Sometimes you plan a vacation because there is somewhere you desperately want to go.

Other times, you plan one because you desperately need to go somewhere.

This trip was definitely the latter.

It had been a long time since I had been on a cruise, and work had been slowly wearing me down. Nothing particularly dramatic had happened. It was just the accumulated weight of the day-to-day grind—the meetings, projects, emails, problems to solve, and the seemingly endless list of things that needed attention.

I was burnt out.

Probably more burnt out than I was willing to admit at the time.

Then the stars aligned.

I had requested some time off, started looking at what I could do with those days, and found a seven-day cruise from Boston to Bermuda aboard the Norwegian Jewel.

There was just one unusual thing about it.

I was only a month away from sailing.

Normally, something like this would have been booked far in advance. There would have been months of research, planning, anticipation, and probably far too much time spent staring at maps and itineraries.

This time, the decision was much simpler.

These are the days I have off. Where can I go?

Sometimes things just work out.

It was a ship I had never sailed on, departing from a city I had never visited, heading to an island I had never seen.

Good enough for me.

And because I was already flying across the country, I decided I might as well make Boston part of the adventure. I would arrive a day before the cruise and stay another two days afterward.

Suddenly, my hastily booked escape had turned into a proper vacation.

But looking back, the most important part wasn’t Boston, Bermuda, or even the cruise itself.

It was that I finally gave myself permission to completely disconnect.

Not partially.

Not checking email once or twice a day.

Not keeping one eye on my phone just in case somebody needed something.

Not taking a vacation physically while mentally remaining at work.

For those days, work could continue without me.

And I needed to learn that was okay.

I usually wax poetically about these things, but I know why most of you are really here: new places, food, drinks, photos, and the occasional questionable decision or mishap along the way.

Fortunately, this trip had plenty of all of them.

The Vacation Started Before I Even Got There

The adventure began with an overnight flight from Phoenix to Boston, with an unexpected bonus: an upgrade to first class.

My first time.

I could pretend that I immediately became accustomed to the first-class lifestyle and acted like I belonged there, but internally I was absolutely taking mental notes of all the extra space, better service, food, and drinks.

I could get used to this.

Unfortunately, first class does not magically make me capable of sleeping well on an airplane.

So I arrived in Boston with minimal sleep but maximum vacation energy.

I had given myself an extra day specifically to explore, and I wasn’t about to waste it sleeping.

At least, that was my mindset at the beginning of the trip.

One of the things this vacation would eventually remind me was that a nap isn’t wasting vacation time.

If you’re tired, sleep.

If you need to sit down, sit down.

If your body is telling you that it needs a break, maybe listen to it instead of treating vacation like another assignment that needs to be completed.

There would be plenty of time for that lesson later.

For now, Boston was waiting.

Historic buildings, cobblestone streets, the waterfront, pieces of the Freedom Trail, Quincy Market—it seemed like every few blocks there was something else worth stopping to see or photograph.

And, of course, there was food.

You can’t send me to Boston and expect me not to eat a lobster roll.

By the end of that first day, my body was reminding me that I had barely slept, but mentally I already felt different.

I wasn’t thinking about work.

I wasn’t wondering what emails had arrived.

I wasn’t mentally working through tomorrow’s problems.

I was thinking about what was around the next corner.

That was the first sign that this trip was doing exactly what I needed it to do.

Back Where I Belonged: On the Water

The next day, I boarded the Norwegian Jewel.

There is something about stepping onto a cruise ship that immediately changes my mindset.

Maybe it’s knowing that for the next several days I don’t have to drive anywhere. Maybe it’s having food, drinks, entertainment, and a constantly changing view all within walking distance.

Or maybe I just really like being on the water.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t take long for that old feeling to come back.

After the usual embarkation-day ritual of finding food, locating a drink, exploring the ship, and getting lost at least once, it was time to sail away from Boston.

Standing outside and watching the city slowly disappear behind us was when the vacation became real.

And somewhere out there, as cell service faded and Boston disappeared behind the ship, so did my connection to work.

That was intentional.

I had made a decision before leaving home that I wasn’t going to spend this vacation checking in.

Work would still be there when I returned.

The problems would still exist.

The emails would certainly still be waiting.

For once, none of them needed me right now.

That realization alone brought a strange sense of peace.

For the next two days, there wasn’t even land to distract me.

Just the ship and the Atlantic.

And that was perfect.

I spent those sea days exploring the Jewel, eating, drinking, sitting around, watching the water, taking photos, and doing whatever I felt like doing at that particular moment.

No itinerary.

No deadlines.

No alarm reminding me that someone needed something.

