WELCOME
I’m Nika (short for Veronika), and I’m drawn to the quiet pursuit of living more gently — with myself, with others, and with this beautiful planet we all call home.
If you’ve ever longed to live more sustainably — but without going to extremes,
if you love to travel — but wish to do it with less guilt and more care,
if you’re seeking a little more stillness, softness, or meaning in your everyday life —
then we already have something in common.
Here, I share reflections on what has helped me find deeper peace, navigate life’s turns, and move toward a more conscious way of being. My journey into sustainability began with urgency and idealism — but over time, I’ve come to believe in change that is gentler, slower, and rooted in compassion.
I also write about my travels to over 80 countries, and how those journeys have shaped how I see the world — and myself.
I’d love to get to know you, to exchange stories and quiet truths — and to walk this thoughtful, greener path together.
A LITTLE MORE ABOUT ME
I’m a mother of three boys and a little girl, currently living in California with my husband and our four children. Before becoming a parent, I worked as a humanitarian practitioner in various conflict zones — places that taught me both the fragility of life and the quiet strength it takes to rebuild, whether in communities or within oneself.
I was born and raised in Estonia, a land shaped by silence, forests, and long winters. That stillness has stayed with me — even as I’ve wandered through so many countries and inhabited lives far from my own.
These days, my life revolves around parenting and writing — though the echoes of those earlier chapters remain, shaping what I notice, what I hold sacred, and how I move through the world.
I find joy in painting, in gardening, in walks by the ocean — and a surprising sense of purpose in learning the quieter art of making peace at home, after years of navigating conflict elsewhere. I’m an ambivert, quietly obsessed with poppies, and someone who once wrote long letters to her grandmothers from distant places — some of which now live on in the pages of my book.
THE STORY BEHIND THIS BLOG
This blog began in 2018, on an unseasonably warm October afternoon in a small French village. I was watering my garden beneath a sun that felt more like July than fall. The news spoke of joy — people flocking to beaches, celebrating the extended summer. But in my garden, I watched the plants wilt under the heat, their leaves curling with quiet distress. It broke my heart.
For a moment, I wanted to leave — to return to the city, just to avoid witnessing this silent death, so out of step with the rhythm of nature.
A few months later, another moment settled deep in me. I was sitting on a plane beside my husband while feeling the quiet ache of guilt. Not for leaving our children with my parents — but for the flight itself. For what it cost, not in money, but in carbon. I knew the weight of that journey, and I could no longer pretend it was light.
Climate change had become personal. No longer distant or abstract, it had made its way into my body, my home, my choices.
We responded with urgency. We made sweeping changes — cutting out waste, shifting habits, rethinking travel. I wrote about it here, hoping to document the shift. But life, as it often does, softened the sharp edges. Travel called. Comfort crept back in. Slowly, old habits returned — and with them, the quiet hum of eco-guilt I had once managed to quiet.
For a while, I looked away. But eventually, I knew: change had to come again — this time, not as a sprint but as a way of walking. Not from extremes, but from something steadier.
A way of living where sustainability is no longer a rulebook, but a rhythm — gently woven into daily life, shaped by self-compassion, growth, and the longing to live in better harmony with the world around me.