My Soulful Life: Why “Exit Sooner” Is My New Mantra

My first earthquake, solo travel, and turning 50

This is the latest of many personal dispatches on culture, healing, and spirituality from a dual Canadian-American living in Thailand. Find popular free essays here and access the rest of PERFECT HUNGER (including The Practice and Link-Ups) by upgrading here:

Dearest Reader,

I just returned to Chiang Mai after a solo week away and wanted to share some updates as I would with close friends or family. And, of course, some of you are close friends or family! ♥️

Days before leaving, on March 28th, I turned 50—and experienced my first full-on, house-riding-ocean-waves kind of earthquake. While we’re unharmed here, the 7.7-magnitude quake devastated its epicenter in Myanmar and even collapsed a high-rise under construction in Bangkok, over 600 miles away.¹

It was Friday afternoon, and we were home when it struck: We heard a loud crash, the lights flickered on and off, and our house cleaner—a sweet, shy Gen Zer—started screaming in terror.² I’d been writing upstairs and rushed down to see what was wrong, not really processing that the whole house was swaying. I placed both hands on the wall, caught Randy’s gaze, and thought, Is this an earthquake? What the fuck do we do? Then, after ensuring that the house cleaner wasn’t hurt, I ran back for our cats, who’d bolted upstairs.

The whole thing probably lasted a couple minutes but was deeply disorienting. Not just because earthquakes are rare here, or because it was my first, but because at that moment, anything seemed possible. An explosion? An attack? These days, who the hell knows? Above all, it was a visceral reminder of life’s fragility and how much (especially Nature) lies beyond our control.

That evening, walking to the market with Randy, I felt profoundly grateful—not just to be safe, but to be here in Thailand. “If we’re going to experience a disaster,” I told him, “Thailand’s the best place to do it.”

People here have this remarkable, culturally practiced and prioritized ability to meet chaos with calm, to simply do what needs to be done, to help those in need without bringing more drama. (Okay, maybe not our house cleaner, but she’s an absolute sweetie and gets a free pass.) We saw it during last year’s floods, and again after the quake. Even the government’s advice was useful and soothing: Breathe deeply. Drink ginger tea. Cut it out with the booze, coffee, and doom scrolling.

Showering that night, as the neighbor’s traditional Thai music drifted through our screen window, I felt a wave of pure, spontaneous joy: God, I love my life. Right now, at this moment, I’m so grateful and so deeply happy.

Cut to Cha-am.

The earthquake happened on a Friday. That Monday, I left for a week alone in Cha-am—a sleepy beach town a short flight and car ride from Chiang Mai, about two hours’ drive from Bangkok. That proximity to the capital makes it a popular weekend and holiday spot for Thais, but I chose it because it’s slower, cheaper, and less touristy than nearby Hua Hin or the islands. Mostly, I wanted quiet, solitude, and the lull of the waves.

The first thing I rested my eyes on each morning (though this crappy phone photo doesn’t come close)

But.

Things didn’t go exactly as planned. Individually, the hiccups feel too petty and privileged to mention. Cumulatively, they felt like a test from the universe: Who’s a good Buddhist now, you spoiled, wellness-obsessed control freak of a show-off? 😂

Ever had a trip where every minor inconvenience stacks up until you’re half-laughing, half-crying? As someone who embraces serenity, steadiness, and routine like religion, I felt this hard.

A few highlights:

• Sprinting into the sea on day one, only to be stung by a squadron of jellyfish within the first 30 seconds.

• Realizing “sleepy” Cha-am in low season meant I was possibly the only guest in my 24-floor condo. (I’d rented a studio on the 23rd floor with a stunning view… but no groceries or decent food within walking distance.)

• Surviving on fish sauce and canned tuna from 7-Eleven for the first couple days, after walking a kilometer in the hot sun to procure it.

• The roaming packs of dogs that erupted into synchronized howls at random hours, triggering my very real fear of… roaming packs of dogs (who attacked me in an alley my first time in Thailand).

• Haggling with what I affectionately but probably accurately call the Taxi Mafia, then (massively) overpaying out of guilt because bargaining with locals feels gross and entitled.

• Mysterious full-body itching. (Fish sauce? Sand fleas? Who the hell knows.)

• A sudden painful, swollen second toe of unknown origin following a sunset beach walk. (Thankfully, the only “skincare” I brought—castor oil and honey—worked wonders; my toe was back to its peaceful, normal-sized self within no time.)

• The occasional saw-and-hammer cacophony from workers renovating an empty unit down the hall. (Why not drill in an abandoned building? Except, of course, for me.)

• Sleepless first nights thanks to scratchy synthetic blankets and the absence of sheets.

I feel ridiculous even listing this out. But by day three, I said fuck it and paid the Taxi Mafia a small fortune to drive me to a large grocery store in Hua Hin, thirty minutes away. There, I stocked up on eggs, grass-fed butter, organic plain yoghurt, spicy red peppers, and fresh mangos and pineapple. At the adjoining mall, I bought a white cotton sheet so I could sleep through the night.

As Randy can attest: I’m absurdly low maintenance… except in very specific ways, in which I’m absurdly high maintenance. But after doing this one thing for myself—playing nice with Mafia and getting simple food and a cotton sheet—the trip turned around.

