I was not going to share this—the key reason most Finns have such a recharging summer—because, for the longest time, I could not figure out how you and I could replicate it in the US and beyond.
But then, completely out of the blue, it happened. For the first time in the US, a long-lost yet familiar feeling crept up on me. It was so magical that I now want to shout this from the rooftops: I dare you to completely rethink what you should do, or where you should go on summer vacation to get this feeling.
So, what is this feeling?
First, I’ll warn you, it is addictive. Once you experience it, it feels so good that you want it again and again. You can’t wait for it.
It’s the feeling Finns seek by traveling to their basic summer cabin, somewhere remote in the woods, ideally by a lake—some even without running water. If you are following Finns on social media, you see even President Stubb posting photos of his blissful stays on his off-the-grid lodge on an island in the Finnish archipelago, doing basic things like brooming his wooden front porch.
Chasing this feeling is the opposite of everything we have been sold about making memories this summer. So why would you want this? Because it’s the opposite of manufacturing memories; it’s about becoming so present that memories of those moments imprint in your mind—forever.
Of course, the challenge is that none of us have a remote forest cabin. But I promise, I now know it’s not about the place. It’s more about combining several elements, which I accidentally did in late June, when I took my two oldest boys, Lucas, 12, and Miles, 10, to Vermont for a week.
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We drove 4.5 hours north, making a couple of stops along the way, to a nearly deserted ski town Killington, where, to my shock, every coffee shop except one was closed, and where the restaurants, with few exceptions, opened only for the weekend. Luckily, a mini-sized grocery store with the basics was open.
I had booked us a room in a 180-year-old, red, two-story farmhouse flanked by the Kent Pond, the Appalachian Trail, and the Gifford Woods State Park, and even if it was a hotel, it felt more like an intimate cabin.
On the first morning, at 6 am, as I sat alone on the wood-blank porch, in my PJ pants and a sweater, with a cup of hot coffee, watching as steam rose over the pond and a pair of groundhogs waddled and galloped in the grass, this feeling slowly started setting in. First a big sigh, then peace.
I didn’t even need a meditation app; my phone was turned off. Just gazing at nature, in silence and solitude, completely quieted my mind.
Over the next five days, as I was worked on a chapter in my new book on that same porch, covered by a blanket and drinking warm mint tea (the temperature was much cooler in Vermont), the boys were in a camp (that they had looked towards for months), and every afternoon, we adventured together in nature until bedtime: kayaking, swimming, or running in the grass in the rain. Every day, during my self-imposed lunch break, I went to the hot sauna and then swam in the cold pond to clear my mind. And watched the groundhogs.
It sounds simple, so why is this level of peace of mind, this level of contentment, this level of fulfillment so hard to replicate?
I started thinking about the elements that caused this feeling, and how we could find them or recreate them almost anywhere we are. And I came up with this list:
Before I get to the elements, I need to note one thing. While little kids can be happy to build dams in springs and invent independent play, tweens and teens do need something active to do, and ideally also friends, to achieve this level of bliss. My boys were in the Killington Mountain School camp from 8:45am to 4pm, which had been the primary reason for us to go to Vermont.
It was a trampoline and air bag training program for young freeskiers, who wanted to practice and master new jumps. I also chose the hotel precisely, because after they got back from camp, they could play pool or board games indoors, or we could kayak, paddle board, swim, go to the sauna, and play numerous outdoor games in the grass, and make very American s’mores by the outdoor firepit.
Radical disconnection: the idea is to escape the urban life, its schedules and responsibilities, and the need to be available to connect with anyone who messages you, for business or personal purposes. This also includes the radical disconnection of your city self: titles or status or anything that rates or ranks you in any way ceases to exist. You return to the core you: the person you are without all of that; nothing else matters.
Simple, Active Rituals and Routines: Simple, stress-free routines and wellness rituals shape the day—for me, this was coffee outside at sunrise, sauna and lake swim during lunch time, unplanned nature activities with kids in the evening right on the property. We hardly left the property (beyond the boys’ camp and picking up dinner to go on our way back), and we did one single booked activity that whole week: one after-camp ride on a mountain roller coaster.
Connection with Nature & The Present Moment: In a world that’s so noisy and busy, it’s hard to overstate what silence and solitude, and real-life nature sounds, do to you. The key is to ban other distractions before they happen: I turned my phone off while the kids were in camp, checked it briefly in the afternoon, and then, using the Block, made most apps inaccessible (besides Facetime, which I used to call my youngest son), after the kids got out of camp. I didn’t take any screens on the trip, and I even hid the TV remotes in the room. It was just the nature, and just us.
Plain Socializing: Remove the need to keep up appearances for the sake of appearances. Repeat clothes, forget makeup, and don’t even turn on the hair dryer; aim for the “sauna fresh” look. And certainly skip changing kids’ clothing for stains. They are badges of honor: a day well played.
None of this required a passport, a trust fund, or a cabin in the Finnish woods. It required turning my phone off, trusting that simple is better, and letting a week (outside of camp) be “boring” on purpose. And it was so enjoyable!
That’s the whole secret. Not the location. Nothing fancy. Just: radical disconnection, simple rituals, real nature, and permission to look a little rough around the edges (or to wear a baseball cap to cover your daily sauna hair;-).
You might not have five days or the ability to even find or stay at a farmhouse by a pond or lake. But we all, most likely, have a weekend and we can choose how we spend it. Doing what it takes to feel like we are exactly in the right place, at the right time, doing exactly what we are supposed to, and that we are just enough and have just enough.
So here’s my dare: this weekend, turn your phone completely off. Not “do not disturb”—off. Hide it. Then go do something active, outside, in actual nature: beach, forest, mountain, anything. Hike, swim, kayak, build a fire, chase your kids around a field in the rain or with a water blaster, and then make ice cream cones and eat them at sunset. Let the kids do something on their own, and relax, read, write, gaze at the clouds. Nothing scheduled, nowhere to be, nowhere to go.
And if you try to cheat on the no-phones rule to capture a memory, stop— try an old school method instead. Besides the photos here and the videos of my boys on their ski camp, I documented our Vermont adventures with a Polaroid camera (on the days I had remembered to charge it)—not for anyone else but for my family and me.
Please tell me in the comments: what could your version of radical disconnection look like this weekend—and is there something that’s stopping you from trying it? Let’s brainstorm some peace and quiet for you together!
If this resonated, there’s so much more!
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