Pause and Wander

Dates: December 14–17, 2025

Places: Hanoi, Vietnam (French Quarter and West Lake)

The goodbye happened inside our Airbnb in the French Quarter, which felt like the wrong place to do anything meaningful. It wasn’t a lovely accommodation to begin with, but Maxell hadn’t fully registered how little he liked it until Clark, Kyle, and Missi walked out the door and disappeared into a taxi. The apartment had tolerated us, not welcomed us. There was a strong sewer smell that had been steadily gaining strength, creeping out of the bathroom that Shaina and Maxell shared. We’d learned to keep the door shut at all times and the fan running nonstop, like we were holding something back rather than living there. The place felt tired. A little neglected. Frumpy in a way that suggested no one had been paying close attention for a while.

When they left, the warmth they brought with them went too. What had felt workable with family around suddenly felt like a place we didn’t want to be in anymore. Maxell hadn’t noticed how much their presence softened the edges of that space. Without them, the smell was sharper, the walls felt closer, and the idea of staying even one more night felt heavier than it should have.

There was sadness all around. Not the kind that knocks the wind out of you, but the quieter, heavier kind that settles in your chest and stays there. We weren’t inconsolable—we could rationalize all the reasons why being a party of 4 again would make life easier. Fewer logistics. Easier transportation. Less coordination. But family means a lot to us. By choosing to take this year away, we intentionally stepped back from daily life with family and friends. We had come to terms with that choice before we ever left home. Still, having family come to us and then leave again reopened something tender.

That ache lives in the chest, and it is about missed time. Time apart. Time that cannot be stored or stretched or earned back later. Time is the one thing we never get more of, whether we think about it or not. Who we spend it with matters. How we spend it matters. Saying goodbye reminded us of that in a sharp and obvious way. 

This goodbye was easier than the one back home in August. It was less final. More practiced. There was relief braided into the sadness, even if we couldn’t name it out loud. We know Clark is coming to visit in February. Missi will find us in March. We truly believe that happiness is having something to look forward to, and those visits are already anchored in our future. Still, when the door closed, there was a hollow quiet that followed.

The girls cried for about 10 minutes. Solid, honest crying. Then they took hot showers, put on pajamas, brushed their teeth, and went through the same bedtime routine we have followed for years. Almost immediately, they started to settle. We all did. Humans really are creatures of habit. In moments of distress, normalcy acts like a healing salve. The simple repetition of familiar steps steadies something deep inside us.

The energy that first night was low and gloomy. But after we finished getting ready for bed, we rewarded ourselves with an episode of The Great British Bake Off. There is something deeply calming about watching kind people care deeply about something that ultimately does not harm anyone. No unnecessary drama. No backstabbing. Just skilled, passionate people baking beautiful things in a bright white tent. By the time the credits rolled, we were ready for lights out.

The next morning started slowly. There was no urgency to get up, no plan pulling us forward. Eventually we packed up and prepared to move from the French Quarter to West Lake, another neighborhood within Hanoi. Before leaving, we stopped at Habakuk, a hip little coffee shop Kyle had recommended. The girls ordered egg hot chocolate decorated with marshmallow snowmen. Shaina had a decadent chocolate chai. Maxell had an Aeropress made with beans from Yunnan, China. The light inside the café was soft. It felt like a reset button.

The girls journaled. Shaina and Maxell started trying to figure out what came next. We knew we had a new Airbnb for the next 4 nights, but beyond that, nothing was locked in. The freedom was nice in theory, but it also carried weight. By the time we paid the bill and called a taxi, we were no closer to a decision.

The drive north toward West Lake felt like we were leaving one city and entering another. When we arrived at the apartment in Tay Ho, relief came fast. The building had an elevator. No more dragging bags up endless stairs. Inside, the apartment was bright and warm, flooded with light from big windows and balconies. It was clean. Inviting. The common living space felt like it wanted us to gather there. Everything was on one level. After weeks of narrow townhomes split across 3 or 4 floors, being together in a single flat felt like exactly what we needed. It is easier to feel like a family when you are not constantly moving up and down stairs to find each other.

West Lake felt like a different version of Hanoi. Quieter. Slower. No visible tourists. The air felt less frantic. At the same time, it carried a strong expat presence that gave parts of it a slightly dulled authenticity. We noticed the tradeoff, but for now, the calm was welcome.

For dinner, we walked to Habibi Halal Lebanese Cuisine. There is a modest Muslim community in this part of the city, and the restaurant felt like a neighborhood staple rather than a destination spot. The food was warm and comforting. We overordered, as usual, but no one regretted it. We lingered, shared a beer, and played dice with the girls. That moment, sitting around the table with familiar rhythms returning, was when it finally felt like we were going to be okay. We know we will be fully back once we start playing 4 player card games like Spades again, but this was close.

