I just got back from Antigua—and yes, I know it’s officially Antigua and Barbuda, but I didn’t make it to the second half of that party, so let’s just focus on where I was, shall we?

Here’s the thing: I had no itinerary. 
No spreadsheet. No bullet-pointed “Top Ten Must-See” lists. 
No internal pressure to “maximize the moment.” 
Just vibes. And sun. And a swim-out hotel room that was my one glorious, delicious goal.

That’s right: a swim-out room. My only objective on this trip was to step out of my room and into my own little patch of water. Preferably without anyone splashing nearby or interrupting my floaty peace with loud Marco Polo games. And you know what? Mission accomplished.

Antigua was warm. Laid back in that way that both soothes your soul and mildly confuses your Type A tendencies. The kind of place where “soon come” could mean in five minutes or five hours, and it doesn’t really matter because… you’re on island time now, baby.

I got bit—a lot. Mosquitoes saw me and thought, “Ah, the buffet has arrived!” 
I swelled up like a pufferfish in protest, but also? It’s the price of admission to the tropics. I made my peace with it over a rum punch—or four.

Speaking of rum, I became an amateur distiller at the Rum Academy. 
I bottled my own label and named it “Mimi.” 
Was it good? 
Not particularly. 
Was it market-ready? 
Not unless you want notes of “Whoops” and “Needs Work.” 
But did I have fun? Oh, yes. That rum was distilled joy.

And the food? 
We found ourselves at a roadside jerk chicken shack. Not a restaurant, not even a food truck. Just a structure held together by the smell of spice and local magic. The kind of place that doesn’t show up on Yelp but changes your life. That chicken? Life-altering. That sauce? Probably made with ingredients whispered by the ancestors.

I danced with the lizards, side-eyed a mongoose, let the birds serenade me in the morning, and—most miraculously—I turned off my brain for a little while. No overthinking. No ruminating. No running through mental to-do lists in my sun hat. Just me, the water, and a deeply underwhelming bottle of Mimi rum.

Sometimes, you need a trip not to explore, but to exhale. 
Not to check off boxes, but to just be. 
And if that being involves a lot of curry and scratching bug bites in a swim-up room? 
Even better.

Until next time, Antigua. You were exactly what I didn’t know I needed.