It’s 5:49am, and I’m sitting on the balcony of our Airbnb, unable to sleep. We arrived not but a few hours ago after 28 hours of flights, layovers, and more flights. The sun is rising, my body is exhausted, and my mind could not be more awake. I feel like I just drank a pot of burnt coffee.
I’m excited, but also full of anxiety. I just spent a dollar for each of the thousands of miles we flew and I don’t know what I’m doing here. There was really never a specific reason to visit Bangkok first. It was entirely on a whim. This is that fearful moment of introspection where my mind races in every direction. I can’t help but wonder if we made the right choice. Also the air smells slightly of burnt plastic from my balcony which doesn’t help anything.
With all this self-doubt comes the reassurance that I know what happens next. I’ve felt this way many times before on every trip I’ve ever taken. I know it will subside soon because I’m going to get out there and see new things. I’m going to mix it up and meet new people. I’m going to try new foods, and get drunk on some random street and sing with the locals. Maybe I’ll get my first tattoo if Arlton gets his ass up here. It’s going to be awesome.
The sun is fully up now and I can literally hear the city starting to hum, so I’m going to get the hell out of this apartment and live my life. I’m going to throw self-doubt to the wind and see if I can’t get into some trouble. I’ll leave you, dear reader, with my favorite excerpt from “The Rum Diary” by Hunter S. Thompson.
Sounds of a San Juan night, drifting across the city through layers of humid air; sounds of life and movement, people getting ready and people giving up. The sound of hope and the sound of hanging on, and behind them all, the quiet, deadly ticking of a thousand hungry clocks, the lonely sound of time passing in the long Caribbean night.