Living Out of Bounds
Wandering Thailand in search of freedom, fire, and something real
Prelude
There is no lack of curiosity for this world’s seemingly endless supply of excitement. I can't get enough of my obsessions. Having the opportunity to expand my horizons is a blessing. But the consequences of my limitless desires are still unknown. I've learned that nothing comes for free, and I'm waiting for life to catch up with me. I shouldn't have any excuses for myself. A life of suppression is not worth living, and there is no right way to live. There is no manual for anything that’s important—only very loose guidelines that are transmitted through God once in a while. I can only follow the clues given to me and figure out what's worth changing, what's worth clinging on to, and what's holding me back and limiting me. But I can't imagine a more fulfilling life than the one I'm trying so hard to pursue. This one comes with lots of baggage to work through. Every day I reach into my heavy suitcase and pull out what I think is worth keeping. Occasionally, there’s an item I’m happy to throw away.
“I can only follow the clues given to me and figure out what’s worth changing, what’s worth clinging on to, and what’s holding me back.”
I might be getting close to carry-on size. Maybe one day I’ll travel with only a light backpack with only a few essentials. I'll be more free and nimble to take the lesser-known streets and change my ways of traveling more smoothly.
But a life without my eccentricities doesn't look or feel like a life at all, more like a prison, and for what? Whatever I've done with the right intentions and from higher morals has rarely resulted in increased satisfaction.
How did we humans get to be so limited by our own beliefs? Why is it so hard to follow our hearts instead of our hyperactive grey matter? Very rarely do I meet a person who seems to have found the secret to a lighter existence. But maybe my perceptions are as limited as my own view on human nature. Maybe all I see is the reflection of an ideal on the surface, and the silent darkness is hiding in the depths. Even the most light-hearted individual is undoubtedly carrying an equally great weight on the other side of the scales. And we never really have a choice—it’s the price we pay, as I mentioned earlier.
In the end, maturing comes down to cultivating that greater comfort for the choices we undoubtedly will face at the many crossroads of life we encounter as seekers. Comfort to walk along our fears and our darkness while knowing that it's the only path forward, and out of the inertia of suppression, progress and steady movement in the direction of our North Star becomes as necessary as two meals a day. I've tried the other option and it wasn't good. Life loses flavour, materialism clouds my vision, and my soul's fire, once blazing inferno, is slowly fading and the flames are remaining embers. I managed to cope for a while, adopting disillusions of contentment and its popularity amongst the majority of folks I meet on a daily basis. Sometimes I even envy their apparent ease with the status quo. I envy their ability to get by with just the comforts and luxuries within their reach, achieved in a trade for a potion of their vitality.
Living the Dream, Wondering If It’s Mine
There is no one at the pool but me. It's almost 10 AM in Pattaya, and I'm considering going to my hotel room to get ready to visit the Sanctuary of Truth. I'm pushing myself to write even though I'd just prefer to sit, relax, and listen to music or a podcast. I feel like I just want to surrender to this moment of absolute liberation.
Sparks are going off in my head just thinking about it. I'm sitting here as a traveler and a tourist, and, according to many, I'm living the dream. I have two weeks of endless possibilities ahead of me. I could fly to Vietnam or Laos or Indonesia. Or I could choose to just go to Bangkok and book a nice hotel in a quiet residential neighbourhood and just write for as much as I can and drink coffee and smoothies whenever I want. And yet, as I sit here in this peaceful bubble, another thought creeps in.
“I’ve learned that fulfillment doesn’t scale with comfort or luxury. In fact, some of my richest experiences came when I had very little. ”
Is a human allowed to live with so much freedom? Why am I allowed to come to a developing country and live like a king, enjoying every luxury modern life can offer? And then I walk down the street and I see trash lying on the side of the road, stinking sewage running down the broken pipes, people living in poverty. And as I walk past, I imagine what might go through their minds when they see me. What do they think of me—a foreigner, clearly privileged—wearing nice clothes, holding an expensive phone in his hands to follow directions and earphones that probably cost more than what some Thai people earn in a month? Why is there so much inequality in this world? How did we get here over the millennia? Am I supposed to ignore all this and just live blissfully?
But I know I have no say in this whatsoever. I have lived with much less in the past—often by choice—and found it just as, if not more, enjoyable than my current lifestyle. I’ve learned that fulfillment doesn’t scale with comfort or luxury. In fact, some of my richest experiences came when I had very little. Technology has allowed me to design a life that feels more aligned with my natural state of being, and my life in modern Western society has allowed me to pursue the life of a seeker, questioning my purpose and embodying the principles of self-actualization. I didn't have to worry much about surviving in the past, which gave me the space to pursue other aspects beyond existence.
The Symphonies We Can’t Hear Yet
Happy Chinese New Year. There’s a parade passing by in the streets. I can just catch a glimpse while squeezed into a tight corner of this Thai breakfast place where I seem to be the only foreigner. But I find a certain charm in the situation. I’m fascinated by how people get by with so little. The place is filled with all kinds of antique objects—decorative plates, photographs of old kings, and a plastic dog holding a welcome sign right in front of my face. The staff are buzzing around like working ants, and I’m thinking about my plan for the day.
A sketch of the villa I stayed in with a pool-pond.
Koh Samui. Finally, I arrive at a peaceful place. This modern villa is in the middle of the jungle with a swimmable pond and fish swimming inside. There are three rooms for Airbnb and a big outdoor kitchen with a barbecue. There’s hardly any traffic noise, and the owner told me he thinks there are no poisonous snakes. These random moments are essential — like sitting in front of the pond, surrounded by the sound of the waterfall, frogs, and other nightly creatures in full symphony, with soft light highlighting parts of the background. And I reflect on the day with gratitude, remembering that I was feeling entirely opposite sensations just this morning.
I had bought my transport to Koh Samui but was beating myself up for not being more cautious and planning my accommodations first. Then I realized how expensive everything was on January 29th because of the Chinese New Year. But the deed was already done, and so I kept weighing options to avoid overspending on hotels. And patience and persistence pay off once again. And here I am, sitting at the pond, writing these words of gratitude and wonder. Amazed by how we humans put so much pressure on ourselves and how we are so stubborn to think that we have any agency in what will happen to us in the next minute, hour, or day—let alone in a lifetime.
“All we really need is spaciousness, an emptiness that allows magic to pass through us.”
But absolute surrender is impossible. It is also human to be imperfect and to keep striving for perfection, knowing that it’s a never-ending game. And what comes next? Wisdom is knowledge put into practice. And then what? I love my life. I already am incredibly fortunate. But I have one big void that’s existing in my soul. I’m not being seen by many. I’m not admired or respected. And do I even want that? I love the people close to me and they love me back. Do I need more? No. But I can’t die without having left a mark somehow. As I sit here in the stillness, I find myself wondering if there are others out there who feel this same quiet awe — this ache for beauty, simplicity, and meaning. Are they real, these kindred spirits I often imagine? Or are they just projections of my longing, characters in the stories I tell myself to feel less alone?
Life is really made of moments. But it also requires the commitment to pause and appreciate the journey within each one. If we truly reflect on the countless decisions it took to reach that moment, we begin to see a sequence of seemingly unrelated events which, over time, converge into a silent symphony. And all we really need is spaciousness—an emptiness that allows magic to pass through us. This may seem hard to imagine at first, but we hustle and learn new tools to ground ourselves, again and again. We experiment with practices and with life experiences, and at the end of the day, we get to choose what we keep and what we let go.
Less is more.
We unlearn many things so that we keep only the habits that serve our higher selves.