Dark days, bright city
There is a perception that this way of being that I’ve chosen is perfect, that I’m somehow always on holiday. “Living the dream,” as they would say. And yes, it is MY dream and I’m eternally grateful to be able to experience it. But it’s truly not for everyone, and certainly not my flavor of it.
I’ve tried to show an honest and realistic picture of what my life is like, especially through this blog. But I don’t know if I’ve actually done that great a job at it. So here’s yet another attempt.
It’s no easy road, this struggle and strife, we find ourselves in the show of life.
This rang through my head for months. It’s a good message that things won’t always go perfectly … and that’s ok! It’s life, it shouldn’t be great all the time.
As mentioned in my last two posts, the post-trail blues are real. And they had firmly taken over. Toss in my dwindling funds and bleak prospects to fill the coffers, and my anxiety levels were sky high.
Some may know of my struggles with depression, others may not. I’ll be real frank here. I was in a dark place at this point.
I arrived back in Saigon running scared. I very much hoped that being in a location I genuinely loved would alleviate some of the mounting pressure.
The first couple of weeks were spent bouncing between my buddy’s place in the extreme burbs and my favorite area of the city. It was a stressful and awkward arrangement, and we both decided it wasn’t sustainable for either of us.
Then, a blessing in disguise. I had waited until the last minute to extend my stay in a guesthouse, and they were fully booked. As I searched around, things became frantic. I required accommodation during the biggest celebration in Vietnam in quite a while. The 50th anniversary of the reunification of the country was happening. And EVERYTHING in the city was booked or insanely expensive. There was literally only one place in the area, and it was above my typical budget. Yet I didn’t have much choice, so I booked for the week.
This is where the blessing happens. Yes, it was expensive (by my Vietnam standards), but I loved the place. So I extended for another week. This is when I noticed that the price for the extended week was less than half the price of my first week! That felt good. And when I extended for another week, it happened again! On my next extension, I paid $4.32 USD for the week!
The owners had been reducing my weekly cost each extension until it reached their set monthly price. And the monthly price was very inexpensive. And in no surprise to anyone reading at this point, I just kept extending.
In total, I stayed 10 weeks, the longest I have stayed in one place during all my adventures. This was home.
These ten weeks were a roller coaster of emotions. Contracts won and lost, defeats snatched from the grasp of victory. I was desperate to keep this adventure alive. Being in Vietnam wasn’t enough. It would help stretch my dollars, but all that stretching eventually leads to a tear. All I needed was one little project, just enough to give me another month.
In an attempt to keep myself occupied (read distracted), I buried myself in my little side project. Pouring endless hours into crafting something useful to myself.
I have learned to develop routines quickly since starting this adventure, and this was no different. Coffee and a book in the morning. Head-down work all afternoon, with a quick banh mi lunch break. The coding sprints would extend past sundown. Dinner at a street stall in the area, a cold beverage at a street cafe, and then off to bed. Rinse and repeat.
The problem with routine is that, well, it’s routine. My life had become a predictable loop of work, food, and sleep, and the lack of spontaneity that once fueled my spirit started to drain. I was already running on empty, and the predictability of my days acted like a weight, pulling me down further. And so I started to spiral.
Steadily, my brain became consumed by anxiety. Depression and ADHD feed off each other, and I was an all-you-can-eat buffet. I noticed time starting to evaporate. Minutes and then hours would simply disappear, without an inkling of what I did in that time.
A common symptom associated with the disorder is procrastination. It’s something I’ve always struggled with, but it is exacerbated by my depressive episodes. Things I KNOW I need to do get left undone. This makes them even more critical to get done, which leads me to not doing them further. And so I spiraled further.
Now, toss in my introversion, the fact that I’m in a foreign country, and living alone. I derive my energy from alone time and enjoy solitude. Solo travel can be a lonely road, but I’ve been thriving on it for years now. Sure, I get lonely from time to time, but the flow of life tends to bring people into my world when needed. But this was the longest I’ve ever stayed in one place on the road, and it started to take its toll. I felt the isolation creeping in at every turn. The spiral continued.
The space I use to recharge and the excitement of being in a foreign place both became increasingly diminished. Like an old lithium battery, my health meter was no longer at a max of 100%. Recharging it didn’t give the same energy levels as before. And going out into Saigon made that energy drain from me even quicker. And I spiraled even deeper.
I disappeared into myself, further fueling the darkness. I ignored calls from friends and family, embarrassed by my current state of affairs. My ability to focus dwindled. Hours disappeared. I started to obsess over the “inevitable” end of this adventure, no longer able to see a way forward. There were still moments of joy and happiness, but they became rarer. The spiral felt infinite.
In the early 2010s, during a very difficult time in my life, I began going to therapy. I wish I had done it earlier in my life. I gained such a tremendous understanding of who I am and how I process life.
