Life often takes us to places we didn’t plan—both in geography and in spirit. The River Tagliamento in northern Italy was one of those places. We didn’t know its name before we met it. But something called us in, and when we followed, it gifted us a memory that became a message.

Following the Whisper

In August, our family scattered across Europe—Arun and I to Romania, Christian to Italy with his parents. We reunited later that month, but our energies clashed. Disconnection lingered. We needed to reset, to find each other again—not through words, but through being.

We let the road guide us. No plan, no agenda—just trust. We stopped the car when the pull of the forest whispered loud enough to hear. That’s how it began.

The Descent into Stillness

A narrow path led us into the woods. Ten minutes in, we found a steep staircase carved into the earth. Christian carried Arun, I followed—camera in one hand, holding my dress with the other, grounding myself with each step.

We reached the riverbed. What met us took our breath away.

Crystalline water flowed freely across white stones. The sun illuminated every ripple. In the distance, tree-lined mountains framed a canvas of stillness. No voices, no houses, no distractions. Just us. Just now. We had arrived.

Lessons in Cold Water

Christian, as always, was the first to greet the wild. He dove in—three times into water that burned cold. I joined with my feet, then froze—literally. A sharp brain-freeze reminder of how the body resists surrender.

Arun watched with joy, skipping stones and singing to the rhythm of the moment. He wanted to join but settled into being, content and curious. Isn’t that what we all seek?

Presence as a Way Back to Ourselves

We spent hours by that river—laughing, meditating, exploring every stone. Arun didn’t get bored for a second. Nature had him, just like it had us.

In moments like this, time disappears. We don’t check clocks or phones. We just are.

And in just being, we remember who we truly are.

Reflections on Trust and the Unknown

Life keeps teaching me the art of surrender. I still interrupt the flow, try to control outcomes, people, even myself. But more and more, I let go. I trust that God—or the Universe—isn’t chaotic, but purposeful. Even in the mess, it’s always guiding us home.

The river reminded me: you don’t need to fight the current. Sometimes, you just need to stand still and listen.

“The more I surrender, the more I am held. The more I trust, the more beauty I see. Maybe the journey to self isn’t about becoming—but remembering.”


What moments in your life have pulled you back to presence and trust? Do you listen to those quiet invitations?

Honor your journey