Tag: wellness

When Life Gives You Reasons (to Quit), Don’t Turn Them Into Excuses

This week, life handed me a very good reason to stop doing everything.

Let’s just say my stomach decided to launch a full rebellion. Whether it was my last meal in Thailand or my first dish in Taiwan, I got hit hard—stomach flu or food poisoning, take your pick. Either way, I was bed-bound for nearly five days, feeling like I’d been steamrolled by a buffet gone rogue.

I couldn’t eat, couldn’t think, and definitely couldn’t do much besides occasionally wondering if I’d ever feel normal again. Even now, my appetite isn’t fully back. Certain foods still make me queasy, and I’m still low on energy. Let’s not even talk about the bathroom situation—I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say the plumbing got a workout.

But here’s what struck me: when you’re sick, it’s incredibly easy to put things off. You give yourself a free pass—and rightly so at first. Rest is important. But then a funny thing happens… that legitimate reason slowly starts turning into a comfortable excuse.

I caught myself doing it. I signed up for a Jiu-Jitsu competition this year—something I do annually to challenge myself. But as I lay in bed, barely able to eat rice, my brain whispered:
“You’ve been sick. You’re not at 100%. Just skip it. You’re not a pro anyway, right? No one will care.”

And honestly? That reasoning felt so good. It made me feel safe. It made me feel justified. But underneath that warm blanket of logic was a cold truth:
I was using a real reason to dodge something hard. That’s how reasons slowly become excuses.

It’s a sneaky shift. Maybe you’re facing something real—illness, loss, disability, burnout—and your reason is 100% valid. But eventually, if we’re not careful, that reason becomes our new normal. We start using it as a shield against everything uncomfortable, boring, or difficult.

And that’s where the danger is.

So today, I reminded myself: Don’t let this reason become an excuse.

I took a deep breath. Got out of bed. Told myself, “You’re good enough to get back up. You’re strong enough to walk out that door.”

Was it easy? No. I still felt tired. I still felt off. But I wasn’t going to let my comeback story be hijacked by a leftover noodle or a bowl of questionable street food.

Because the moment you stop showing up for your life—even in small, wobbly ways—that’s the moment the excuses win.

So here’s my message to you (and to myself): If life gives you a reason to pause, take the pause. Rest. Heal. But when it’s time to move again, don’t let that reason turn into an escape hatch.

You’re stronger than that.
And you’ve got too much potential to waste it in bed binge-watching regrets.

Sometimes, you just have to do what you’ve got to do.

As I’m learning during my time in Thailand, the Grab app (the Uber equivalent here) is a bit like rolling the dice—sometimes it gets you where you want to go… and sometimes it almost does. And when you’re blind, “almost” can make all the difference.

Navigating transportation here comes with its own little adventure menu:

• Buses? A hard no—for me, and honestly, for some sighted folks too.
• MRT (subway)? Doable! The staff are helpful, and with a little orientation, I can make it work. But you still have to walk to your exact destination, which isn’t always easy.
• Taxis or Grab? Let’s just say… it depends. On GPS accuracy. On rain. And most of all, on the kindness of your driver.

Now, let’s get to the story.

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It was one of those days where everyone in my group was tied up, but I didn’t want to waste the entire day sitting indoors. So I made a solo mission out of it.

I called a Grab.
I explained my destination.
I prayed for the best.

The driver dropped me off… somewhere. Was it close? I think so. Was it the place? Not quite. To add drama to the scene, cue the sudden Thai downpour—the kind that laughs at umbrellas and turns streets into rivers.

Being blind, I couldn’t wander around looking for signs or landmarks. I also couldn’t see shelter ahead. So I did what any logical person would do: I found a covered area and waited. Waited for the rain to ease, for the GPS to hopefully update, and for some miracle of human kindness to arrive.

Time slowed.
The rain didn’t.
No one around me spoke English, and my Thai is… let’s just say in development.

Eventually, more rain-soaked souls gathered under the same shelter. I heard some English being spoken—a beacon of hope! I politely asked one man if he could help me figure out where I was. Not only did he speak English, but he went above and beyond. He walked to the store I was looking for and brought back a staff member—umbrella in hand—to walk me over safely in the rain.

Talk about a plot twist.

Once I arrived, I got to sit down, enjoy a snack, and relax while waiting for my group to arrive a few hours later. What started as a frustrating, wet, and uncertain moment turned into one of those little stories that sticks with you—not because it was dramatic, but because it was human.

