What the Mara has taught me about doing absolutely nothing - and why that's perfectly okay.

It feels as though the past five years have flown by – and at the same time, moved agonisingly slowly. Post-pandemic has been about catching our collective breaths. We've been navigating the highs and lows of the job market, the unpredictable state of world politics, and the quiet currents of our own emotional states. 

For many of us, we've journeyed from a (mostly) stable and regular state of affairs to a time where things are rapidly, and often bewilderingly, changing.

AI, they say, is taking all our jobs, the cost of eggs has soared to almost comical heights, and we've got a few interesting leaders helming major world economies.

Amidst all this, it's more than okay to take a break – time out for yourself to discover a new place, and perhaps carve out a little bit of heaven.

The Mara is one of those places – impossible to fully discover (it's just so wonderfully vast), yet the savannah has a way of enveloping you like a warm, familiar glove. Orange, brown, and wheat hues stretch all around, punctuated by the quiet thrill of chance animal sightings, and a profound, welcoming solitude.

There is nothing quite like a game drive at dusk or dawn. Whether with others or peacefully solo, a certain kind of silence often settles over every trip deep into the plains. It’s in these moments you can feel at one with your thoughts, even as they drift and wander, scattered from north to south, east to west, like dandelion seeds on the breeze.

Solitude here doesn't whisper of sadness; instead, it offers a precious space to truly tune into yourself, find a quiet sort of peace, and perhaps rediscover a little joy in the midst of what can often feel like a tumultuous world.

Happy travelling. And resting.