Guest House

There’s a certain untethering that happens the moment I step outside my routine—the loss of my kitchen, my space, my familiar little luxuries. (Maximalist here. I miss my things.) I’ve always admired the ones who seem built for this—the high-energy, always-on, business-call-on-the-go types who glide through train stations and airports as if they belong to no single place but all of them at once. I am not one of them.

I’m still learning how to travel in a way that feels good—how to arrive in a way that works for me. My most recent client trip to NYC reminded me that arriving isn’t just about getting there; it’s about settling in, creating comfort, and making space for moments of joy along the way.

Take the Train.

Boston to New York is a trip I take a few times a year for my work at The Wall Street Hotel, and I’ve tried it all—planes, buses, cars. Take the damn train. From Back Bay or South Station, I can slip into a seat, watch the coastline roll by, and arrive in the city in about four hours, unbothered. The train is quiet, comfortable, and—if you avoid peak hours—shockingly affordable. This morning, I’m on the 7:40 a.m. out of Penn Station, ticket price: $40. I sip my coffee, answer emails, stare out the window, and let the transition from one place to another happen instead of feeling like I have to fight it.

Bring Your Comforts.

I used to pack aspirationally—new outfits I’d never worn, some imagined version of myself dressed for a version of the trip that didn’t really exist. It never worked. Now, I bring my real-life favorites, the things that make me feel like me. Luckily, The Wall Street Hotel already holds so many of my comforts. Heated bathroom floors, plush robes, a perfect cup of tea before bed. I can slip into a familiar rhythm, just in a slightly more glamorous setting. It’s like cosplaying my everyday life—just with better city views and really good soap.

Make Time for You.

It’s easy to let a work trip be just that—work. But especially in hospitality, knowing a place means experiencing it beyond the meetings and deliverables. Every time I come to New York, I make time for something that’s just for me. This time, it was an afternoon of thrift shopping in SoHo before walking down to Tribeca for dinner with a dear friend. We ate at The Greek—a cozy, candlelit spot with good wine, even better food, and the kind of conversation that makes you feel lighter.

I’ve never quite mastered the scale of New York—neighborhoods that look close on a map feel impossibly far when you’re in them, and vice versa. But the walk from the hotel to SoHo, then down to Tribeca, felt easy, unhurried. Along the way, I made a detour to check out Brasserie Fouquet’s New York, a hotel I’d been seeing everywhere lately. The girly, Parisian aesthetic felt even more charming in person, and I made a mental note: next time, I want to stay there. Just to see what it feels like.

Because maybe that’s the real art of arriving—not just getting from point A to point B, but making each trip feel like a new, slightly different version of home.