The Relaxation Guru: What Bad Weather Taught Me About Rest and Boundaries

When the skies closed in, I finally learned to stop overriding my own limits

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

#TheRelaxationGuru— excerpt from my upcoming book “On the bright side of life”

Among many other “big names”, the weather forecast is one of the most important travel influencers. That is, of course, if you are not taken by the idea of a weekend spent snowed under in a mountain cabin, or crossing the Pearl River Estuary during a typhoon.

Which, to be honest with you, I am not. And, in order to sustain my savvy traveller persona, I do let the meteorologists largely dictate when I choose to visit a particular destination.

I have been quite lucky so far in dodging bad weather during my travels — so much so that one of my Korean friends nicknamed me the “날씨 요정” (weather fairy), because the skies often clear the moment I step outside, even when the forecast promises otherwise. (Sadly, I don’t seem to enjoy the same privilege in London.)

My long-awaited but somehow hastily planned career break back in 2023 told a different story, however. And that was to be expected — we are talking about months, not days or weeks.

No matter how much I shuffled destinations around, avoiding bad weather entirely would have required catching random flights instead of sensible hops to neighbouring countries. Budgets, travel times, and energy levels also played a part — though I still tried to stick to shoulder seasons and steer clear of extreme conditions where possible.

Even so, the July wet season in Seoul found me trudging through above-ankle water in rubber sandals because no other footwear stood a chance.

Bangkok and Singapore followed suit that autumn, though the rain there was mercifully much less dramatic. Well, sort of… maybe?

I still can’t quite reconcile it. As a Romanian July baby, I always associated my birth month with sunshine and soaring temperatures, so celebrating my birthday under grey skies in Seoul wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.

Thankfully, friends and good food made sure that at least the memories stayed warm.

Said friends and food. Seoul, July 2023. By Dana Sandu

At that time, I was still part of the see-everything, don’t-waste-the-money-since-you’re-here troupe, not yet fully grasping the 30s’ stamina levels (still being a new recruit and all that).

But, as it was to be expected, that mindset came with health repercussions as I couldn’t bring myself to fully rest, not even for a day.

Even when exhausted or sick, I would drag myself out of the hotel just to see something, anything, to avoid the feeling of missing out. It was a demanding way to travel: walking seven to ten hours a day for months, constantly planning, scheduling, booking tickets, packing and unpacking, finding food, catching flights, and so on.

From the perspective of a “let’s-see-it-all” traveller, bad weather might seem like misfortune. Looking back, though, it was anything but — given how unwilling I was to slow myself down.

Let me explain.

Tropical Storm Talim suddenly joined me in Macau that year as I stood in line for a warm, gooey pastel de nata.

Rain started to pick up, and I was so desperate to get back before the downpour, yet somehow it felt like the front of the queue was getting further and further away from me.

That moment she knew. Macau, July 2023. By Dana Sandu

Miraculously, my manifestation skills kicked in for once, and I found shelter just before the streets turned into an angry river.

The rapidly increasing rainfall blurred even the glittering Grand Lisboa I was admiring from across the street while searching in vain for a taxi.

Eventually, I returned to my hotel on foot once the first wave had passed, all the while praying I wouldn’t slip and fall in the middle of the street. My rubber sandals were ironically not the best choice for that weather.

The timing couldn’t have been better, though. I had already seen the highlights and was starting to feel unwell, so I spent the next couple of days holed up in my hotel room, surviving on steamed rice and blanched vegetables (couldn’t stomach anything else), while watching the storm unfold outside. It was unexpectedly soothing.

I didn’t even know whether my ferry to Hong Kong would run until I reached the port, relying on hotel announcements and friends’ updates. Thankfully, it did — and I returned rested, recharged, and ready to binge on new local delicacies.

Typhoon Koinu told a similar story.

Run down and battling severe period pain, I took a full day off in Tainan, sleeping on my hostel bed while strong gusts rattled the metal roof plates at night. I half-expected a classical piece to start playing, signalling the dramatic climax of a cartoon episode. Loved the vibe in that hostel though — it is probably one of my favourite stays ever.

When I did venture out, I kept outings short, and the rain even gifted me some unexpected dinner company in the form of three Taiwanese students from Kaohsiung stranded in the same hostel.

Bad weather, especially while travelling, can feel like life is throwing you curveballs. But sometimes it is doing the opposite — redirecting you under the guise of inconvenience.

It certainly forced me down the path of much-needed rest at a time when I hadn’t yet learned what boundaries were, when my instinct was always to push through discomfort, rain and wind.

Once ready to hit the road again, the weather somehow miraculously improved — as if to say, I have seen your doctor’s note, and you may now proceed.

In retrospect, what I took away from those moments wasn’t just flexibility, but a deeper understanding of my own limits — and, more importantly, the boundaries I needed to set for myself and in my interactions with others.

I realised how often I treated exhaustion and pain — physical, mental, and emotional — as inconveniences rather than information. Something to override instead of responding to.

The weather didn’t change my plans as much as it changed my relationship with rest and with others in general, turning rest from a perceived failure into something necessary, protective, and self-preserving.

So the next time the “skies” disrupt our journeys, maybe it is not about waiting things out or hoping for better conditions.

Maybe it is an invitation to check in with ourselves;

to let go of our plans — or others’ expectations;

to choose care over completion, over the views and priorities of others;

to stop proving how much we can endure.

That’s the cue to book the massage you’ve been eyeing in the hotel booklet or finally trying that beach studio yoga class.

And whatever you decide, don’t forget to set yourself on DND. After all, life can wait.

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