That night, we started a Harry Potter movie, knowing full well it would take 3 nights to get through it. The girls would have happily watched it all in one sitting, but we divided it up and went to bed feeling grounded.

Being a party of 4 again made some things immediately easier. Getting a taxi with luggage was suddenly simple. No extra negotiations. No squeezing. No counting seats.

The second day felt lighter. Faster. Shaina and Maxell both moved their bodies for the first time in weeks. Maxell went for a run. Shaina took a brisk walk. We each did about 5 kilometers. It wasn’t impressive, but it mattered. Maxell had been feeling physically off. Heavy. Lazy. Mentally foggy too. At home, Maxell keeps a pretty regimented workout schedule, and that had completely fallen apart on this trip. Running didn’t fix everything, but it reminded him that his body still knows how to move.

For lunch, we went to Chops for burgers and fries, and the girls begged for a highly decorated chocolate milkshake that would rival any in the States. It felt strange to eat at a Western restaurant in Vietnam, especially knowing how difficult it can be to find truly great Vietnamese food back home. But the peninsula we were on was packed with Western cuisine, catering to the expat crowd. The food was excellent, and it gave us a little sliver of home that exactly what we needed in that moment. Sometimes what sounds good is what is good. 

There was no tension that day. No friction. Things felt like they were gently clicking back into place.

By the third day, we made some real decisions. After our time at West Lake, we would head to Pu Luong for a stay at a quiet eco retreat. From there, we would travel south to Phong Nha for hiking, camping, and some light cave exploration over Christmas. Then we would continue on to Hue for New Year’s. Having those anchors in place changed the energy immediately.

These 4 days in Hanoi were intentionally light. No major sightseeing. Just working out a bit, journaling, doing schoolwork, and being together. Rest was a choice, and it was the right one.

One afternoon, we spent hours at Turtle Lake Brewing Company. The burgers and chicken wings were great, but what really mattered was the giant collection of markers and pens. The girls sat together coloring intricate pages, sharing supplies, complimenting each other’s choices. Watching them work side by side, calm and creative, felt like seeing them fully return to themselves.

By the fourth day, normal had returned. The girls had chatted with friends back home. Maxell had a call with family during an early Christmas celebration at his aunt’s house. Instead of stirring sadness, it brought comfort. We were able to look forward again.

There wasn’t a single defining moment when the reset happened. It unfolded quietly. We planned almost nothing, and that was exactly what we needed. Arya and Maxell took a daddy daughter trip back into Old Town to find an external hard drive and wander through a café together. At the same time, Finlee and Shaina did their own café hopping and Christmas shopping near West Lake. Splitting up felt healthy. Necessary even. It reminded us that togetherness does not require constant proximity.

Being a party of 4 changes our speed and our scope. We move slower. We do less. That slowness gives us time to talk. To ask questions. To listen. We can engage more deeply with locals and fellow travelers. We can choose places that are slightly harder to reach and slightly less polished.

Maxell has been thinking a lot about how we travel. Fast travel has its place, but constant motion wears on us. At the same time, staying still for too long can feel stagnant. The balance is in allowing both. Bursts of movement followed by intentional rest. We are trying to avoid chasing curated moments meant for photographs rather than memory. We both stopped using social media many years ago, partly because we didn’t like how it flattened experience into performance. That aversion feels even stronger now, especially as we just finished reading the Anxious Generation. 

We are not trying to see the most famous version of every place. We are trying to experience places that are slightly quieter, slightly less crowded, and deeply human. We want shared memories, not perfect snapshots.

Shaina and Maxell lead this together. Truly together. Parallel processing. Shared decisions. A quiet understanding that if something stops working, we can change course. These days reinforced that sense of partnership. We are not vacationing abroad. We are living abroad, with all the ups and downs that entails. 

As we prepare to move forward again, we feel an excited calm. There is curiosity about what comes next, paired with confidence that we can adjust as needed. We will have wins and misses. That is part of the point.

When we picture those last several days in Hanoi, the image that comes to mind is quieter and more grounded. It’s our family sitting around a table together, cold beers and tropical smoothies in hand. A beautiful mandala coloring page sits in the middle of the table, slowly filling in as all four of us add our own colors and patterns. No rush. No plan beyond being there. Just time moving gently forward, shared and unremarkable in the best possible way.

This time mattered. It may not look like much from the outside, but it was time well spent.