When I first became interested in remote work, it wasn’t even really for the travel. Of course, I loved the idea of being able to take off whenever, wherever. But mostly, it was because I wanted to work from bed in my pajamas. Truly.
I am a bed creature at heart. I love long, lazy afternoons under the covers, rainy movie marathons wrapped in duvets, coffee and breakfast propped up on pillows, rolling around in the sheets with a lover for hours, snuggling my dog, reading a good book, scribbling in my journal. And I wanted to add work to that list.
For years I struggled in more “traditional” jobs. I was dealing with a mystery illness that often left me completely debilitated. I’d miss work too often—or simply no-show—and eventually I’d get fired. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Hospitals became routine. I was fainting. My stomach hurt all the time. I had brain fog, muscle aches, a crushing fatigue that never seemed to lift. Anxiety. Depression. Heart palpitations. And eventually, seizures and terrible periods that sent me into hiding.
Each month, my body turned on me. For two weeks after my period, I’d be okay (or okay-ish). But in the second half of my cycle, I became sore and irritable, my moods would swing wildly, and my skin felt like it was on fire. It was like clockwork. Half of every year was lost to this battle.
The only things doctors offered me were birth control and antidepressants—band-aids I never took, because I knew they weren’t treating the root.
Others dismissed me entirely. They said it was just anxiety. “In your head.” I knew that wasn’t the full story, so I saved up a small fortune to visit a naturopath a friend recommended.
She finally gave me answers (sort of). Fibromyalgia was the first diagnosis, which just felt like another way of saying “we still don’t really know,” and later, Hashimoto’s, once my thyroid levels showed signs of hypothyroidism. She also discovered I was celiac. That diagnosis was the first real turning point; going gluten-free helped more than anything else had.
So I went on a health quest because, frankly, I had no other choice. I cut out everything I was sensitive to: gluten, dairy, soy, eggs, anything processed. I gave up sugar and coffee and all things tasty. My diet was bland for months. I took herbs and vitamins and tinctures. I drank green juices and smoothies, meditated, practiced yoga.
This is what ultimately catapulted me into the wellness world.
I read books like The Power of Now and The Alchemist. I completed my 500-hour yoga teacher training, became Reiki certified, attended inner child healing retreats, went to an Eastern medicine therapist, bought stones and crystals, chanted mantras, surrounded myself with good people and the ocean and nature. And I learned to love myself.
It was all very woo-woo. And to be fair, a lot of it helped. But I was still sick. And in the process of trying to be a perfect little yogi, I also became a hypochondriac. Not exactly a joy to be around. That only made me more self-critical, which is pretty much the opposite of healing.
I was still having seizures and awful periods. Still cycling through depression and flare-ups: low-grade fevers, body aches, days of sleeping. I developed exercise intolerance, which devastated me because I’d always loved being active.
Eventually, a cyst on my ovary ruptured. It nicked an artery and caused internal bleeding. My abdomen filled with blood, and I went into shock. I couldn’t stay conscious for more than five minutes at a time. It was the closest I’ve ever felt to dying.
Emergency surgery saved my life. I received blood transfusions and, within a few days, was back in bed—upright, medicated, and binge-watching every season of RuPaul’s Drag Race while I recovered.
After that, I finally agreed to go on birth control to prevent more cysts (and subsequent trauma). It worked for awhile… until it didn’t. The pill sent my hormones into a tailspin. I became so anxious I couldn’t go outside. I stopped driving. I isolated. At my lowest, I genuinely considered whether it was worth continuing.
I fought with my partner constantly. I was basically a villain version of myself.
Eventually, I got off the pill. We started doing routine ultrasounds instead. I tried an antidepressant. Cycled through a few. Then finally found one that made me feel like me again. I could socialize and drive and go to the grocery store without having a full-blown panic attack.
Now, I’ve finally found a rhythm that works for me. I eat well, but I don’t obsess. I get eight hours of sleep, drink plenty of water, stay hydrated with electrolytes. I spend time in the sun and in nature. I walk. I practice yoga. I talk to my people. I snuggle my dog.
I still don’t have a name for everything that’s wrong with me, and maybe I never will. But I’ve stopped letting it consume me. I’ve figured out how to live around it—and even ease some of the symptoms. These days, I’m doing much better. I can run a few miles, take long flights across the world—so long as I pace myself with rest and snacks. This is huge for me. Monumental, even.
