The US was always on our bucket list. I never really thought I would actually go there — but this year, we did.

We spent almost a month in San Diego, staying with my wife’s sister, brother-in-law, nephew, and our two-year-old niece. Time with our niece was especially memorable — she’s full of joy, curiosity, and mischief, and being around her brought so much laughter. Even a month later, we still find ourselves missing her.

Our days were slow and simple. Sometimes we’d go for walks around the block — calm, clean, and almost too quiet. Streets were empty, lawns perfectly trimmed, and silence hung in the air. It was peaceful, but also made me realise how different “quiet” can feel in another country.

In San Diego, we did a few “classic American” things — visiting the USS Midway and going to an ice hockey game. Everywhere we went, people acknowledged your presence. They greeted you, smiled, and it made me feel like human life had value there. Everything was organised — roads, public places, queues at stores — and people followed rules without needing reminders.

The highlight of the trip was our ten-day road journey through Kings Canyon and Yosemite. Nature there is on another scale entirely — vast, wild, and humbling. Rivers cut through deep valleys, pine forests stretched endlessly, and waterfalls appeared out of nowhere. Standing under the giant sequoias, some over 2,000 years old, felt like being inside a living cathedral. At Yosemite, staring up at El Capitan and Half Dome made me feel small in the best possible way — the kind of small that quiets your thoughts and fills you with awe. It reminded me that beauty doesn’t need to be owned or optimised; it just exists.

Of course, travel shows you everything — even the contrasts. Among all that beauty, we also saw homelessness, even in otherwise picture-perfect places. A quiet reminder that no country is without its challenges.

Toward the end, we started missing our own rhythm — the small freedoms we take for granted at home. In the US, we couldn’t drive because of local rules and cab costs, so spontaneous trips to markets weren’t possible. It wasn’t bad — just different. But it made me appreciate the easy, everyday mobility of home.

After coming back to India, it took about two weeks to get used to everything again — the sounds, the pace, the familiar imperfections. Slowly, everything started feeling right again.

The trip was expensive for us because of the currency conversion, but worth every rupee. It gave perspective — that comfort looks different in different places, and so does happiness.

And maybe that’s the quiet lesson money leaves behind: it isn’t about chasing more, but about having the freedom to live how we want, wherever we are.

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