Candid Quick Take: Is This Bath Worth $300? (Probably Not)

I have too much to say - seriously, I talk too much, write too much, and think too much, and instead of trying to rein it in (because let’s be honest, that’s not happening), I’ve decided to lean into it. So here’s the plan: In addition to my regular posts, I'll be sharing a mid-week post called the Candid Quick Take—a bite-sized version of my usual ramblings, just a quick thought or perspective I can’t keep to myself. Why? Because I love words. I love how they let us express, explore, and understand ourselves and the world around us. Words feel like freedom to me—the freedom to feel, think, and connect—and writing them, reading them, and using them is pure joy. So here I am, writing a ton of words in the hopes that someone, somewhere, will read them and find them meaningful, interesting, or at least entertaining. Here is your first Candid Quick Take.

The other day, my sister and I were plotting a winter spa weekend with our mom—a cozy little escape from the Wisconsin cold. Naturally, we started googling the Kohler Water Spa. I mean, it’s the Kohler Water Spa, one of the most luxurious water-centric retreats in the country. It sounded perfect. Then, my sister—bless her practical soul—nearly choked when she saw the price list.

“$300 for a BATH?” she exclaimed, looking at me in disbelief. “You want to take a $300 bath?" She was laughing, but I could tell she was genuinely confused and wondering if this bath water was coming straight from the fountain of youth.

Here’s the thing. Yes, I do. I absolutely want a $300 bath. And a $300 shower. And a $250 little faucet drip thingy right on my forehead. It’s ridiculous, I know. But I do want it. I won’t do it, of course, because my kid still needs preschool and my car isn’t about to start running on hopes and dreams. But deep down, the idea of those moments surrounded by water—flowing, calming, healing—makes perfect sense to me.

Why is water so healing? What is it about water that calls to us?

For me, the shower has always been more than just a place to get clean. When I’m sick, I take a shower. When I’m sad, I take a shower. When the weight of the world feels unbearable, I just sit under the stream of water and breathe. It’s comforting in a way few other things are.

Recently, a dear friend of mine, who is living through unimaginable tragedy, shared something that resonated so deeply with me. She’s been navigating the kind of loss that shakes you to your core—the kind that makes simply existing feel unbearable some days. But every day, she gathers her strength, pushes through the necessary hours, and keeps moving forward. One day, she told me her shower was her “safe place.” There’s something universal about the way water holds us—comforts us.

From the moment we exist, we’re connected to water. In the womb, it surrounds us, protects us, keeps us safe. It’s our first home. Even after we’re born, water remains a source of nourishment and comfort. The gentle rhythm of waves, the sound of a steady rain, the feel of warm water cascading over us—they all tap into something primal, something ancient.

Water is rhythmic, like a heartbeat. It moves, but it’s still. It’s soft, but it’s strong. It adapts to its environment, yet it’s unyielding in its persistence. When we immerse ourselves in it, or even just feel it running over our skin, we’re reminded to let go, to flow, to be.

Water has this incredible way of helping us process emotions without forcing anything. It soothes without demanding an explanation. It comforts without judgment. For many of us, the shower or the bath becomes a private sanctuary—a place where we can cry, reflect, or simply exist without expectation.

It’s no wonder so many of us turn to water during times of stress, grief, or exhaustion. Whether it’s soaking in a warm tub, standing under a shower, or just sitting by a body of water, it has a way of restoring balance. It pulls us out of our heads and back into the present, back into our bodies.

So yes, I want that $300 bath. Because water is healing. It’s comforting. It’s grounding. And while I might not splurge at Kohler this time around, I’ll still let the shower be my safe place. Every time I stand under its stream, I know I’ll find a little piece of that calm, soothing, tranquil magic.

Here’s to water—our original healer.