to leave, but I made my way there with my heart open. 

The anxiety I felt in Naxos didn’t immediately dissipate upon arrival in Paros. I needed a pharmacy urgently to soothe the itchiness that still plagued me. When the front desk told me that the nearest one was a ferry away, I broke down in tears. In an attempt to explain what was wrong, complicated by a language barrier, I tried to communicate that my anxiety was manifesting itself in a deep discomfort in my body. Unsure what to do in the face of my tears, the woman kindly offered to drive me to the closest pharmacy on the island. I jumped at the opportunity. 

We made small talk in the car. We connected about my current travels, about her past travels, about her life and her boyfriend and what I hoped to get out of my stay. I basked in her sweetness and thanked her profusely, despite her sincere requests to stop. Once we arrived at the pharmacy, I quickly found what I needed. We headed back to the hotel where my room was ready, waiting for me to make myself at home. 

I jumped in the shower, consciously hoping to wash the memories of Naxos off of me, taking my time and making sure I showed myself the affection I needed. Finally feeling settled in my body, I unpacked in a spacious room with a beautiful balcony adorned with flowers and a view of the sea. I sat outside in my towel while the sun dried my skin, feeling renewed. After a while, I dressed and went downstairs to sit near the pool with a book, ready to soak up the afternoon sun.

On my way outside, the front desk let me know that they added me to a WhatsApp group chat for guests, which already made me feel a part of something bigger. I immediately received a message about a New Moon Candle Ceremony and Sunset Meditation. The universe was offering me exactly the support I needed. It was a beautiful alignment that I was eager to explore. I read through the description, sent by a man named Preet, and immediately knew I’d join. I quickly sent a screenshot to my friends and asked them if they’d ever seen anything more perfect for me. 

It wasn’t long after I sat down that Preet came over to introduce himself. Vulnerable and open, he explained what he did for Selina and outside of it, what he’d experienced to get to where he was, and I responded with the same openness. I talked about the job I left and, for the first time, the book I intended to write. My three nights became five, after bonding with people that I’d met at yoga and shared breakfast with, which became seven after exploring the town and falling in love with the energy of community and the way I recognized myself responding to it so profoundly. In just a few days, I wrote and published “the Hamam after the Break Up,” which felt to me my greatest writing accomplishment in years and most courageous output. I felt aligned, supported and motivated.

Of all the things we experienced, there was one night in particular that deepened our bond. After a few hours of sleep, my balcony door blew open fiercely, slamming against the wall. I awoke with a start and spent the rest of the night listening to the howling wind, fearful of the occasional violence with which it would toss trinkets against my window outside. I was already awake when I received an invitation for a 30 minute silent meditation in the early hours of the morning, which I’d have otherwise done on my own beside the sea. This time, with the wind still howling outside, we sat in silence together, recuperating the rest that we missed out on the night before. Later, at breakfast, we all connected in our hazy fatigue, quieter than we had been on clearer mornings. No one asked anything of another person. We all felt at ease in each other’s presence.