When I was leaving Bali, I was gripped with a sinking feeling that I was making a mistake. I was on the way to the airport when my driver asked me why I was leaving if I loved it so much. So, we pulled over to the side of the road and sat on the ground in the parking lot of a convenience store and talked about it.
He asked why I was going to Thailand, and I said, “Just to see it.” I never thought I’d be able to go to Bali, and now that I’m here, I’ve always wanted to travel around this part of the world, but work or health problems kept me away. Now I was finally here, so I had to go, right?
Over the past few weeks, I’ve realized how much my decisions are motivated by this urge to see everything now that I’m better, to take advantage of every moment. But my gratefulness always coexists alongside this fear that if I don’t take advantage of my time now, something will happen and I won’t be in remission anymore. I know all too well that my eyes can get worse in a minute, and I never take my improved health for granted. But sometimes this race, this urge, to live life as fully as I can before I may need to get more surgeries feels overwhelming. I’m not sure how to separate this excitement for life and fear of losing my health. Maybe I never will, but it can feel exhausting to always have the threat of my health issues lurking in the shadows.
I don’t want to act from fear, but sometimes I can’t help it. If I had to take a wild guess, it’s probably somewhat related to the trauma of all these years of doctors appointments and surgeries and the repeated torrent of bad news. It’s still hard to believe that I am better, honestly. But I tell myself that anyway, and move onward.
So, I went to Thailand to see it. Because I can, and because I’m here, and because I’ve always been curious. I ignored that desire within myself to rest in one place, because my fear of running out of time won out. While I don’t want to be controlled by it, I also know it’s a valid fear I will constantly have to carry with me wherever I go, because my health will always be precarious. But I think the battle is knowing when to feel that it’s okay to rest anyway.
When I arrived in Bangkok, it was a shock. There was a lot less nature, the heat was overpowering, the pollution was hard to sit through. But I gave myself time to settle in and made a wonderful friend from Copenhagen. We explored Bangkok together, and I soon fell in love with the incredible food. I spent hours at the markets trying small bites of everything, especially when I couldn’t tell what it was.
But the other reason I was in Bangkok was to see an eye surgeon there. My glaucoma surgeon in New York had recommended I see him in case of an emergency, but now that I was trying to travel for longer, my doctor told me I could get a check up with him in order to make sure everything looked good and prolong my trip.
My biggest issue is my eye pressure - because of all the surgeries and implants from this past year and a half, I need to always keep an eye on it ;) If it’s over 30, I need to go back on medication. 40 means surgery. But 10-14 is the sweet spot. (If my eye pressure is too high, it can cause irreparable damage and I can lose my vision that way). So, I went to the doctor, nervous about how it would go. I made the mistake of reading awful reviews of the hospital the night before, which was the perfect thing to put me to sleep.
But when I got there, it moved seamlessly. I tried to explain all the surgeries I’d gotten but it was too hard to communicate so I just wrote them all down for them to put into Google Translate.
Then a technician took my eye pressure and tested my vision. I could see 20/20 with glasses and had a pressure of 13 and 14. I almost cried I was so happy, and high-fived the technician. When the doctor saw me, it was wild. He examined my eyes, and what he saw was projected on a big screen on the wall for four other nurses and technicians to watch, including the next patient, as if it was some big demonstration and not a personal appointment. But he agreed my eyes looked good, and I was free to continue on my trip, as long as I kept my eye drops refrigerated.
Quick side note: carrying my eye drops with me has been a big aspect of my traveling. I keep them in a small black bag with an ice pack meant for diabetes medication, and try to have it refrigerated wherever I go. But sometimes the places I stay do not have refrigerators, which means I need to ask nearby bars or bakeries to keep it in their fridge. Below is an assortment of all the wonderful places my eyedrops have traveled so far.
But now, with my new Thai doctor’s blessing, I was able to move forward. I traveled to Chang Mai, a smaller city up north, and went for a two day trek through the mountains. There were elephants and waterfalls, and wild dogs leading the way for us each day. A part of me was scared to go — it was remote and in the middle of nowhere. What if I fell (very likely, my body is not great at going up steep inclines and slippery rocks) and something happened? But it was also thrilling to make a decision that finally felt like my own, rather than it being dependent on if my doctors thought it was safe or if they were nearby.