No feeling that I should be accomplishing more.

If I wanted breakfast, I ate breakfast.

If I wanted a drink, I found a bar.

If I wanted to wander around the ship with my camera, I wandered.

And if I wanted to sit somewhere and stare at the ocean for an unreasonable amount of time, I did that too.

By the second sea day, I had figured out the ship. I knew my preferred spots, understood the layout, and had settled into that strange cruise rhythm where you stop paying much attention to what day it is.

More importantly, I was beginning to realize just how long it had been since I had truly disconnected.

There is a difference between not being at work and actually being away from work.

I was finally away.

And slowly, I was finding my peace again.

Bermuda Was Worth the Wait

After two days of looking out over the deep blue of the open Atlantic, Bermuda appeared.

And somehow, the water changed.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Before the buildings, before the beaches, before anything else—it was the water.

The deep blues of the Atlantic slowly gave way to shades of turquoise, aqua, teal, and almost impossibly clear blue surrounding the island.

It looked less like water and more like someone had taken every shade of blue from a paint palette and poured them around Bermuda.

As someone who is naturally drawn to water, I was immediately hooked.

I’ve photographed a lot of water over the years, but Bermudian water is something different. Depending on the depth, sunlight, clouds, and angle you were looking from, the color seemed to constantly change.

One minute it was brilliant turquoise.

The next, a deeper blue.

Then almost transparent.

It was ridiculous.

Beautifully ridiculous.

It was the kind of water that makes you take a photo, look at the photo, decide the photo doesn’t properly capture it, and immediately take another one.

And another.

And probably another after that.

Sometimes travel photography is about documenting a place.

Other times you’re just repeatedly pressing the shutter button because your brain refuses to believe the color you’re seeing is real.

Bermuda was definitely the latter.

For my first day on the island, I booked a tour so I could see more than just the area surrounding the port. We traveled around Bermuda taking in coastal roads, pastel-colored buildings, communities, beaches, and scenic overlooks.

But the water kept stealing the show.

You would round a corner or crest a hill and suddenly there it was again—a stretch of brilliant blue framed by pastel homes, rocky coastline, or pink sand.

Every viewpoint offered a slightly different version.

The famous pink sand beaches were beautiful on their own, but paired with that turquoise water they became something else entirely.

The whole scene looked almost unreal.

And standing there, looking out over it, I found myself doing something I hadn’t been doing enough of back home.

Nothing.

No multitasking.

No thinking three steps ahead.

No worrying about what needed to be done next.

Just standing there and enjoying where I was.

Peace shouldn’t feel unusual.

But sometimes it does when you’ve gone too long without it.

The Luxury of Having Nowhere to Be

One of the best parts of the Bermuda itinerary wasn’t something I could photograph.

It was time.

The Norwegian Jewel was staying docked for two nights.

That meant there wasn’t the usual cruise-port anxiety of constantly checking the clock.

How far are we from the ship?

How long will it take to get back?

What time is all aboard?

None of that.

The ship wasn’t leaving.

For once, there was no reason to rush.

I could explore the island, stop for photos whenever Bermuda’s ridiculous water demanded another one, sit somewhere if I felt like sitting, and simply enjoy being somewhere new without constantly calculating how much time remained.

After months of feeling like I was always moving from one obligation to another, having nowhere I urgently needed to be felt pretty damn good.

That became one of the themes of the entire trip.

No rushing unless I wanted to rush.

No alarms unless I needed one.

No guilt about sitting still.

No guilt about sleeping.

No guilt about choosing peace over productivity.

The Day I Went to Bermuda and Didn’t Visit Bermuda

The next morning, Bermuda was still sitting right outside the ship.

Turquoise water and all.

And I stayed aboard the Norwegian Jewel all day.

No excursion.

No sightseeing.

No attempt to squeeze every possible ounce of value out of being in Bermuda.

I relaxed.

On my own terms.

And I didn’t feel guilty about it.

That may have been one of the most important days of the entire vacation.

Travel sometimes comes with its own strange pressure. You spend money to go somewhere, so you convince yourself every minute has to be productive.

You need to see everything.

Do everything.

Photograph everything.

Otherwise, somehow, you’re wasting the trip.

But I hadn’t traveled all that way to create another job for myself.

I had traveled because I needed a break.

So while Bermuda and that beautiful blue water waited outside, I enjoyed a much quieter ship.

I ate when I wanted.

Had a drink when I wanted.

Found somewhere comfortable and stayed there as long as I wanted.

Maybe I took a nap.

Maybe I took another one.

And for once, I didn’t judge myself for it.