Finally, I settled into simplicity and rested from choice. I opened my eyes each morning to the sun rising over the ocean and fishing boats returning to shore. I spent my days writing and practicing yoga with the waves as my soundtrack (the dogs and construction had mellowed). I took long, slow walks along the beach at dusk before dinner (which I could actually enjoy, now that I had groceries). I savored the energetic spaciousness I’d been so desperately craving, allowing new insights to arise and much-needed lifestyle shifts to come into focus (I’ll share more below).

Perhaps my favorite, most memorable moment? One afternoon, as I was setting out on the long, sweltering, dog-patrolled walk to 7-Eleven for soda water, a Thai woman saw me, turned her motorbike around, and asked, “Bpai nai maa?” (Where are you coming from? How’s it going?). She offered me a ride, waited while I went inside the store, then brought me back home—first driving a little farther to show me where a market takes place on Fridays.

When I said yes to her ride offer, she let me know clearly and immediately that she wanted nothing from me. She was simply and generously offering her time and presence. Along the way, we exchanged names, chatted about where we were from, complimented each other’s English and Thai, and talked about how empty Cha-am was right now—and how relentlessly hot.

My final night, emerging from the shower after one last beach walk, I caught my own gaze in the mirror. Standing there, looking at the person 50-plus years in the making, joy welled up—pure and spontaneous. God, I love my life, I thought. But actually, it was more specific: I’m grateful for all that this life has given me. And I’m grateful for all of the choices that led me here.

By the end of the week, I was excited to return home… yet not quite ready to leave.

WHAT’S NOURISHING ME

The Tao Te Ching. I’ve had my copy of this ancient text by Lao Tzu since I first lived here twenty years ago—a pirated, palm-sized xerox from a local shop, given to me by a spiritual teacher turned lover turned unhinged ex.

While there are many versions of The Tao Te Ching, and while this copy in particular has a dramatic history for me, it is by far my favorite. Through every purge of my already minimal belongings—even when we moved here with just two cats and our carry-ons—I’ve kept it close. Lately, I’ve been reading a chapter each morning and remembering how Taoism, alongside Buddhism, is at the heart of my practice. In these performative, anxious, polarized times, it offers much-needed medicine.

Homecoming. Back to my babies 🐱🐱! And Randy! I prefer an inordinate amount of silence and solitude but missed them so much while away. And…

Baby doves! For weeks before my trip, I’d watched mama bird on my tiny bedroom balcony—courting, mating, building her flimsy nest, then settling in. Day after day, she stayed. No food breaks, no water. Through the earthquake, through a night of pounding wind and rain, through scorching heat during our hottest months of the year. It was as though she was telling herself: You have ONE job. Don’t fuck this up.

I agonized. I cried. I catastrophized. That nest looked so pathetic—was she even pregnant? What’s taking so long?! Sometimes I had to look away; it felt like too much.

But when I returned, braced for tragedy, I found her alive with two flapping babies!! Be still my heart. There’s such good in this world. Life is a gift and a miracle.

Chiang Mai. Being away reignited my love for this city, our tucked-away alley, and our neighborhood’s rhythm. We have everything we could want here: laid-back local culture, modern ease and conveniences, excellent and accessible holistic healthcare, and the people. Coming home, I was welcomed by the elderly, white-haired woman in our alley who always tells me I’m su-ay (“beautiful”); the vendors who we buy fresh fruit, rice, and juice from daily; and the kiddos who bounce a ball in front of our house for hours on end—joyful, smiling, laughing. I just adore them.

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WHAT I’M HUNGRY FOR

A new desk set-up. My trip helped me see extra-clearly what wasn’t aligned in my daily life, including working at the cramped, child-sized vanity in my bedroom. I’d been making do instead of creating a space that was both functional and enjoyable.

The day after returning, I set work aside for an afternoon, went to the mall, and picked out a real desk and chair. Then, pushing past my usual hesitation to ask for help or “be a bother,” I arranged for home delivery and assembly. It arrives next week (and wasn’t nearly as big a deal as I had imagined).

A different language learning situation. I’d also been putting up with my Thai group class despite the ridiculous dynamics with classmates I wrote about earlier. My default approach when something isn’t a fit is to just endure and practice harder. After Cha-am, my new insight and mantra? Exit sooner. If the fix is simple, why choose to suffer?

So, I contacted my school and switched to private lessons. It’s a small change that will make a monumental difference to both my internal serenity and my progress in learning the language. And while I’d put off inquiring about this possibility for months—not wanting to “create problems” or spend extra money—the entire transition took a few texts and a few hundred dollars, carrying me until the end of my school year in August.

I’d love to hear yours.

Part of what excites me most about writing these My Soulful Life letters is knowing I’ll get to hear about your lives—what’s supporting and helping you, what you want more of in the days, weeks, and months ahead.

That in mind, I’d love to hear:

• What’s nourishing your mind, body, and spirit this week?

• What are you hungry for?

• Any travel tips or tales to share with the group? Or stories of how travel helped you reach new insights or make needed changes?

Before you go, please tap the little ♡. The more people who discover and support this newsletter, the more time I can devote to creating it.

Thank you, from my heart to yours,
Dana

1. If you’d like to support relief efforts in Myanmar, an impoverished country under military rule, my teacher Gil Fronsdal shares ways to help and speaks about the country’s connection to our Buddhist lineage and practice here.

2. Lest you get the wrong idea about our lifestyle, I feel compelled to tell you that our landlord requires that we have a house cleaner come once a week; it’s included in our rent (which is less than half of what our rent was in Canada). That said, I’ll admit: I love this arrangement. She leaves the house spotless and brings fresh laundered linens!