I’m back! February was a bit rough in my household as both my daughter and I caught a respiratory virus. Between recovering from that and the business picking up at the tattoo studio, I haven’t had a chance to focus on writing here.

Where were we? Ah yes, the next destination after my time in a Buddhist sangha. Before moving on, I want to take a moment to remember Lama Ponya, who led our group and has recently passed away. Though he had long since hung up his red robes to become a minister, he was a beautiful human being, full of compassion for humanity. He was a shining light for many and will be deeply missed.

The next destination led to many destinations. My husband and I began looking outward instead of inward, and we took to traveling abroad. The world is vast, and while we saw quite a bit, we are nowhere near having explored it all; that was never our goal. In Europe, we visited Ireland, the Netherlands, Spain, Italy, France, Germany, and the Czech Republic. In Africa, we spent three weeks in Morocco. In Asia, we traveled to Nepal, Mongolia, Thailand, Myanmar, and Cambodia. Lastly, we explored Guatemala, Belize, Jamaica, and the Dominican Republic.

It would be impossible for me to describe every unique experience in each country without turning this into a novel, and I’m not sharing this as a travel guide. So, what is it all about? Why venture so far away and immerse ourselves in places where, at times, we stood out like sore thumbs? Sometimes, it was dirty and uncomfortable, with illness thrown into the mix. We genuinely wanted to see the beauty of the world, but shedding fear and assumptions was essential to that journey. Some people we knew believed that the United States holds all the beauty and culture one needs to appreciate the world. For us, it felt deeper; it was about seeking to understand the meaning of life.

I was only 10 when the reality of death hit me. I can remember exactly where I was—on a school playground. I don’t recall anyone saying anything to trigger this thought; it just dawned on me with chilling fear that someday I would have to die. That revelation changed me. It was the day my faith in God faded, and I began to question everything. My interest in other cultural beliefs ignited at that age, with the library serving as my gateway to those parts of the world.

There’s something unique about stepping out of one’s comfort zone. It can either boost your confidence, or you may retreat, vowing never to leave it again. I’ve always felt there are two types of travelers: those who plan their travels around comfort—like going on a cruise—and those who simply buy a plane ticket, grab a guidebook, and go. We were the latter.

When I first stepped into a foreign city that felt unorganized and chaotic, my initial emotions were fear and panic. I’m talking about places that are far less westernized, with language and cultural differences that can be overwhelming. It’s crowded, and you can’t understand anyone or read the street signs. It’s often dirty, sometimes smelly, and the traffic is loud and abrasive. It always felt surreal to be in the calm of the airport while clearing customs, as that space still felt like home. But then you step outside, into a taxi, and are suddenly immersed in it all, needing to figure everything out for yourself.

It’s empowering to break out of your sheltered world. You quickly realize that behind the curious gazes and language barriers, strangers are incredibly kind and willing to help you find your way. After a few trips like that, I stopped worrying, and I grew to love returning to that tumultuous atmosphere.

The kindness of strangers and the natural desire to connect often seem lacking in more westernized countries. I haven’t traveled like this since 2013, and I wonder if smartphones and social media have affected these connections. When you remove yourself from those devices, you can better experience empathy. At the time of our travels, social media existed, but not to the extent it does now, and people were more focused on network news to influence their perceptions. Even today, we are taught that the world is dangerous and meant to be feared. But traveling like we did opened our eyes to the reality that people are just people, much like us. It’s easier to say than to truly believe, but life is fundamentally simple. There’s great beauty in simplicity, yet we are often taught to look down on it and to push ourselves to be something more grandiose.

I’m not saying life is simple because the people we met were simple. I’m describing the simplicity that comes from removing yourself from the familiar and living in the moment. We truly lived in the moment, allowing each country to guide us with minimal preparation. If we met a stranger who invited us into their home for tea, we accepted. If a car full of French tourists offered to drive us to the desert, we hopped in. If a Mongolian nomad put us on a horse and took us to his grandparents' ger/yurt to drink fermented mare's milk, that’s exactly what we did.

My heart opened to the world, and I realized that life doesn’t need to have any inherent meaning at all. It simply is.