There is something wonderfully rebellious about taking a nap in the middle of a vacation when one of the most beautiful islands you’ve ever visited is sitting right outside.

Because the island would still be there when I woke up.

And apparently the world would continue spinning even if I wasn’t maximizing every minute.

Who knew?

Whenever I happened to look outside, there was Bermuda.

Not a bad backdrop for doing absolutely nothing.

This was my peace.

Not somebody else’s version of what my vacation should look like.

Mine.

And it was fantastic.

Glass Beach, Raisin Bread, and Rum

By the third morning in Bermuda, I was ready to venture back out.

I slept in a little.

Because by now, I had finally embraced the revolutionary concept that if I’m tired while on vacation, I can simply sleep.

Eventually, I headed to Glass Beach, which offered something completely different from the more postcard-perfect parts of the island.

It was quieter and more understated, with pieces of sea glass along the shoreline that had been shaped and polished over time by the water.

There was something fitting about ending my Bermuda experience there.

After spending days admiring the water for its color and beauty, here was another reminder of what that same water could do over time—taking discarded pieces of glass, tumbling them against the shoreline, smoothing their edges, and turning them into something worth stopping to look at.

After spending some time there, I headed back toward the port.

But I couldn’t leave Bermuda without trying a little more local food.

That’s how I ended up with a fish sandwich served on raisin bread.

Yes.

Raisin bread.

I had questions too.

It sounds like one of those food combinations somebody creates after staring into the refrigerator at midnight, but somehow the sweet bread and savory fish worked together.

And because I was still in Bermuda, I washed it down with a rum swizzle.

Fish on raisin bread, a rum swizzle, and turquoise water nearby.

Travel expands the mind.

Or something like that.

Eventually, it was time to board the Jewel and leave Bermuda behind.

Watching those brilliant shades of turquoise slowly transition back into the darker blue of the Atlantic was one of the few times during the trip when I genuinely wished the ship would move a little slower.

Bermuda had gotten my attention.

Mostly through the water.

But it also reminded me of how good it feels to slow down enough to actually notice something beautiful.

One Final Day at Sea

Our last full day aboard the Norwegian Jewel was a sea day, and I treated it accordingly.

I slept in.

Actually, I slept in enough that when I finally ventured out of my cabin for “breakfast,” it was already early afternoon.

And you know what?

I didn’t care.

There was no guilt attached to sleeping half the day away.

Apparently, my body needed it.

So I let it.

That might seem like a small thing, but it represented something much bigger about this trip.

At home, there is always something I could be doing.

Something productive.

Something useful.

Something that needs attention.

On the ship, I was learning to stop treating rest as something I had to justify.

Rest was the activity.

Peace was the plan.

When I finally stepped out of my cabin, I discovered something I hadn’t experienced during the earlier sea days.

Fog.

Thick fog.

The ship was traveling through a wall of it, with the horizon completely gone. Ocean and sky disappeared into the same gray nothingness around us.

Every so often, the ship’s horn would sound through the fog.

It was eerie.

Peaceful.

A little surreal.

And strangely appropriate.

The earlier sea days had been about excitement and rediscovering cruising.

Bermuda had been filled with brilliant colors, clear water, exploration, food, drinks, and photography.

This final sea day was different.

It was quiet.

No need to see anything.

No need to accomplish anything.

No need to be anywhere.

I had slept until my body was ready to wake up, walked out into a ship surrounded by fog, found something to eat, and simply existed.

And for that moment, that was enough.

More than enough, actually.

Boston: Round Two

We were back in Boston the next morning, and I was off the ship by around 9:00.

But I wasn’t going home yet.

That was intentional.

I made my way to the hotel, dropped off my luggage, and did something the version of me at the beginning of the trip might have considered wasting valuable exploration time.

I took a nap.

A glorious, unapologetic nap.

Boston wasn’t going anywhere.

There would still be restaurants when I woke up.

The buildings would still be standing.

The Freedom Trail wasn’t going to pack up and leave because I slept for a while.

So I rested.

Then, when I was ready, I headed back into the city.

That became another important part of the trip.

I wasn’t forcing myself through it anymore.

I was exploring because I wanted to explore.

Eating because I wanted to eat.

Stopping for drinks because I wanted a drink.

Taking photos because something caught my eye.

And sleeping because sometimes I was tired.

Simple.

But strangely liberating.

Having those extra days in Boston turned out to be one of the best decisions I made. Instead of stepping off the ship and immediately beginning the miserable transition back to airports, flights, and reality, I got to ease my way back.

The Boston I returned to also felt different.

When I arrived before the cruise, everything was unfamiliar.

Now I had some bearings.

