By Jill Kantor, The Hygge Wellness Company | Adapted from Wander Magazine
I didn’t know what hygge was the first time I white-knuckled my way through a prairie blizzard or soaked in a hotel tub after a 14-hour workday. I just knew I needed warmth, stillness, something that felt like home when I was hundreds of miles from it.
For years, I drove to every corner of Manitoba and regularly flew to northwestern Ontario. Often alone, often in challenging weather, always carrying the weight of the workday and the need to feel grounded. Without realizing it, I started creating small rituals that made me feel okay, sometimes even more than okay. That was my version of hygge on the road.
Thunder Bay, and the Shift Toward Comfort
At first, I stayed in chain hotels. Easy, expected, and clean, but something about them always felt cold.
Eventually, I found a hotel tucked near the Thunder Bay ski hill. It had fireplaces and quiet corners, and it felt like an exhale. Then I found a bed and breakfast by the port, where the owners had moved from Manitoba, and as it turned out, they had once lived next door to my sister. It was serendipity, and it was the first time work travel started to feel personal.
We sat on their porch in the evenings, ordered Thai or Vietnamese takeout, and chatted as the sun set over their pond. That place, and that feeling, made all the difference.
Back then, most of my colleagues and peers in other companies would grumble at the idea of having to fly to Thunder Bay. It wasn’t a popular work destination. But I came to embrace it. I looked forward to it. It felt like my own kind of working holiday. Outside of work hours, it became my space, my time, my rhythm.
My colleagues didn’t quite get it, for being excited about it, for talking about the food I ordered, the trails I walked, the shops I found. But deep down, I knew I was doing something different, something that mattered. I didn’t have the words for it then, but what I was doing, even 25 years ago, was creating comfort, peace, and connection through travel. Later, I’d come to know it as hygge. But back then, it was just instinct.
The Little Things That Made It Work
Without calling it a ritual, I started doing the same things trip after trip.
- My own blanket and pillow from home
- Cozy socks, a loose sweater, favourite tea bags
- A good book, always
- Scented bath products, and sometimes a travel-sized candle
- A playlist, or a library audiobook (not to age myself, but back then they came on cassette)
I brought my own travel mug and never missed my morning coffee. That little act made every place I stayed feel instantly more familiar.
Finding Quiet in Small Places
In smaller towns, options were limited, but that never stopped me. I sought out cozy coffee shops instead of the chains, took aerobics and yoga at small studios, found walking trails and lakeside benches. In the warmer months, I even packed my rollerblades and found paths to use them.
General stores and antique shops became part of the ritual. I’d always stop, talk to the owner, browse the local products, and even if I didn’t buy anything, I felt a little more connected just by being there.
Every town had something: a diner, a quirky statue, a great view. I learned to look for those things and let them matter.
Finding Calm in Big Cities
A memorable work trip where I needed all the TLC I could get. In January 2020, I flew to Vancouver for a five-day work trip. The weather was brutal, cold and wet, and I had under-packed. I bought a soft, cozy sweater that day, one that carried me through the trip.
I wandered Granville Island, letting the warmth of the indoor markets wrap around me. I found handmade bath salts in a quiet shop, and back at the hotel, I decided to use the deep soaking tub. I lit a candle, played soft music, and took a bath that turned the whole day around. It felt indulgent, but necessary.
Wherever I go, every morning, I fill my mug with something warm and comforting, wrap my hands around it, and let the steam ease me into the day. I found cafes with soft lighting, windows to sit beside, and space to write or just exist.
Even in a city as big as Vancouver or Toronto, I created tiny rituals. I chose quiet over crowds, warmth over convenience, local over corporate. I wandered without an agenda, noticed the dogs in the park, the smell of flowers from a small shop, the sound of a musician on a corner. It helped me feel present, and never completely alone.
Meals That Felt Like Moments
I avoided chains and looked for places that had character—a cozy Italian spot, a bakery with chipped mugs and fresh bread, a diner where someone asked how my day was.
Sometimes I’d bring takeout back to my hotel room and light a candle, open a book, and let it feel like dinner, not just something to check off.
How I Travelled Later On
As I stepped into a director role and travelled a few times a year, I stayed with the rituals that worked.
- I packed light, always with carry-on only
- I brought a robe if there was space, and always my slippers
- I chose healthy food that felt good, not just fast
- I downloaded my shows, made sure I had something to read
And when I could, I walked. I moved slowly. I made space to breathe, even during the busiest schedules.
My Kind of Travel (Hygge)
- A warm drink in your own mug
- Your own blanket, even in a hotel
- A book, a scent, a song that brings you back to yourself
- Talking to the barista, the bookstore owner, the person who gives directions
- Choosing something small and quiet, over something big and loud
You don’t need luxury to feel cared for. You need comfort that comes from familiarity, connection, and permission to slow down.
I didn’t set out to create comfort, I just knew I needed it. And somewhere between roadside coffee and candlelit hotel baths, I found it.
Not in the destinations, but in the rituals. In the quiet. In the way I showed up for myself.
And now, whether I’m 500 miles away or five minutes down the road, I carry that with me. My own kind of hygge. My own kind of home.
If you’re craving that, too, if you’re looking for a way to retreat, reset, and build your sense of hygge, you’re invited. Come retreat with me. Let’s create space for what matters.