Around the first year we moved to Hawaii, I began taking solo retreats.
I recall the exact moment I decided: John, in his enthusiasm to share our new life, had invited one of the girls’ friends to visit us from California—where we’d just moved from. There was a reason I’d wanted to leave, and it wasn’t to bring California to Hawaii.
The prospect of an unexpected guest sent fire through my veins. But was it just the surprise visitor that had me so triggered? I closed my office door and sat with the heat in my body. Strong emotions often carry layers, and I’ve learned not to jump to conclusions.
Layer one was obvious: I didn’t want a houseguest. But layer two surprised me. I was jealous. Who did she think she was—inviting herself to a stranger’s beautifully decorated, cozy home for her own solo Hawaii adventure?
And yet… what an amazing idea for her. And maybe for me, too?
Apparently, I wanted this for myself. The realization was a gut punch—and a gift. It became clear: I needed to take a trip. Alone.
1. Contrasts Offer Perspective
On my first solo trip to Kauai, and later in Abiquiú, New Mexico—where I’ve returned many times since—I learned how deeply place can shape perception.
Arriving in New Mexico this time, I stepped off the plane into sub-zero temperatures under a pitch-black sky. Even in the cold and thin air, walking alone to pick up my rental car, I felt myself expand. The desert’s stark spaciousness invited me to spread out, breathe deeper, and soften.
New Mexico is everything Hawaii is not. Dry instead of humid, vast instead of dense, quiet instead of humming with life. The desert spreads out for empty miles. It can feel desolate; it’s easy to feel alone.
Solitude offered breathing room, and depth. When there is no one but me, I experience a different level of inner listening. Without the familiar rhythms of home—pets, partnership, spontaneous caregiving—I had only myself to listen to. Do I want to take a nap or go on a hike? Read or do qigong?
Solitude offered me the chance to revisit old questions. This trip affirmed how much I’ve healed—and what’s still asking for my attention.
2. Deepened Connection to the Earth (and Myself)
Far from city buzz and neighbor noise, I could hear the Earth again. In this stillness, my energy field quieted, and so did my mind. There were no other people’s emotions to process—just the land, the birds, the jackrabbits, and me.
I felt myself recalibrate. I found myself noticing the artful nooks in the house, collecting inspiration. I was taking pictures, doing qigong, sipping tea, listening for the next whisper of beauty or insight.
3. Rediscovering Resilience
The first few days of my trip were highly adaptive, and all about survival. The old adobe house was drafty, the temperature freezing, and the small general store was my only option for food. I felt challenged yet oddly invigorated.
I had forgotten how capable I am. Building fires, boiling water, layering up, making soup—I was listening to my body and responding intuitively. There was no thinking, only doing. It was embodiment in action.
And I loved it.
I felt strong, grounded, and resilient. It reminded me that I can meet challenges and take care of myself in unfamiliar terrain.
4. New Creative Sparks
Each solo trip has its a creative rhythm all its own.
In past years I’ve brought my paints, sketch books, costumes, and props. This year, I brought books to read and my notecard prints (inspired by Abiquiu) as gifts for the property owner and caretaker. I was excited to see Miguel’s dog, Loki, is still alive- the dog who inspired this sketch and card!
I was in a different kind of flow—one of observation, reflection, and absorption. I revisited favorite places I’d photographed in years past, capturing new details. While I wasn’t actively producing art, my soul was being refilled with new images, experiences and feelings.
5. Unexpected Encounters and Soul Nourishment
While planning this trip, I discovered a local artist named Hebe Garcia. When I reached out to her gallery about a painting, she invited me to her home studio—an unexpected gift.
Navigating poor GPS, dirt roads in high winds and dodging tumbleweeds to get to her place, I laughed at the absurdity and beauty of it all. Her studio, like her art, was soulful and alive. An imaginative Pisces, Hebe and I spoke about her roots, her fears for her children, and the inspiration behind her work.
We shared stories, and our love for New Mexico. I left with one of her paintings—and a renewed sense of inspiration and connection.
Coming Home to Yourself
Each time I take a solo retreat, I return to myself more fully. The simplicity of tending to my needs, the solitude that clears the noise, the space to listen—these are not luxuries, but necessities. Whether I’m making soup in a quiet adobe kitchen or sitting with a piece of art that moves me, I remember: this is how I return to wholeness. Not through escape, but through presence. Not through doing more, but through softening into what’s already here.
Closing Reflection
Take a moment to close your eyes, drop into your body, and ask gently:
— When was the last time I gave myself space to just be?
— What beauty or insight might await me in stillness?
— If I planned a solo retreat—big or small—what would it look like?
Let these questions guide you, like breadcrumbs back home to yourself.
It's so important to listen to that call for space and retreat. 😄 I recently felt that feeling coming on and didn't feel like I had time for it... And then my body forced me to sit and read and chill with my cat by getting sick for a few weeks. 😂 It ended up being very healing, but it might have been easier if I'd heeded the call, rather than putting it off til my body HAD to step in and demand downtime.
Yes! I love solo retreats. I have found them to be so restorative. Also, the pictures here are stunning - thank you for sharing.