So I wandered some more.

Ate some more.

Drank some more.

Took more photos.

And enjoyed the final stretch without worrying about squeezing every possible experience out of it.

The trip had stopped being about how much I could fit into the time.

It had become about how much I could actually enjoy the time I had.

The Recharge I Didn’t Know I Needed

When I booked this trip a month before departure, I thought I needed a vacation.

What I actually needed was a reset.

There is a difference.

I didn’t need another schedule.

I didn’t need a checklist of attractions.

I didn’t need every hour filled with activities.

I needed distance.

I needed water.

I needed naps.

I needed good food and unfamiliar drinks.

I needed my camera.

I needed mornings where nobody expected anything from me.

I needed afternoons where I could decide that doing absolutely nothing was the plan.

Most importantly, I needed peace.

This trip reawakened my love of cruising and reminded me how much being near water seems to reset something in me.

The Boston waterfront.

The endless Atlantic.

The unbelievable turquoise water surrounding Bermuda.

The quiet shoreline at Glass Beach.

Even the final fog-covered sea day.

Water was almost a character in the entire trip.

But Bermuda was the star.

There is something about that Bermudian water that will stick with me. Those shades of blue were more than just something beautiful to photograph.

They became part of how I remember the entire trip.

Bright.

Calm.

Clear.

Peaceful.

About as far removed from the daily grind as I could possibly get.

And that was exactly where I needed to be.

This trip reminded me why I travel.

To see something I’ve never seen.

To experience something I can’t experience at home.

To try new food—even when somebody decides the appropriate bread for a fish sandwich contains raisins.

To order the local drink.

To wander around with my camera and take far too many photos.

To sleep until noon occasionally because nobody is stopping me.

And sometimes, simply to sit somewhere beautiful and allow myself to do absolutely nothing.

But most importantly, this trip reminded me that work-life balance is a necessity, not a want.

It’s very easy to become overly fixated on work, especially when you take pride in what you do.

There is always another project.

Another problem.

Another email.

Another deadline.

Another person who needs something.

You can keep giving and giving until eventually you realize there isn’t much left in the tank.

That’s where I was before this trip.

I just hadn’t fully realized it yet.

And here’s the uncomfortable truth I needed to remember:

Work survived without me.

The emails waited.

The problems waited.

The meetings continued.

People figured things out.

The world did not end because I disconnected.

For those days, I wasn’t a job title.

I wasn’t an inbox.

I wasn’t somebody’s solution to the next problem.

I was just me.

Exploring Boston.

Floating across the Atlantic.

Staring at Bermuda’s ridiculous blue water.

Taking photos.

Eating something strange.

Having a drink.

Taking a nap.

Enjoying my peace.

Work will get my all when I’m there.

But I’ve also realized that giving work my all requires occasionally giving it absolutely nothing.

No emails.

No phone calls.

No checking in “just real quick.”

No glancing at messages because I’m curious.

No vacation where I’m physically somewhere else but mentally still sitting at my desk.

When I disconnect, I need to disconnect.

Because a vacation isn’t truly a vacation if you’re just working from a nicer view.

So I made myself a promise coming out of this trip:

Every three to six months, I am taking a real, completely disconnected vacation.

It doesn’t always have to be a cruise.

It doesn’t have to be Bermuda.

It doesn’t have to involve first class, lobster rolls, rum swizzles, or fish sandwiches served on questionable bread.

It doesn’t even have to be particularly ambitious.

It just needs to take me away from the routine long enough to remember that my life exists outside of work.

Long enough to recharge.

Long enough to sleep when I’m tired.

Long enough to sit still without feeling guilty.

Long enough to find my peace again.

Because taking care of yourself isn’t something you should finally think about once you’re already drained.

Rest shouldn’t only happen after burnout.

Peace shouldn’t be something you have to earn.

And vacation shouldn’t be another place where you create a schedule so packed that you return home needing a vacation from your vacation.

Sometimes the itinerary needs to say:

Nap.

Eat.

Have a drink.

Look at the water.

Do absolutely nothing.

Repeat as necessary.

Sometimes you need to close the laptop, put the phone away, get on a plane, board a ship, and disappear for a while.

Preferably somewhere with beautiful water.

And sometimes the trip you book only a month in advance because it happens to fit your days off becomes exactly the trip you didn’t know you needed.

As for cruising?

Yeah.

The spark was definitely back.

As for Bermuda?

I’ll remember a lot about it.

But I’ll probably remember that beautiful water most of all.

And as for taking time away from work?

Next time, I’m not waiting until I’m already running on empty.

There will always be more work.

My peace deserves a place on the calendar too.