As I passed the time on the trek speaking to others on the trip, I noticed how traveling has made it easier to talk about my eye condition. It feels like a muscle I’m always flexing and getting better at. I used to have a rule that I wouldn’t tell a romantic interest about my eyes until the third or fourth date, but sometimes I just never did if I didn’t feel comfortable. It felt too exposing and vulnerable to share this part of myself too quickly, to reveal this secret I was so ashamed of, when first dates were supposed to be about presenting the best version of yourself. But while traveling, I sometimes will talk about it within five minutes of meeting someone because it’s such a big part of who I am now, and why I’m here. The more I’m able to talk about it, the more free I feel, until not only do I not remember what I was so ashamed of, but I feel more compassion towards myself, and proud of how far I’ve come.
For my second week in Thailand, I decided to go stay with monks at a meditation retreat an hour outside of Chiang Mai with a friend I made on the trek.
Every morning, we would get up at 5:30am to meditate. Then at 6:30 we would walk around the village for an alms round and collect offerings. Afterwards, we would eat breakfast, meditate again, eat an early lunch, and meditate once more before bed. Everyone dressed in white so that it wouldn’t be distracting, but it kind of looked like we were in the Leftovers and I kept wondering when we were going to all start chain smoking cigarettes (sadly we never did).
My first two days there, I couldn’t keep my mind still and I was ready to leave. I wondered if this place was for me, or what I was doing wrong. But then we tried a walking meditation where we would walk barefoot on the trails and repeat a mantra to keep our mind calm. After thirty minutes, we came back to a sitting meditation, and I felt a stillness I have never felt before in my life. I suddenly started crying without knowing why, but it was a happy release.
I felt filled with intense love and gratitude to be alive, and kept hearing a strong inner voice inside me telling me to slow down. To be okay with not moving so quickly, but to be present with where I was. So I stayed with the monks longer. I kept crying after my meditations until I felt cracked open in a way that felt good but also terrified me. I felt like I was accessing an entirely new part of me that had been overshadowed by noise and distraction, and now I could hear this voice for the first time clearly. Sometimes on my walking meditations, I’d admire my bare feet walking up the trail. I’d stare down at them, in awe that just months earlier I was in a wheelchair, so weak from my surgeries and medications I couldn’t stand. And now I was here.
One day at lunch, a man sat next to me and asked me if I was going to the festival. I asked him what festival he was talking about - the retreat was pretty remote and we wouldn’t leave the area except for dinner across the road. He explained there was a Japanese- run hippie festival called Shambhala located an hour away in Chang Dao. It only happened once a year, and it was starting in a few days. He didn’t have more information, but it was enough for me to agree to go.
A few days later, I found myself in Chang Dao, sharing a tent with this man. Dove (tent man) was supposed to go to Laos but also decided this festival we knew almost nothing about was not to be missed. And we were right. I have never been to anything quite like it- there were bands from Pai, Australia, France, the UK, Chang Mai, Taiwan, Japan and more. People all over the world came just for this festival and I felt lucky that I happened to be in the area at the right time. While it was very well organized, it also had a small, comfortable feel to it, like a village had come together to built this beautiful, sustainable community.
There were workshops and meditations and drum circles, and you could walk to hot springs in the morning. I woke up from my tent to the sound of a flowing creek, or roaming water buffalo staring back at me.
All the people I met were warm and inspiring, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how rare it was to be able to be in this place at this moment. I was so appreciative to be there. I realized how when I was sick, I spent all my time planning what I would do when I was better in the future. The last thing I wanted was to live with my reality. But these days, I’m finally happy in my present, and don’t plan much beyond a day ahead of time. I’m energized by the new places I’m seeing and people I’m meeting, and I’ve never been happier.
One day after meditating, a monk told us, “When you think in the past or the future, you create problems. When you are present, you have the solutions.” So, from now on, I’m going to try and not be afraid of slowing down, or running out of time, but allow myself to be grateful for the present each day and take it from there.
Also, I know a lot of you are probably furious with me because there have been barely any photos of Oreo, but I was sent this picture of him on a doggy sleepover so here you go!
Thank you all for reading this long and staying with me on this journey! ❤
Love,
Julia