I didn’t book the Royal Princess cruise just for leisure. I chose it for something more enduring—a memory to tuck into the folds of my life. A suite on the top deck. A premier package. A balcony overlooking Alaskan skies and glacier walls. I wanted to live it fully. I didn’t expect it to teach me so much about abundance and leadership.

From the moment I boarded, I was treated like royalty. Invitations to the Captain’s Circle. Priority attention. Custom meals prepared with care. Even a rare visit to the bridge—the heart of the ship, where few ever stand. It felt like a classic film unfolding around me.

And yet, through it all, I felt grounded. There was no grasping, no craving. Only presence.

Each morning, before the ship had fully woken, I would quietly slip away to the concierge lounge. I wasn’t there to be waited on. I went to make coffee lattes for my parents using the sleek espresso machine—so good, they matched the ones from our favorite breakfast spot, Sabatini’s, where Aleksandar and his team welcomed us with warmth and grace.

At Sabatini’s, the staff began to remember us—Valentin, Dede, Arturo, Hartoto, and Erfan, who always brought laughter to the table. Noel took initiative on our very first day, bringing extra portions when we were unsure of sizes. By the next morning, fresh orange juice appeared on our table without asking. It felt like being seen, not just served.

Back in the concierge lounge, I also picked up fresh smoothies and detox juices. Not out of routine, but as a way to care for others. That small ritual kept me steady. Even among grandeur, I stayed rooted in the small joys.

At Concerto, Aurel made sure we had freshly prepared Indian meals daily—home-style, balanced, and authentic. Elisha, one of our servers, shared how she, too, had been raised not to waste food. Manuel, who usually served us, would encourage indulgence gently, but with full understanding of our intent. Everyone noticed—we chose with care, never to waste.

And it wasn’t out of restraint. It was mindfulness. On the final day, surrounded by dozens of desserts, I didn’t pick a single one. Not because I couldn’t, but because I was content.

That is abundance. Not how much you can have, but how little you need when you feel full inside.

We were also invited to the bridge by Stella, our concierge manager. She arranged evening gatherings with the Captain’s staff, where music flowed and conversations lingered. Mirro, another kind face at the concierge, shared stories of his time in remote towns in New Zealand and Norway—places where nature speaks louder than words. Iwayan greeted us daily, a quiet presence that made the space feel like home.

And at home, it felt—especially thanks to Emil, our steward. He came by twice a day to maintain the suite, never once disturbing our sense of calm. We left laptops and valuables in the room without concern. Laundry was included; even our nightwear came back pressed.

At Horizon Bistro, lunch was a mosaic of cultures. The sushi bar made me off-menu vegetable rolls at Ocean Terrace. Alfredo’s Pizza was also one of the casual lunch spots I liked. The bartenders had an eagle eye for names and medallions, greeting guests like old friends.

The diversity onboard stood out—51 countries represented in one floating village. Staff were intentionally paired across cultures to create comfort, care, and ease for everyone onboard.

On most days, I walked 10,000 steps. I tuned into my Oura ring—what my body needed, what to eat or skip. I watched sunsets from our west-facing balcony. Saw Glacier Bay National Park in all its icy majesty. Laughed with fellow passengers as whales sprayed water into the air, their fins and sides briefly visible, and otters floated by.

And somewhere in the middle of all that beauty, I remembered this:

“To live a pure unselfish life, one must count nothing as one’s own in the midst of abundance.” — Buddha

That line held me. Because even as I was treated with such care, I didn’t grasp for more. I wasn’t afraid of it ending. I knew what I had received was never mine to possess—only mine to honor, with the quiet neutrality described in Power vs. Force. That place where you no longer cling to pleasure or resist its absence, but allow the experience to flow through you.

I didn’t come home craving luxury. I came home carrying something quieter, deeper.

This is what simple living, high thinking means to me. It’s sipping a latte you made yourself while being surrounded by five-star service. It’s saying no to the dessert, not out of denial, but from fullness. It’s watching the glacier drift past your balcony and knowing that you are enough.

It’s also what conscious leadership looks like. Knowing when to receive and how to stay centered in it. Serving others without performance. Letting excellence inspire you, not inflate you.

I lead others to do the same—to receive abundantly, give wholeheartedly, and stay anchored through it all.

This was more than a vacation. It was a reminder of how I lead.

It was grace, in a gilded frame.