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This may seem like a small thing, but in moments like these, you realize how far positive thinking, a little patience, and faith in the goodness of others can take you.
It could’ve gone another way. But it didn’t. And I’m thankful for that.

Traveling blind has its challenges, sure. But it also gives you the chance to witness the invisible beauty—like kindness, connection, and resilience.
Rain or shine, lost or found, there’s always a way forward.

Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I sit at home while the world has fun after dark.
Sure, going out at night can sometimes be a little tricky—but when the opportunity presents itself? I take it. No hesitation.

And let me tell you, Thailand’s nightlife is very much alive.

From open-air night markets to neon-lit bars, thumping clubs, and food stalls that stay open well past midnight—this place doesn’t slow down when the sun sets. If anything, it comes alive.

Now, I know what you might be thinking:
“But isn’t nightlife kind of a visual thing?”

Well… yeah.
Some of it is.
But here’s the thing: you don’t need to see the lights to feel the energy.

I can hear the music.
I can taste the food.
I can enjoy the people, the conversations, the laughter, the vibe.

And in Thailand? It’s all so much more accessible—especially compared to back home in the States.
Getting around here at night doesn’t require draining your wallet or bribing your rideshare app to show up on time. Taxis and tuk-tuks are affordable and everywhere. That alone makes it easier for someone like me to say, “Yeah, let’s go out tonight.”

There’s something beautiful about being in a place where your “limitations” feel a little less limiting.

Sure, I still have to navigate a few bumps in the road (sometimes literally), but the rhythm of this country—especially at night—is something I can feel. It’s not about seeing flashing lights or fancy drink menus. It’s about being part of something bigger, something alive.

So what’s the point of this blog?

It’s simple:
Get out there and live a little more.

We all have limitations—physical, mental, emotional, or otherwise. But sometimes, stepping outside your comfort zone—or your country—can reveal new tools and new opportunities.
You might find that in a different environment, with different systems and different energy, the things that normally hold you back… don’t.

I may not see the fireworks, but I can still feel the spark.
And here in Thailand, the night sparkles in ways I never expected.

So go ahead.
Try that late-night snack.
Dance (or shuffle) to that street-side band.
Say yes to the invitation.
Take the ride.

Even if you can’t see the lights—you can still be part of the night.

There’s something about being in Thailand that gently challenges the mindset I came here with.

I’ve spent years working on my own inner growth—shifting my mindset from fear to courage, from limitation to adaptation. But landing in Thailand gave me a new lesson: sometimes the mindset isn’t just in you—it’s around you.

You can feel it here. The people walk slower, but somehow get everything done. Shopkeepers smile when you walk by, whether you buy something or not. Even the chaos of Bangkok traffic seems to operate on some unspoken agreement to just… flow.

And I couldn’t help but ask myself:
How do they all stay so calm in this heat?
Because if my American brain had its way, I’d be sweating and stressing, trying to figure out how to outpace the humidity, the tuk-tuks, and the time.

But here, the mindset feels different.
It’s not lazy. It’s present.
It’s not detached. It’s unbothered.
It’s not passive. It’s at peace.

Even the food is made with a kind of intention that feels spiritual—flavors balanced between sweet, sour, salty, and spicy. You can taste the care. Unless you forget to ask for “less spicy”—then you can only taste pain. (Lesson learned… the hard way.)

What I’m realizing is that Thailand has taught me more about mindset without saying a word.

It’s in the early morning monks collecting alms as people pause to bow.
It’s in the way the street vendor makes your dish like you’re the only customer they’ll have all day.
It’s in the unshakable peace of someone napping on a hammock next to a busy road—no shame, no guilt, just rest.

This country has reminded me that mindset isn’t always about “pushing harder.”
Sometimes, it’s about letting go.
Letting go of control.
Letting go of overplanning.
Letting go of the belief that more stress equals more success.

And maybe that’s why I’ve been waking up early while my travel crew sleeps in—not out of anxiety, but to center myself, to breathe, to get my mind ready for the day.
To soak in the sounds of scooters, birds, sizzling street food… and silence.

Being blind has taught me to rely on my other senses.
Being in Thailand has taught me to slow down and truly listen to them.

So, if you’re traveling—or even just living your normal life—remember this:

“Your mindset isn’t always what you think.
Sometimes it’s what you allow yourself to feel.“

And right now?
I feel at peace.
I feel present.
And I feel like it’s time for mango sticky rice and a cold Thai tea.
(With less ice, please. I want to taste the tea, not just the frost.)