Stolen Moments and the Design of a Meaningful Life

I almost didn’t take this trip. In the aftermath of the fires and the loss so many endured, it felt almost disrespectful to step away, to celebrate, to indulge in a few stolen moments of adventure with my son. The weight of what had been lost—homes, memories, entire frameworks of life—made the idea of slipping away to Cabo feel almost frivolous.

But then, I thought about what those homes really represented. Yes, walls and roofs were gone. But the true loss wasn’t just architectural—it was the moments, the stories, the everyday life those spaces held. Because more than anything, homes are the framework for meaning, beauty, and belonging. And in that way, travel isn’t so different.

We went to Cabo because we only had a few days, and because at thirteen, my son was craving adventure. Ziplining. Dolphins. Bike rides. The kind of movement that makes a body feel fully awake and alive. We chose a hotel with a view, a place with the right kind of aesthetic, but quickly learned that a beautiful setting can still feel wrong if the energy doesn’t match your experience. The Cape Hotel, with its clean lines and oceanfront cool, was undeniably stunning. But tequila-shot-20-year-olds and DJs at the pool made it more of a scene than the restful oasis I’d imagined. And so, we adapted.

Our trip became about stolen moments. Room service and a movie in bed. Late-night talks with the kind of candor that only happens in the quiet. The surge of adrenaline as I swung upside down from a zipline, swearing in Spanish, while my son laughed so hard he could barely breathe. It was about being together in a way that daily life rarely allows—without schedules, without demands, just the two of us moving through a pocket of time that felt entirely our own.

Of course, there were moments of frustration too—the relentless upsells, the tipping culture that made everything feel like a transaction rather than an experience. But even that became part of the conversation. What does real hospitality look like? When does luxury start to feel like a hustle? What’s the difference between something that is designed to look beautiful and something that is designed to feel beautiful?

I thought a lot about home during this trip—what it means, why it matters. We build houses to hold our lives, just as we build trips to hold our memories. And if fire can take the physical form of one, it only makes it more essential to protect the intangible beauty of the other. The loss of a home is incalculable. But the beauty that lives between our ears—that lives in our relationships, in our experiences—is irreplaceable.

And that, I think, is why we go. Why we travel, why we design, why we carve out time for stolen weekends that remind us what life is really about. Not just aesthetics. Not just adventure. But meaning, beauty, and the people we hold closest.

If home is the framework of a meaningful life, then so are these moments. And we should seize them whenever we can.

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