Island Time: My Virgin Islands Escape
If you’ve ever heard the phrase “island time,” let me tell you—it’s real. And I didn’t fully understand it until I stepped off the plane in the Virgin Islands, still clutching my overstuffed carry-on like it was a life raft.
Back home, I’m the type who plans everything down to the minute. Coffee at 7:02. Errands by 8:15. Dinner by 6:00 sharp. But on the islands? Ha. Clocks exist purely as decoration. A waiter once told me, “Your food will be out soon.” Forty-five minutes later, I had fully accepted my new life as a permanent resident of that restaurant’s patio.
And honestly? I wasn’t even mad. That’s the magic of island time. Stress just… evaporates. You stop caring about your email inbox. You stop caring that your hair looks like it wrestled with the humidity and lost. You start to realize the only schedule that matters is sunrise, sunset, and whether or not you’ve reapplied sunscreen.
The Virgin Islands gave me more than just relaxation, though—they gave me stories. Like the day I tried paddleboarding for the first time. I wobbled, I flailed, and I fell off approximately sixteen times before I even left the shoreline. Tourists cheered for me like I was competing in the Olympics, while a local kid zipped by doing handstands on his board. Humbling doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Or the time I thought I’d be adventurous and order the “local special” from a food truck. Let’s just say I still have no idea what I ate, but it was spicy enough to make me question every decision I’d ever made. Delicious, but dangerous.
But the real treasure of the Virgin Islands wasn’t the turquoise water, the beaches, or even the rum punch (though, let’s be honest, that helped). It was the feeling of slowing down, breathing deeper, and realizing life doesn’t always have to be rushed. Sometimes the best moments are the ones where nothing happens—just sitting in the sand, watching the waves, and realizing that time, for once, is on your side.
So yeah, island time messed with my planner-brain. But it also reminded me that maybe I don’t need to live every second on a schedule. Maybe the best escape isn’t just about where you go—it’s about letting yourself be.
