Itacaré, Bahia (Brazil) Travelogue

April 15, 2026

There’s a sliver of forest when I look to my left, peeking out from behind the beige curtain that waves like the ocean. My eyes draw to the decaying leaf in the foreground. It’s only partially decayed. Not fully dead yet. Still attached. Still hanging on.

In front of me is more green, more shadow, some light. Leafy vines dangle from the trees in the sunlight. Weighty, but light at the same time, swaying back and forth in the breeze. There’s a bundle of what I thought was tree trunk in the shade, but is actually more decay, the past life of the enormous bromeliad cascading from a branch just above, something I didn’t see until I leaned right, then tilted my head to follow my body.

These details, the kiss of the air on my feet right now, blowing from the air conditioner above my bed (set to 16 C - too cold), the way the sheets are thrown aside, wrinkled from when I tossed them off earlier to go make coffee, have breakfast. The way my journal still sits just next to me from when I wrote in it last night before bed. My discarded contacts, now shriveled up and stuck together just next to it. I was too lazy to find a trash can so late at night.

These details — let me finish that thought — are what compose this now moment. This moment I’d otherwise forget. Perhaps something might remind me of it in the future. But if not, here it is, put down on this page to return to if I want to.

I’m in Itacaré. Back in Itacaré. I’ve been here before, but not here. This is new. With this forest on two sides of me, I feel like I’m tucked in Itacaré’s furthest, quietest corner. Just where I want to be right now. I want to be here and here. If that makes sense. It makes sense to me.

My work is at a point where it’s starting to play in very real realms, the sort of realms that have impact, ripple effects. There’s no mindlessness allowed now. This isn’t experimental anymore. I have to be conscious of what I do/create and its impact.

This awareness is causing me to pause, but not stop. If that makes sense. It makes sense to me.

Do no harm is the mantra I keep returning to. I keep measuring my work up against. And I feel the friction of realizing that harm might be done. Or could be done if I don’t pause and really think about this.

This is all about responsibility. Who do I want to be as a creator? As someone with a voice that speaks to many? Do no harm.

This is realignment. The word I wrote in my journal last night is “refinement.” I’m being refined. Like a pencil being sharpened.

This is why I said this is a pause, not a stop, not an ending. I can feel that, which is reassuring. I don’t have to abandon what I’m doing/creating. I just have to refine it. Align it with what I now know. And can’t unknow.

This is new territory. This is going a different direction than I thought it was. But it’s a better direction, even though I can’t see where this direction goes exactly or how it functions.

As I typed that I got this feeling of something clicking into place. That’s what this feels like. It’s right. Like a train car locking into it’s tracks before it follows them.

I’m so glad I’m capturing this. This moment in time. This moment on the journey. This, then what comes. We only ever see where we are and we often forget how we got there. I won’t. Because of this.

Because I took the time to be where I was and write it down.

April 14, 2026

Let me set the scene. I’m propped up on a pillow in bed at the pousada I’ll have to check out of in 2 hours, typing this instead of scrolling on Instagram —- a habit I’m tying to re-channel into something far more grounding and worthwhile. Something a lot like this — the words you’re reading now.

My inner world feels like chaos. There’s just so much to do, organize, follow up on, create, stay on top of that my mind doesn’t rest anymore. I miss my restful mind. And yet, when I glance away from this screen even for a second, I feel this gush of relief. To my right, right now, is a patio with two cushioned lounge chairs, surrounded by palms and tropical flowers, birds resting on the branches. To my left, the swimming pool is rippling in the sunshine through the gorgeous antique corner window in my room.

The light is just right and it all just makes me feel good. I’m not sure I know why exactly, only that it does. And just noticing what feels good is my life raft right now, a bridge to what’s right there, already here. A reminder to live the life right in front of me. I could go take a dip in that pool. Why don’t I? I could go sit on those cushioned lounge chairs with the birds. Why don’t I?

I don’t because I let one more thing get in the way. I choose something else first. But here’s the thing. Time is ticking. Those chairs to my right, that pool to my left, this light that makes me feel so good won’t be there in two hours time for my enjoyment. They’re there for me now, inviting me to enjoy my life while it’s happening. Not later. Now.

I just glanced back over at the pool, letting those last words sink in. Tears sprang to my eyes. They’re still springing. What they’re speaking is: it’s time to stop doing it all and all at once. It’s time to go in order. The right order. What is right in front of me? What feels like an arm extended in my direction, pulling me in? Not the arm that traps and disconnects, like social media, but the one that comes from the life that’s just right there, the moments I won’t get back when they’re gone.

There’s a woman in the room above making a sound that reminds me of the sound you make at the doctors when they say “open your mouth and stick out your tongue. Say “ahhhhh.” She just stopped. What was that? Why? Now the leaves to the right are rustling in the breeze saying “hushhhhhh.” I hear men talking in Portuguese. I hear a click-clack, then a hollow sound of emptiness, like an empty pot being nudged.

This is me grounding. This is me tuning in to this moment. Being in it. With it. What I really need. Trucks passing. A motorcycle rumble next. Faint music. My own exhale.

It doesn’t matter what I say here. What I pick up on. What I put down. What matters is that I keep doing this. I keep grounding. I keep returning when I stray too far from what’s right here. Right here is where I want to be.

Right here feels so good. I’ll go enjoy it now.