After weeks of city noise and deadlines, I finally gave myself permission to slow down — really slow down. And somehow, that led me from the beaches of California all the way to the Dead Sea.
It’s strange how quiet feels different here. The air is warm and heavy, but it hugs you instead of weighing you down. The sea doesn’t crash or roar — it just rests, calm and still, like it’s teaching you how to breathe again.
I floated for what felt like forever, eyes closed, skin tingling with salt, and thought about how peace isn’t always loud or grand. Sometimes it’s just this — water holding you up, no effort needed. Maybe that’s what hope feels like too: gentle, patient, always there when you finally stop fighting the current.
Coming from California, I’m used to the ocean’s chaos — waves pulling, winds shifting. But the Dead Sea reminded me that not every storm needs a reaction. Sometimes you just let go, trust the moment, and float.
I came here to celebrate peace — not as a headline or a treaty, but as a feeling. Between people, between countries, between the noise inside and the calm we all search for.
As the sun dipped behind the golden cliffs, I whispered a quiet wish — for stillness, for understanding, for the kind of peace that starts small and grows quietly inside us.
Until next time, keep your heart open and your soul soft like water.