Before, I used to wake up one day and just be depressed. It felt like a giant emotional on/off switch. And because of this, my reactions to it could be extreme. Not good for me, or anyone around me.
Through therapy, I gained one of the most profound skills of my life. I learned to read the signs of my impending depressive episodes. Changes in my behavior, routines and emotions, among other things. Individually, they’re just flickers, barely noticeable. But when they begin to cluster, I know I’m slipping into the fog again.
Simply having the tools for recognition allows me a chance to prepare. It no longer sneaks up on me. I can now acknowledge it, accept it and sit with it. I don’t fight against it. Some times are more intense than others. But the awareness rounds the edges and help me process it more efficiently.
Yet sometimes it’s a battle of attrition. I am made to feel like Sisyphus, always pushing the rock up the hill. This was one of those times.
I tried to take in those little moments of joy and hold onto them longer. The tart blueberry note in my cup of coffee. The vibrant colors of the local markets. The daily greeting from the old man downstairs that indicated I was an accepted part of their neighborhood.
The darkness can be all-consuming, trying to suck the life out of everything. The moments became smaller and less frequent.
So grateful I was to have a smattering of friends come through at various times during my stay. These chance meetings always seemed to present themselves when I was most in need.
As mentioned, my friend Peter lives here, and early on, we saw each other pretty often. I got to see his daughters a few times, and we had plenty of laughs. I’ll be forever grateful for his offer to stay with him when I first arrived, even if it didn’t work out.
There were reunions with friends I’ve made along this adventure. My buddy Matt, whom I met in Bulgaria, was also basing himself out of Saigon. We got together several times for deep conversations over incredibly cheap jugs of beer. And Mark, whom I met in Kenya and travelled to Madagascar with, came through at the tail-end of his own adventures. We also shared several nights of beers and conversations.
And then, young James, childhood friends with Eli. We had a fun evening having Michelin-rated street food followed by cocktails at a hidden-in-plain-sight bar. James told me I had inspired him to start his own adventures. I remembered the conversation, from years prior, unaware that my words would be a catalyst for James’ future. He now travels around the world, working with some of the biggest content creators on the planet. A reminder of the impact we have on those around us.
Then, finally, the fates were on my side. I found that little project, the one with just enough hours. One to give me time to find another project. And then that next project landed, and things were looking up. Neither were big projects, but enough to sustain me for a few more months.
Longer term, my hope would be to land a large project to build up my financial buffer again, so I’m not always in this current position. In the near term, this lifted much of my anxiety and allowed the light to pierce the darkness. I was still low, but I could feel the tide rising.
Yet this adventure never slows down, and I had new decisions to make. My visa in Vietnam was running out. Where should I go? What should I do?
I absolutely love Vietnam, so my inclination was to do a visa run. The easiest way was to take the bus to Cambodia, spend a day there and return. But I made a promise to my aunt Laura that we would go to Cambodia together. I love the idea of each of us experiencing the country for the first time together, so I passed on Cambodia for now.
At some point, I settled on flying to Bangkok for a week, getting a new visa and returning to Vietnam. As I continued to look around, I started to have the thought of visiting Laos as well. I could go to Bangkok, get the visa, and pass through Laos on my way back to Vietnam.
In the end, I decided on a one-way ticket to Bangkok, and that was it. No plans beyond that, pretty much like I always do.
I fell hard for Vietnam during my first visit, and spending three full months living in Saigon will always sit close to my heart. It is an incredibly special place. The city hides in plain sight. It is chaos stretched around pockets of tranquility. Massive and overwhelming at times, its true charms tucked down small alleyways. Around every corner, a new surprise. A Michelin-rated eatery, the best coffee in the city, or a calm courtyard full of lush, green vegetation.
My favorite moments will always be the small ones. Dinner after midnight at the street stall outside my apartment. The glow of the city from the canal bridges at night. The virtual silence of the alleyways, knowing the chaos is only a few steps away.
Much of life feels like a case of “you can’t always get what you want, but you might just get what you need.” In this time and place, I believe I got both. I wanted to return to Vietnam the minute I left the first time. It was also the place I needed.
I had my own chaos swirling inside. That took me down deep enough, to a place of darkness. I then sat in the darkness long enough for my eyes to adjust to see through that darkness. Saigon gave me comfort in this dark time, always shining its light in the dark until I could finally see it.
Vietnam was love at first sight, and our bond became infinite as I emerged from the darkness again. Saigon gave me everything it could to comfort and support me. We are forever kindreds.
I left expecting to be back very soon. Only time will tell. So until next time Vietnam, Cảm ơn em rất nhiều vì tình yêu của em. Em sẽ mãi mãi có trái tim anh.