In Chiang Mai, I went on a two-day meditation retreat at Wat Suan Dok. This was the most amount of meditation I’ve ever done. Every single moment was focused with intention and mindfulness, including eating. It’s important to me, because as someone with PTSD, it’s easy for my mind to “check out” when the anxiety strikes. The point is to gently redirect the focus of the mind back into the body, where it belongs. With PTSD and anxiety, thoughts and emotions can often spiral out of control like a runaway train. With mindfulness, I have learned to catch myself when that happens and observe it as it is. It’s important not to try to rationalize where it’s coming from, because that only perpetuates the spiraling thoughts. Just observe without reacting, and let it go. It does take practice, just like any skill.

Meditation and running a marathon are similar. Both are tests of endurance that require practice to build up to the next level. They require the mind to stay very, very present.

“Of course you’re falling down and getting hurt. You’re actually doing shit with your life now. That’s what happens. Though, if your ribs aren’t feeling better any time soon, maybe go see a doctor. And your heart inside those ribs is broken? How old are you, 30? See, you’re taking risks there, too. I like your attitude. You don’t seem to quit. You’ll be alright. You’ve got the whole world as your oyster–Now, go take it on.”

– A hostel mate from my travels, possibly in his 50s

It had been an emotionally draining week; that’s why I had stayed in Chiang Mai for the most consecutive days. Before I set out for Thailand, I said goodbye to a dear friend back home and have been in pieces the whole week. The cyclone of pain and loss practically knocked me off my feet. I was absolutely beside myself. I could meditate to try and observe these hurt feelings, but riding the emotions out was really the only option. Sometimes the only way out is through. The best I could do was to focus on my breathing, hold myself and tell myself that I am loved, and just sit with these waves of anguish.

The Thai say, “Mai pen rai.” Meaning, “It’s okay. Everything will be okay. Don’t worry.”

I was unbearably, desperately sad last week. But in a way, it has another side. This gives the opportunity to really lean into the worldwide journey. I could lose my mind over and over again if I had less of a grip (like when I was in my 20s). And while grieving does serve a purpose, after a certain point, I think it can become unnecessary suffering. So, I’m doing my best to let go. Letting go doesn’t mean that whatever the other person has done is okay. I think that prolonged grieving, sadness, and anger only hold someone back from enjoying this once in a lifetime opportunity. So, I’m doing my best to let go and embrace this journey.

I am halfway through my trip, and this has been a turning point in a way. The week may be been emotionally draining, but I’m truly grateful for being here.

I arrived in Bangkok from Chiang Mai early Friday morning. I hadn’t slept for 40-ish hours.

In Bangkok, I walked around, thinking over my whole life, all of the insane circumstances, everyone’s influences whether good or bad, and every little link that has led me here against all odds. Traveling solo can make you confront yourself. It has been seriously testing my limits, and I’m finding new things I’m capable of. Never mind that I have been between elation and exasperation all week–this is a dream I am actually living… And everything is very, very real.

I am beginning to like this Ronnie v 2.0.

After settling in a hostel in a quiet corner of Chinatown, I set off again to have breakfast and visit Wat Pho. This is the largest and oldest temple in Bangkok.

I did a lot of things in two days: visiting temples, art museums, eating vegan street food, window shopping at night markets, and eventually going to bed.

My favorite part of the city was visiting the Bangkok Art and Cultural Center. It was like a shopping mall and art museum in one 9 story building!

The paintings and sculptures at the galleries and museums are poignant, and many struck a chord in me. The art making process is an interconnected cycle. We look at others’ work to think and reflect, and it inspires our own. We ask questions; we want to know the artist’s intent and history, so that we can appreciate the full picture. It made me think about my own creative process. I thought I had left art because I haven’t been painting nearly as much. But In fact, my medium of choice has changed from painting to writing. The creative process is still there; it has taken on another form.

Sometimes I would wander around the maze of alleyways in Bangkok. The hostel I stayed in was away from the backpackers district. I wanted to stay off the beaten path for once, where hardly anyone speaks English. Instead, the locals and I try understanding each other by using made up hand gestures.

I have since arrived in Siem Reap, Cambodia as of yesterday. Bangkok was fun, and maybe I could have stayed a day longer. Thailand is the Land of Smiles, and it’s easy to see why people flock over there. Sure, the heat can get to you, but everything else makes it totally worth it.

One day I will return.