Remote work has played a huge part in this. If I wake up sore, I can stay in bed. If I have brain fog, I can nap and return to my tasks later. I can structure my days around nature, breaks, movement, rest—whatever I need that day. This flexibility has changed everything.
And it’s why I crave a slow, soft life.
Because my mind and body just aren’t wired for fast.
I’m still driven. I still get things done. I’ve solo traveled across Europe, Mexico, Asia, and Australia. I started a freelance writing business from scratch. I don’t want to stop achieving.
But I do want to lollygag.
I want to do things on my time. I want generous pockets of space between my achievements to breathe and feel and smell the roses.
I don’t want to give up on my ambitions, but I won’t be a slave to them either. Sometimes I just want to enjoy being alive without always striving for the next big thing.
I still want to write epic films and novels—but I want to do it from a humble abode on a Greek island, not a cold apartment in New York or a traffic-choked street in LA. I refuse to kill myself chasing a dream. Giving up my peace just isn’t worth it.
And that’s really all I want: peace.
What i’m manifesting
A gentle, lapping sea. Like the Croatian or Grecian coast.
I lived by the roaring Pacific for years. It was majestic and powerful and it brought me closer to myself countless times. But it’s also loud and intense. Now I want the calm of a pebbled shore, the easy wade into warm water, a quiet float.
I dream of a warm place where I can shower outside, air-dry my hair, and walk around with sun on my skin. I want more freckles. Linen dresses. A basket for the market. An espresso on a sea-facing patio. A simple rhythm.
Later, I’ll play fetch with Shep in our garden. We’ll walk around a leafy neighborhood, our sweet little oasis. Then I’ll sit at my desk with the windows open, sunlight streaming in, and work for the day. Maybe even spend some extra time on a passion project—a novel or a screenplay.
For dinner, I’ll walk to my favorite seaside restaurant. I’ll watch the sun melt into the horizon with friends. I’ll eat fish caught that morning, drenched in olive oil, paired with ripe, juicy tomatoes, olives, and veggies. Maybe a local wine to wash it all down. Love and laughter at the table. No rush to be anywhere else.
This is the life I want: slow, soft, deliberate, present, peaceful, connected.
Not only do I hope I can inspire others to travel the world and live beyond their comfort zones, but I also hope to encourage a slower way of moving through the world (one where we stop taking life so seriously). Remote work allows me all of this and more.
I hope we can start designing our work around our lives, not the other way around.
I believe this is the future. And that we’ll live longer, richer lives when we focus less on money and status and “what we do.”
Go smell the roses. Literally.
Because in the end, that’s all that really matters:
Joy in the little things.
An appreciation for beautiful, fleeting moments.
Travel Writing + Media Gigs:
Travel Content Writer – Growing Travel Platform
A new opportunity for a travel content writer is open on LinkedIn.
🔗 View job listing
Gone Norf Magazine – Submissions Open
Gone Norf, an indie print platform celebrating the creative spirit of Northern England, is open for submissions. They’re looking for:
Articles & written pieces
Photo stories & documentary shoots
Illustrations & visual artwork
Submit to: gonenorf@gmail.com
Include a short bio, an intro to your work, and relevant links.
Matador Network – Ongoing Freelance Pitches (Summer 2025)
Matador is accepting pitches across a range of travel topics geared toward a 20–40-something audience. They’re especially interested in:
Experiential or reported travel stories
Op-eds and niche community pieces
Stories on soon-to-disappear destinations
Fandom-based travel (F1, FIFA 2026)
Location pieces on Monterrey & Guadalajara, MX
🚫 No hotel reviews, roundups, listicles, or personal travelogues
💰 Pay: $200–$300 per piece
🔗 Submit pitch via Matador
Condé Nast Traveler (Seattle-Based) – Hotel-Focused Freelance Gig
Looking for a travel writer familiar with Seattle’s hotel scene.
🔗 View tweet for details
Travel & Hospitality Copyeditor
LinkedIn listing for a copyediting role focused on travel and hospitality content.
🔗 Apply here
Business Insider (US-Based) – Hot Takes & Travel
Looking for pitches on:
Travel stories
Wedding hot takes
Budgeting/grocery savings
💰 Rate: $230 for 600 words
🔗 Submit via this form