I meant to write when I got back to London.

Then I meant to write again while I was in London. Then again once I left for Thailand.

But, here we are. Almost a month into my Thailand trip and my blog is dry. What can I say? I’m sure there’s plenty.

I could write about all the things I’ve been up to. I could write about the details of my travels. The flights. The accommodations. The mishaps. The blessings. And again, there’s plenty. But somehow all of that seems meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

I’m privileged.

I was able to save up enough in my last year of living in Cayman to manage a whole year without working. I am able to travel and get free accommodation because of my access to people and places, connections I’ve made over the years. I have access to airport lounges across the world where I can eat as much as I want for free. I have access to many countries visa-free and I can stay in most of them for at least 30 days. I have access. I’m privileged. I have water every time I turn on the tap. Electricity courses through the cables of all the places I get to stay, coming alive with the flick of a switch. I have access to healthcare should I feel unwell or have concerns. I can walk the streets wherever, whenever, without concern for my safety. My closest loved ones are still alive.

But my “wondrous adventures” and “fairytale life” feel a bit…like too much of a contrast compared to what’s going on in the world. It doesn’t feel so great sharing this online when there’s needless suffering happening everywhere. And it also feels like my adventures are pulling me further away from that “thing” I need to determine where I will live next and what my next career move will be. Whatever that “thing” is. If anything, it seems, my lifestyle is just giving me more places to cross off the list. More questions about what it is I really am hoping to find.

Places I felt were high possibilities are now feeling less so. Schools I was excited about visiting are now feeling less interesting. And whatever tools I used to convince myself that I could manage being far away from my family if it meant all the other things on my list were ticked off, are suddenly not so powerful. I’m back to feeling confused and unsure. Less excited and more exhausted. Happy to be here but also wondering if I’m wasting my time. Afraid of missing out on too much. Of being away for reasons that may not really be good enough, in the grand scheme of things.

Can’t I make a “home” anywhere?

Plus, since I’ve been here, I’ve gotten news about the death of someone I went to visit just a few days prior. He started an eco resort on the small island where I was teaching yoga when we first arrived in Thailand this month.

Every time I have gone to the island, I made it a point to go visit. He and his partner were such lovely inspiring people and their vision for the project was something I very much supported from when I first heard about it back in China. When I went to visit them a few weeks ago, the Thai woman who came to greet me wasn’t able to speak much English and all I gathered from her was that they were in Mexico. I thought about messaging after I left but it’s never been my way to ruin the surprise of just popping up and saying “surprise! I’m here.” And messaging after the unsuccessful attempt also never seems to be my next move, especially if they’re away. I have always preferred to wait until “next time”. This time, I wish I hadn’t. That is how life works isn’t it?

We know we should never wait for the “next time”. But somehow, it seems we always do.

We all know, in theory, yet we still manage to miss the mark when it counts. Then some of us correct it after the fact, maybe for a short time, while others never quite get around to it. It’s hard to keep up with that commitment. So we end up kicking ourselves when we didn’t do it the one time when it counted–wondering why we fill our time with meaningless things so often and miss out on so many important things in life.

Beyond this need to self-deprecate, however, is a severe feeling of empathy. Kevin was such an amazing human being who absolutely deserved to stay and continue spreading his light. Yet he was cut short of that in such a drastic and seemingly unnecessary way—at his brother’s destination wedding no less. How do the living who surpass him come to terms with that? Under what sort of self-talk can his loving and devoted partner convince herself that it’s ok? His brother? I can’t imagine.

I don’t want to imagine.

I’ve written about and been surrounded by grief all my life. From near and far. Up close and personal. I’ve watched people die.

Yet, I can’t imagine. And I have the ability to turn it off. To distract myself with this or that. To not imagine if it isn’t comfortable for me at any moment.

Privilege. Again.

To be able to turn things off…to not see the posts. To not watch the news. To not listen to the commentary. To stay off IG or Facebook. To turn off the TV. To take a break. The same as what we all can do when we’ve had enough of seeing the graphic images of what’s happening in Palestine. It’s not at our doorstep. We can’t smell the burning. Privilege.

Do you see the trend?

Life is full of tragedy. But it doesn’t hit you, really, until it hits you. And by then it’s too late to appreciate what was. It’s cliche to try. It’s something else to be just on the fringes of real grief over and over and to be able to say “well at least I can do x or y to prepare myself in case it happens to any of my loved ones”. At least we have the chance to prepare.

What a privilege.

So yeah, writing this blog hasn’t felt important for some time now. Among other things.

I’ll be back when it does.