Time feels more and more like a made-up construct to me, I couldn't tell you if it’s December or January. I just got back from a trip. It was the first time in 10 years I’ve actually been able to take a vacation. To say I had an incredible time would be an understatement. I don't know where to begin, so I'll start with my journal entry from yesterday:
18 years ago, I landed in this city.
I flew 24 hours with a single piece of paper stating I was to be an intern at the Grand Ayutthaya Hotel. It promised the hotel kitchen a Chicago-born chef who spoke English, only one of which was true about me.
I arrived in a city I knew nothing about that spoke a language I couldn’t understand. I was an 18-year-old whose biggest solo ventures up until then were trips to the grocery store. I came believing the world was black and white, that people were either good or bad, and that happiness could be found at Six Flags or birthday parties.
This city, these people, and a million little moments changed my DNA.
For months, I worked long hours in that Thai kitchen, carving fruits and vegetables,
assembling ingredients, and carrying around a pocket dictionary to communicate as best I could. I was enthralled by the artistry and rhythm of the kitchen, learning from my Thai counterparts. At first, I was wide-eyed and startled—by rats darting out of kitchen drawers, six inches of water flooding the kitchen during torrential rains, or chicken feet sticking out of the curry at the staff meal table. But soon, these things felt normal.
Outside the kitchen, I became ravenous to learn more. Slowly, I picked up enough Thai to navigate Bangkok and strike up conversations with everyone I met.
I talked to the man who sold me hot soy milk each morning and learned his favorite movies were Westerns; he was fascinated by cowboys. I chatted with the women at the market selling longan berries—a single mom who worked tirelessly to provide for her children. I spoke to motorcycle taxi drivers, and even go-go dancers, asking what their families thought about their work.
The more I learned, the more I realized how little I truly knew.
My black-and-white worldview became a kaleidoscope.
Kindness, compassion, grace, charity—this city showed me life in its truest, most vivid form.
The soy milk vendor stopped accepting my money because, as he said, “You don’t charge a friend.”
The woman selling fruit once chased me down in the rain to offer her umbrella.
A woman I met on a train invited me to join her on a girls’ trip to Malaysia with her friends. I went—and they treated me like family.
Bangkok gave me life.
Returning here now, with my daughter and my family, feels like stepping back into the pages of a story that shaped who I am. This city reminds me of who I aspire to be:
curious, kind, and grounded in service. It calls me back to my purpose.
It reminds me to keep a beginner’s mindset—to be open to learning, to listen with humility, and to embrace the idea that I’ll never have all the answers. It reminds me that kindness, compassion, and generosity aren’t separate from my work or my role as a mother and partner. They’re a way of being. A way of living.
And as I look at my little girl in this great city, I can’t help but wonder what the next 18 years will bring for her. What lessons will she learn? Who will she serve?
For me, the question now is: Who can I serve, and how can I help?
I feel called to live a life of service—one that mirrors the graciousness I experienced here years ago. To be Christ-like in forgiveness, kindness, and grace as I move forward
as a mom, partner, and business leader.
Bangkok taught me that the path isn’t as important as the way we walk it. And I hope to walk it with humility, compassion, and an open heart.
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