My Soulful Life: One Year in Thailand

What’s nourishing me, what I’m hungry for, biggest takeaways

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:

On June 17th, 2024, my partner Randy and I, each carrying a Siamese cat, left Nova Scotia—a bundle of nerves and ceaseless meows. On June 20th, we collapsed onto an impossibly plush, blissfully clean bed in a Bangkok hotel. We were exhausted, profoundly relieved, and in complete disbelief.

But Thailand wasn’t always the plan. As many of you know, in the six months before leaving Canada, the (thoroughly researched, meticulously detailed) plan was Cambodia. Tickets bought, cars sold, paperwork sorted, belongings pared down to matching carry-ons and cat carriers—then, two weeks before departure, that plan fell through.

The story is so absurd it sounds made up, but it boiled down to the top non-negotiable I’d held since starting to plan an international move: my cats were not going in cargo, and they were not getting subjected to quarantine.

So, two weeks before moving across the world, when a layover in South Korea threatened to quarantine my precious Siamese babies, we were back to square one. We frantically ran through countries that would meet our other requirements (e.g., affordable on low incomes, long-term visa options) and let us in with cats on short notice. (Yes, I’m fully aware that two senior Siamese cats are running my life. They’ve also saved my life; so the least I could do was make this move as easy as possible for them.)

Thailand was high on our list (I’d lived here decades ago), but we’d initially ruled it out because of long-term visa hurdles. Still, faced with a choice between the logical (Mexico) and what our hearts desired (Southeast Asia), we followed our hearts—but only after flipping back and forth between those two options (and probably ten others) mere weeks before leaving.

Having decided to go for it, we charged ridiculously priced, last-minute tickets to a credit card, pulled off a miracle with vet paperwork meeting both Thailand and KLM Royal Dutch Air’s stricter requirements, and endured a three-day journey with layovers in Toronto and Amsterdam. It was hell for the cats (and us), but we made it—circling the globe with just them and our carry-ons.

The rest? Well, it’s been a full, beautiful, wondrous gift of a year here in Chiang Mai. (Which also included illness, a flood evacuation by boat, a basement scorpion, my first real earthquake, and the recent madness in our home space, among other adventures.)

You can catch up on all that in the My Soulful Life archives. But for today—pausing to celebrate one year!—here are some takeaways:

• In my twenties, I moved to far-flung destinations with short notice, no real plans, and minimal possessions. In my thirties and forties, things shifted. There was Chinese Medicine school, cats, and marriage. I became a Chinese Medicine doctor, college instructor, and dean. By the time we left Canada for Thailand, I was 49 and my partner was 61. This move has been a powerful reminder that life’s path can look all kinds of ways. It doesn’t need to fit the parameters, norms, or expectations we grew up with—or the ones that surround us. Although I miss Canada, I’m thrilled for our unconventional life here in Thailand.

• Being able to afford and access decent housing, food, and allopathic and holistic healthcare is one of the most powerful antidotes to stress and anxiety I know. Don’t get me wrong—we’re still minimalists, and aside from a desk and chair, all my belongings still fit in a carry-on. But not having rent eat up half my income each month? Being able to buy groceries without a pit of dread forming in my stomach at the register? Making planned or unplanned trips to the doctor, dentist, or vet without spiraling into panic? Being able to not just get out of credit card debt, but actually start saving? When it comes to physical health, mental health, and quality of life, moving to Thailand changed everything. Living here feels like relief.

• I knew this already, but since moving, it’s more immediate and obvious: U.S. polarization, preoccupations, opinions, and worldviews aren’t the center of everything (despite what many online spaces would have us believe). People elsewhere live full, vibrant lives with their own equally important, locally relevant concerns and perspectives. I feel deeply grateful to have stepped outside the North American bubble IRL, and I’m working to untangle myself from it online.

• Living in a place where you aren’t fluent in the language or culture turns every day into an exercise in mindfulness, curiosity, not knowing, and patience. Not a day passes without encountering something wildly unexpected and absolutely delightful. It’s a practice in slowing down, seeing with new eyes, and being willing to be surprised. It’s like being a kid again—gazing with wonder, noticing patterns, making connections, finding joy in discovery.

• I love people so much. I mean this generally—people everywhere, all over the world, share the same essence. But I also mean it specifically—here, in Thailand. Maybe I’m still wearing rose-colored glasses, but at least in our neighborhood, people are present. They notice one another. They tend to what needs doing. They are living life—not just posting and pontificating about it online. I want more of this. And for me, leaving behind what’s familiar makes that way easier.

• Put simply, I feel more alive here… and more deeply nourished… and beyond grateful to have a partner and cats who are up for this ride!

(And if you’re wondering—the cats love it here, too. Lapping up goat milk and reconnecting with their Siamese roots, they’ve entered their most abundant, most spoiled era ever.)

As for life lately? Below, WHAT’S NOURISHING ME and WHAT I’M HUNGRY FOR, plus an invitation to share.

WHAT’S NOURISHING ME

You. I wrote the last two letters from such a fraught, internally conflicted, deeply sleep-deprived place. The first of those became one of the most viewed, most hearted, most commented letters at PERFECT HUNGER. The second—where I shared new updates along with where I fucked up—felt especially vulnerable… but you met me in the comments with graciousness, generosity of spirit, reassurance, and love. Thank you, from my heart to yours.

Sour mangos. I’ve mentioned the elderly woman who lives in our alley before—she’s probably in her nineties, always tells me I’m su-ay (beautiful), and is outside her lovingly patched-together house each morning and evening, sweeping the alley, tending her plants and fruit trees, and talking to the aloof, unbothered cat she keeps on a leash.

