I didn't plan for my heart to expand, but it did. I landed in Bali unprepared, carrying a love that still felt infinite.
Transitions
I could have cried. And I did. Still, I tried to be strong, like we'd agreed.
During the three-hour taxi to Amed, the driver made periodic small talk. I saw it as a distraction from journaling, not the kindness it was.
Vietnam gave me life-altering experiences and instant connections. I stayed longer, and met somebody I nearly missed.
It was a bittersweet chapter to fly away from, and it's not closed yet.
Moving into curiosity
I could have gone numb. Instead, I chose curiosity.
Day one is always about finding what's real. Handling the basics, then opening space to explore. I carried with me a love that still felt so real, accepted the situation, and used it as strength.
Having a mission
I could have stayed inside. Instead, I made space for another love: diving.
A friend from Koh Tao was in Amed, so I skipped the tourist stops and dove the next morning.
The USAT Liberty wreck told stories of its WWII history and being torpedoed. It now shelters marine life — a living reef of color. What's rare elsewhere—boxfish, pufferfish, pipefish—thrives here.
Moving with purpose
I could have drifted aimlessly.
In the taxi, I imagined turning around and booking the next flight back. How cinematic.
A friend in Da Nang mentioned always having a purpose or a mission for the places she goes. It reminded me to keep a direction, and the rest finds its way.
Moving beyond
I could have stopped there.
But in the parking lot of my homestay, someone called out, "Phoenix Divers?" when they saw my shirt. They'd heard of me from Koh Tao, fellow divemasters. Soon we were diving together, listening to live music, and—by now—climbing an active volcano.
I felt something alive again. Even travel can start to feel stale. The places change, but our hopes and desires stay the same—just flavored differently.
And I know this: what I go for doesn't usually reveal itself in the plan.
