Lisa Taylor

My Solo Trip to Paradise.

For Lisa Taylor, Bali was more than a postcard dream—it was a promise she made to herself and finally kept. Pinned to her vision board in 2019, postponed by a pandemic and a season of family strain, the trip became a marker of healing and divine timing. When she finally clicked “book,” it wasn’t just a flight; it was permission.

Author Lisa Taylor zipping around Bali on one of her many scooter taxi rides.

In My Solo Trip to Paradise, Lisa lands in Ubud after thirty hours of travel and steps straight into the sweet blur of incense and temple bells. A detour to a coffee plantation, jasmine in the breeze, and a quiet gratitude that settles in her bones—Ubud teaches her the first lesson: arrive without agenda. She reunites with a friend, Ash, whose barefoot piano and easy radiance mirror the feminine freedom Lisa came to reclaim. On the back of a scooter, hair wild and heart unafraid, she remembers what freedom feels like in motion.

The ocean calls her next to Candidasa, where rest becomes ritual. Poolside mornings, barefoot walks to the surf, and a gentle, conscious choice: a sunset glass of wine without shame or secrecy. After a year of baptism-level recommitments and letting go of old coping habits, she honors a new rule—choices made with presence. There are serendipities too: two Australian women who feel like instant sisters; starlit music and laughter that loosen what was still tight inside.

A tip sends her up the coast to Amed, cliffside and luminous. An infinity pool spills into a bay dotted with fishing boats; a volcano keeps quiet watch. A new friend from Serbia clinks Bintang bottles with her at sunset as the sky turns molten. In the morning, while others book treks and dives, Lisa lets herself do nothing—journaling on the patio, letting stillness do its work. “Sometimes adventure is rest,” she writes, and means it.

Then comes Nusa Penida—potholes, flower offerings, an outdoor shower under the stars, and a young driver whose kindness reminds her of another practice: receiving help. She traces the island’s edges—Diamond Beach from the high stairs, Kelingking to the first viewpoint, Crystal Bay for a long, sun-warm exhale. That night: pizza, a last glass from a splurge bottle, and the kind of sleep that feels like belonging.

Lisa saves Uluwatu for last, because some part of her always knew. Down stone steps through a cave to Padang Padang, the afternoon glows gold, then pink rays lace the entire sky—a sunset so extravagant it feels like a private benediction. The ride back is a wobble through dark backroads, the kind that could summon old stories of worry. Instead, she chooses trust—again—and arrives at her hut laughing, grateful for the reminder that courage grows with practice.

“The world opened itself to me when I traveled—inviting me into beauty, wonder, and the unfamiliar. But the journey that mattered most was inward. Because somewhere between the flights, the sunsets, and the quiet moments alone, I realized the belonging I longed for wasn’t in a place. It was in me. I was already home.” — Lisa Taylor

By takeoff day, Lisa isn’t leaving paradise; she’s carrying it. Bali didn’t hand her a new identity so much as peel back what dimmed the one she already owned—mother, leader, woman of faith, builder of brave choices. The revelation is simple and lasting: home is not a destination; it’s a practiced way of being.

📖 Discover Lisa’s full story in Wanderlust Chronicles: Transformative Travel Tales—true journeys that lead us back to ourselves.