The other evening, as we walked back from the market, she called out to us in Thai we couldn’t understand, hurried over, and pressed unripe mangos from her trees into our hands along with a baggie of salt. This particular type of mango (one of so many here!) is picked while still green on the outside but orange on the inside. The taste is bri-aw (sour), and locals usually sprinkle a little salt mixed with chili powder on them, sometimes sugar and chili.

Randy and I brought our gift home, cut them open, and looked at each other with surprised delight. The taste of a fresh sour mango, just plucked from a tree and offered with care, weirdly captures the reason we moved here.

Saturday treats and protective amulets. Last Saturday, seeking a breather from work and from the farang screaming next door, Randy and I rode around on his motorbike, running small errands. I picked up a new bottle of castor oil (which I use daily around my eyes to reduce puffiness and on my lashes to condition and strengthen them, in addition to keeping it on hand as part of an herbal first aid kit). I also treated myself to a canister of locally made tamarind and turmeric exfoliating scrub and some tea tree oil, good for dental health and small cuts.

Randy needed more incense, which he (like our Thai neighbors) lights each morning and places on the little spirit house outside our home, so we then swung by Wat Phra Singh, a large Buddhist temple, to buy some. Once there, we decided to linger.

We kneeled side by side on the brightly colored red carpets inside the main temple, gazing at a stunning collection of large golden Buddha statues in all different styles and from all different eras. Groups of mostly Japanese tourists came and went—some meditated, some took selfies and pictures of family, some bowed in reverence and showed their toddlers how to do the same (which was even more adorable than you might imagine).

We also spent time chatting with the man in charge of a small display of Buddhist amulets, blessed by the temple’s resident monks and available for sale. First, Randy asked if there was an amulet to protect me from loud noise. The attendant’s sage reply, delivered with a deadpan expression: There’s only one solution to too much noise—two houses. 😂

When we asked how the amulets offer protection, his answer landed straight in my heart. Instead of focusing on what the miniature Buddha statues and pendants might guard us from “out there,” he said they help us protect our own inner state and remember to stay calm, no matter the circumstances. Randy bought us each one, and mine’s sitting on my desk right now, just inches away as I write this. As for whether it’s helping me stay calm… I think so? Either way, I welcome the backup!

Thai language lessons. August will mark one year of twice-weekly lessons in Thai speaking, reading, and writing. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but deciding to get an education visa and study Thai is something I thank my past self for daily.

More specifically, learning to read and write Thai script—rather than just transliterating Thai into English—has opened a whole new world. I learned Arabic this way in my twenties and medical Mandarin this way in my thirties, so I knew it’d make a big difference.

Learning another language—even just a little, but on its own terms and in its own script—is one of the best ways I know to: 1) step beyond myopic worldviews and claustrophobic perspectives, and 2) touch into the essential humanness that we all share. Learning Thai is fantastic for stretching my 50-year-old brain and regrowing my attention span, yes. But more than that, it nourishes my mind, my heart, my spirit.

The dharma. Another blessing I’ve mentioned countless times in this space is the wisdom of senior Buddhist teacher Gil Fronsdal. Gil has been my primary spiritual guide for at least 25 years now, since discovering him in my mid-twenties. I listen to one of his dharma talks or guided meditations each evening and lately have been making my way through this recent retreat.

So much of what Gil talks about feels deeply relevant to the moment we’re living in. He offers ways to practice with and soften the edges of anxiety, uncertainty, and upheaval. He also provides an alternative—and antidote—to addiction. Addiction to substances, yes, but also to outrage, othering, overconsumption, the need to be right, and obsession with self and identity.

Personally, this feels so needed right now. It reminds me that hostility causes harm that ripples both inwards and outwards (often more than we realize). That I can’t know or control everything (nor do I need to). That there’s a whole world unfolding inside ourselves and in relationship with others (beyond consumption and the masks we wear, online and off). That so much of what I once thought was important—especially around labeling myself, declaring “how things are,” and defining my purpose—actually isn’t. And that (no matter what opinions we hold or what labels we use) humans are pretty much the same at our core.

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WHAT I’M HUNGRY FOR

SLEEP. You guys, I’m so tired and brain-fogged. Kind of ironic that I recently published an edition of The Practice all about how essential good sleep is for physical and mental well-being… only to have one of my most sleepless months in recent memory, thanks to The Machine and late-night screaming from my neighbor.

But. He moved out a few days early! And, for the love of God, I hope the Airbnb sits empty this next while. I need sleep so bad!

A new home. Living in Thailand as temporary residents on long-term visas that require regular renewals means our footing here will never be certain. We’ve crossed every T, dotted every I, followed every rule, hired good agents to help us. But government regulations are always changing (often on what seems like a whim). Getting to stay is a privilege, and we definitely don’t take it for granted.

Still, for now, we’re savoring our time here and rooting deeper. When our lease ends in August, we’re flirting with the idea of leaving Chiang Mai for a seaside interlude. After that? Who knows. Chiang Mai is special, and there really isn’t anywhere else in Thailand quite like it.

But even if we circle back, our current house has served its purpose. In most ways, it’s been perfect. In most ways, I’ll miss it and our little alley so much. But our next chapter calls for quieter walls—ones that ask a little less of amulets and internal practice.

Wherever we land next, you’ll hear it here first. Wish us luck and stay tuned!

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?

• Where were you one year ago today? Have any delightful surprises unfolded between then and now?

Before you go, could you do me a favor and tap the little ♡? The more people who discover and support this newsletter, the more time I can devote to creating it.

Thank you, with love,
Dana