Time is the Greatest Gift

And sometimes, it takes going far away to return to yourself

I just spent two weeks in Taipei, Kyoto, and Tokyo. If I had to sum up the trip in one word, it would be: connection. Connection with my father. With old friends and new ones. And most importantly, connection with myself.

Now, as I write this curled up in bed at home, my heart feels full. Full of belly laughs. Full bellies. Memories of dancing. Happy tears. Too much sake.

The trip was centered around my dear friend’s wedding in Kyoto. And I almost didn’t go. I didn’t want to be in the same room as my ex. But after a girls’ trip to Mexico City for the bride’s bachelorette and falling in love with all the women heading to Japan, the decision was easy. I wanted to be there for my friend — not miss out because of someone from my past.

That choice led me to something so much greater: the quiet, powerful magic of time. As cliché as it sounds, time really does heal. It took me a while to decipher whether I was protecting my peace by not going, or if I needed to practice acceptance of what is. It was a fine line. I generally know how heartbreak works (ish), and it slowly became clear to me that a year from now, I’d be relishing in the happy memories of celebrating my friends love, not mourning the one I’d lost.

My ex and I didn’t travel well together for a lot of reasons. I used to think I wasn’t cut out for solo travel either. But this trip proved otherwise. The thrill of discovery. The joy of navigating a city alone. The beauty of letting each day unfold on its own terms.

I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed my own company. In Taipei, I treated it as if I were home in LA. I worked out, I worked from our dining room table, I helped my dad with chores around the house. In Japan, I let go even more. I didn’t make a single reservation; I didn’t want to be tied to plans outside the wedding festivities. I ate when I was hungry. Woke up without an alarm. Lay in my beautiful hotel bed and actually rested. I wandered through quiet neighborhoods without a destination in mind, sat in a nearly empty ramen shop near closing time, and watched a woman practice Tai Chi in Yoyogi Park. I barely shopped (okay an outfit or two) — but I didn’t want to.

Instead, I spent time talking with my dad about art, purpose, and politics. I shared delicious meals over countless draft beers with new friends. I got lost in the streets of Taipei and Tokyo and didn’t feel the need to be found. I soaked in the onsen with the girls. I laughed until I cried. We danced late into the night. I watched friends I love get married and truly felt their love.

I didn’t know how much I needed this. To travel for myself. To countries I’ve visited many times, where I didn’t feel pressure to see the sights. It gave me space to be fully present — for myself, and for the people I love. It was a trip that brought me back to life. That helped me rebuild, quietly and gently, the parts of myself I’d let fall away.

I carried my journal everywhere, scribbling thoughts as they came. I am a deep feeler. An avid thinker. Writing is the way I process the world and my thoughts, and it made every small moment feel a little more vivid. Every time I paused to write, I was happy. And now, looking back on those pages, I see joy written all over them.

I’ve also been practicing the art of acceptance and letting go — of people, of expectations, of control. It's a lifelong practice, but I can feel a shift. More lightness. Less resistance. The biggest change? Peace. Peace when I wake up. Peace as I fall asleep.

Ironically enough, I lost a necklace I wore every single day on the end of the trip. A gift from my ex. I vividly remember clasping it on as I left my Tokyo hotel room. But when I got home to LA, I reached for it and felt only my bare neck. For a moment, I considered calling the hotel. But then... I didn’t. I knew it wasn’t meant to come back with me.

Now, I’m happily home. I’m finding balance — between work, family, friendship, and the freedom of travel. It’s taken a long time to get here. A long, winding journey of healing. Marked by heartbreak, uncertainty, and slow, quiet transformation. But somehow, through all of it, I kept moving. I am learning how to finally choose myself — and every choice to show up for myself is an act of reclamation. This trip wasn’t just about joy or rest. It was about taking back my power. About remembering who I am when I’m not shrinking, not chasing, not surviving — but simply being.

I arrived home just a few days before what would’ve been my mom’s 66th birthday. It’s been five years without her earth side. Some birthdays have been harder than others, but this year was different. It was easier. All she ever wanted was for me to be happy. And this year, I could honestly grant her that wish.

I always have more to say, but for now, I’ll leave you with this:

Time is the greatest gift we’re given. And sometimes, it takes going far away to return to yourself.

Love, Cat xoxo

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