There is something about the weather and the sea that mirrors what goes on inside you. When the conditions are rough, so is everything else. And when things finally go quiet, you have no choice but to sit with yourself.

After a wonderfully active and at times overwhelming spell in Chania, we arrived in Elounda and came to a complete standstill. Literally and figuratively.

Chania lit something up in us. We walked its streets and kept looking at each other with that unspoken thought: we could live here. Crete began to feel like a serious option, not just a passing daydream. We threw ourselves into research mode, spoke with friends who had made similar leaps, stumbled upon a school entirely by chance, scrolled through potential houses, and spent long evenings weighing up which areas felt right. We were fully in it.

Then came the crossing to the eastern side of the island. A bit rough, as it turned out. And once we arrived, I came down with a cold while the weather turned decidedly stormy. We were confined to the boat. No exploring, no planning, just the four walls of the cabin and the sound of rain on the deck.

At first it felt frustrating. But looking back, it was probably exactly what we needed. A pause. Space to let everything settle and actually land.

And something did land. As beautiful as this part of Crete is, we realised it is not quite right for us. Too quiet, too remote in places. Driving around the area made it clear that we function better somewhere with a bit more going on, by Greek standards at least. Edwin needs energy and life around him. I need a mix of both. And for Philou, the right schooling options are essential. A village with no neighbours in sight simply does not fit the picture we are building.

Standing still gave us something valuable after all: clarity. Crete still feels like a genuine match, but not every corner of it. If we move into a more concrete phase, we would focus our search between Rethymnon and Chania. That stretch feels like it holds what we are looking for.

But we are not choosing yet. We are carrying it with us, letting it settle in the rucksack alongside everything else. Feeling our way through it rather than forcing a decision.

Because as things become clearer, so do the harder parts. We would be giving up more certainty. We would be putting more distance, in a more permanent sense, between ourselves and the people we love most. That is not nothing. It sits with us quietly, and some days it stings a little.

We are grateful to have the time to let all of this sink in while every door is still open. We are not people who leap blindly. We think, we talk, we weigh things up together, we research, and then we make considered decisions with full awareness of what we are leaving behind. That is not always easy, but it feels like the right way for us.

For now, we are watching the forecast and waiting for a decent weather window to set sail towards Astypalea, the butterfly island. Hoping for some sunshine too, because we did not come to Greece in April to spend it huddled in the rain, did we?

Sometimes the sea makes you stop. And stopping, it turns out, can be the most useful thing of all.