Member-only story
Dear America, I’m Not Coming Back
A one-way ticket to Thailand, a year of clarity, and a quiet goodbye to a country that broke its promises.
* For the curious, the broke, and the beautifully lost — here’s a free link
Dear America,
I arrived in Chiang Mai on June 18, 2024.
Not looking for enlightenment. Just a place where I could exhale without the world asking for proof of insurance.
The air was thick and unfamiliar, like a shared drink with someone whose story you haven’t heard yet.
Traffic didn’t obey signs so much as it followed intuition.
Mothers on scooters. Monks in orange robes. Dogs napping mid-road like they owned the lease.
And me — bleary-eyed, jet-lagged, dragging 59 years of American noise behind me.
Somewhere between the scent of incense curling up from a spirit house and the morning chant of monks sweeping temple steps with handmade brooms,
I felt it.
Relief.
Not joy. Not awe. Not even peace.
Just the slow unraveling of a knot that had lived in my chest for too long.
