Inspired by Homer’s epic, this series explores the journeys that changed our editors’ lives. From conquering fears in Indonesia and postpartum resets in Greece via existential epiphanies in Paris, these are modern odysseys to inspire your next adventure. Here, senior commerce writer Lauren Burvill heads to Greece post-partum.
“Do you get to travel often in your job?” is a question that typically comes my way when I tell people where I work. Granted, I’m not jet-setting around the world every week, but yes, I do get to travel. I have two little children, so I like to keep my time away from them to a minimum – a night in Paris here, a quick trip to Venice there. These trips are typically to review hotels, so I have to be laser-focused on gaining as much information as I can – the nicest rooms to book, the drink to order, the type of traveller that goes there. I know how to spend my time efficiently, which photos I need to take, and which details are worth jotting down.
“I’d like you to set an intention for your visit.”
It’s a line that sends a jolt through me. After a tiring trudge through the crowded arrivals at Athens airport, I’m at Cape Sounio, a hotel within ancient archaeological grounds and overlooking the Temple of Poseidon. After a quick check-in, I’m whisked off in a golf cart to the hotel spa, where I meet Vicky Vlachonis, a wellness expert, osteopath and author of The Body Doesn’t Lie.
I realise that stating the obvious – my intention is to review this hotel – would be too blunt. In my panic, I blurt “to reset.” It’s a word that I’ve felt bubbling up in me for a while now. I’m six months into a new role after maternity leave. I stopped breastfeeding three months ago. Life has been at such a rapid pace this year that both feel so far behind me. In my laser focus and never-ending list of life admin, I haven’t had time to address my weird toenail, let alone stop and reflect on the physical and emotional rollercoaster of being 18 months postpartum. Any time, however minuscule, when I should be meditating or journaling or checking in on myself (and that weird toenail), is spent collapsed in a heap with Bravo shows blaring in the background.
