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I recently took a mini vacation to Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island in Canada, and I was utterly enchanted.
It felt like stepping into a fairy tale—breathtaking natural scenery, warm-hearted people, and the gentle whistle of the wind surrounded us. The beauty of the place made me pause, breathe deeply, and truly take in the world around me.
There’s a special kind of magic in staying in a cozy cabin, where birds flutter from tree to tree, singing their hearts out as if just for you. It truly felt like Lucy Maud Montgomery’s novels had come to life before my eyes—like Anne Shirley herself might pop out from behind the trees at any moment.
During my time there, I discovered eight simple yet powerful ways the experience helped me practice mindfulness and reconnect with the deeper parts of myself:
1. The people have a calming presence that makes you feel seen.
In these serene places, even a simple exchange of eye contact and a smile with a stranger can fill you with calm. There’s a genuine warmth that makes you feel acknowledged and accepted. While no place is perfect and everyone can have an off day, the peaceful energy of the region seems to encourage people to be more grounded and present. They’re mentally refreshed enough to offer their full attention—and that inspires you to do the same.
The way the sun shines and the people smile makes you want to walk with your head held high. Whether in larger cities or quiet countryside towns, you’ll meet people from all walks of life—including communities with roots in Asia, Europe, and beyond. In the 1800s, many Irish immigrants came to Canada during the Great Famine, seeking relief from starvation and disease. Likewise, people from Southeast Asia arrived looking for better opportunities and a more stable life. Today, they all share one common reason for being there: to find peace.
The most beautiful part is that you don’t always need words—a smile can speak volumes. Through this experience, I realized I was more “normal” than I thought. I just needed to reconnect with my heart and show up as my true self.
2. The hills remind you that life has its ups and downs.
As my dad drove us through the winding roads and rolling hills of Nova Scotia and PEI, I couldn’t help but notice how often we were going up, then down, then up again. Sometimes we could see what was coming; other times, the road ahead vanished behind a bend. That’s when it struck me—life is just like that.
There are moments when everything feels elevated—joyful, exciting, full of promise. And then there are dips—times when things slow down or feel uncertain. But neither lasts forever. The hills taught me to appreciate the view when I’m on top, and to stay steady when I’m in a valley, knowing I’ll rise again.
Even the effort of going uphill mirrored the emotional work we often have to do—pushing through fear, fatigue, or doubt. But just like a car keeps moving, so do we. And on the way down, there’s a sense of ease, a pause, a chance to coast and reflect.
What matters is staying on the road—trusting that the landscape of our lives will keep changing and that every part of the journey has something to teach us.
3. The breeze carries your worries away.
The cool, steady breeze that flows through Nova Scotia and PEI is more than just refreshing—it’s healing. It felt like nature was gently reminding me to let go of the things I can’t control. With every breath, I let the wind carry away my tension, like leaves drifting through the sky.
All my fears, doubts, and anxieties seemed to run away on the wind. My family and I embraced the moment, standing still as the breeze kissed our cheeks and wrapped us in its calm.
It reminded me of the Wind Woman from Emily of New Moon—always present, always watching—a mysterious, comforting force. As I stood in the open air, I felt like Anne from Anne of Green Gables—full of imagination, wonder, and a wild kind of joy. With my hair flying, a hat on my head, and that old-fashioned spirit alive inside me, it was as if Anne lived in me, just for a moment.
Since that trip, I haven’t felt quite the same. Something shifted—I felt lighter, more awake, more like the best version of myself. That breeze didn’t just touch my skin. It touched my soul.
4. The river encourages you to reset and flow forward.
Sitting beside a river, watching the water ripple and move with effortless grace, I felt something in me begin to loosen. Like the river, we’re meant to keep flowing—not backward, not stagnant, but forward. There’s peace in the motion, a quiet invitation to begin again.
As I meditated beside the water, a deep sense of serenity washed over me. I imagined my brain smiling—as if even my thoughts had taken a deep breath. In that stillness, years of heaviness and old wounds began to lift.
I whispered to myself, When I go back home, I don’t want to be the same. I want to be better. And I meant it.
Healing doesn’t happen all at once. It happens slowly—when we allow the stillness of a river, or the rhythm of our breath, to gently realign us with our truest selves.
5. The quiet moments remind you to simply be.
In these quiet places, far from the noise and rush of daily life, I was able to just exist. No pressure. No deadlines. Just stillness—and in that stillness, I found a deep sense of God’s presence, a peaceful calm that settled into my soul.
At one point, as I sat with my eyes closed, the sweet, solitary melody of an Eastern Wood-Pewee echoed through the trees. Its call wasn’t just a sound—it was a feeling. A reminder that being is enough.
That moment stayed with me. I didn’t have to fix or improve anything. I just had to be there—fully and honestly—and that was more than enough.
6. The flowers invite you to embrace the beauty of life.
Fields of wildflowers painted the landscape in soft purples, sunny yellows, and vibrant reds—nature’s palette reminding me to look closely, to notice the beauty tucked into everyday moments.
We also visited a stunning garden in Nova Scotia—a living work of art. The fragrance of blossoms filled the air, while elegant couples in prom attire smiled for photos among the blooms.
Then, I noticed a family of ducks waddling peacefully through the garden, their ducklings trailing behind like little miracles. It was such a gentle, tender moment—a reminder of how much love can exist in the simplest scenes.
In that garden, everyone—from the flowers to the people—radiated joy. And I felt it, too.
7. The soft green grass reminds you to take off your shoes and feel the earth.
There’s something deeply grounding about standing barefoot on cool, fresh grass. It instantly connects you to the Earth, to the present, to yourself.
As I walked through the fields, I kicked off my shoes and let my feet sink into the green. The grass was so soft, it almost felt like it was holding me. I closed my eyes, breathed in, and let the Earth speak to me—not in words, but in a deep and nourishing silence.
Green is the color of healing, and I felt it healing me—not just my body, but my spirit.
8. The open land invites you to move, run, and breathe deeply.
In the vast open spaces of Nova Scotia and PEI, I felt an incredible sense of freedom—like the land itself was encouraging me to stretch, move, and breathe more deeply.
Whether we were running across a grassy hill, walking along a red-sand beach, or twirling under the wide-open sky, I felt alive. It was like the land was whispering, don’t just observe life—live it.
Every movement became an act of celebration. Every breath felt like a prayer of gratitude.
Final Reflections: Coming Home to Myself
This wasn’t just a trip. It was a gentle awakening.
Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island didn’t just give me scenery—they gave me space. Space to feel, to listen, to let go, and to come home to myself.
I returned with a softer heart, a quieter mind, and a soul full of sunlight.
And I hope to carry that peace with me—wherever I go, and in whatever I do.
~
author: Samia Mehbub
Image: Author's Own
Editor: Lisa Erickson
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