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Image below was taken in Nepal 2001 while crossing a suspending foot bridge over the Kali Gandaki River

I love to write, even though I know I’m not perfect at it. I’m sure I make a million grammatical errors, but writing is meditative for me, so I tend not to dwell too much on my shortcomings.

I wanted to share more about my thoughts on religion and philosophy, as I know some of you are curious. This ties directly into the themes present in my artwork, so it makes sense to discuss it here. I also feel it's important to be prepared for conversations about this, especially since some of the visuals in my work might make some viewers uncomfortable. It can be challenging to engage in a peaceful dialogue when people are attached to certain ideologies or assumptions that challenge traditional theologies. I've always believed—and still do—that one's religion or lack thereof is a private matter. There isn’t a single right way for all of us to navigate this world. We each must find what works best for us individually, doing what makes us feel good and happy, as long as it doesn't impose harm on any life form.

I would describe my philosophical and religious journey as akin to a train station, with many platforms waiting to take me to various destinations. Sometimes, I read about the places the trains will take me and choose not to board because I know they aren’t meant for me. However, I have boarded a few trains and stayed on them for a long time, one of which was Buddhism. My interest in Buddhism began shortly after I graduated from high school. I was drawn to its ideology that life is suffering, but that I could overcome this suffering through meditation and by seeing the beauty in life. Unlike the linear religions that emphasize belief in a higher power, Buddhism appealed to me because of its cyclical nature and its approach that doesn't center around godly worship. Hermann Hesse’s *Siddhartha* was my favorite book, and it remains close to my heart to this day. However, despite riding the Buddhist train for quite some time, I found I could never fully disembark and plant my feet firmly on its ground.

What changed? The more I connected with the community, the more alien it began to feel. I joined a sangha practicing Tibetan Buddhism, which is visually stunning, and as an artist, I loved the imagery and lore surrounding it. One day, we visited a Zen Buddhist retreat center, and as we approached the temple, I noticed a white stone statue of the Buddha seated at the entrance. Some members bowed and prostrated themselves before the statue, which is common in Tibetan Buddhism. I couldn’t bring myself to do it; I didn’t feel any spiritual drive to worship the statue as the Buddha himself. While I deeply appreciate the art of depicting Buddha, to me, the statue was just that—a statue. I could admire it and remember the teachings, but expressing adoration through bowing and praying didn’t feel right for me.

Then came the dream. Not long after, I had a memorable dream where I found myself in the Himalayan mountains at the entrance to a Buddhist monastery. I was alone, loaded with backpacking gear. For those unfamiliar with my history, I’ve traveled and hiked in the Himalayas of Nepal, so this setting wasn’t entirely foreign to me. I ascended steep steps, passing a couple of red-robed monks, and upon reaching the top, I entered the monastery. The room was smoky and bathed in muted golden light, with yellow tapestries covering the windows. The floor was adorned with weathered, overlapping oriental rugs, as if they had been walked on for years. Across the room, a lama sat in lotus position on a high altar, flanked by two monks. He wore a teardrop-shaped yellow hat typical for lamas and smiled at me, beckoning me to come forward.

Slowly, I removed a white prayer shawl from my coat pocket, holding it outstretched in both hands as I walked toward him. I believed he was going to bless it, as many foreigners seek when visiting a monastery. Standing directly below the altar, I held the shawl up toward him. Still smiling kindly, he said nothing. Instead, he placed both of his hands over mine and gently pushed the shawl back toward my chest. Confused and somewhat resistant, I tried to extend it toward him again while he held my hands. He continued to smile, and as I felt my arms pushing back, the shawl returned to my chest. He held it there, gazing into my eyes with a smile, and then I woke up.

What to make of that? It’s a dream I’ll never forget, even though it happened about 22 years ago. I interpreted it as a sign that I wasn’t meant to fully commit to being a Buddhist. It didn’t feel cruel or unwelcoming—just surprising. Did I receive a divine message from a high lama? I doubt it. Sometimes, I think our expressive minds like to remix our memories while we sleep, creating the dreams we experience. Regardless of its origin, this dream had a profound effect on me. While I continued to carry some aspects of Buddhism that I cherished, I largely stopped practicing and exploring its literature after that dream.

I know I’ve written quite a bit today, but I won’t dissect every direction I’ve traveled. The important thing is to convey how I arrived at where I am now. It felt necessary to discuss Buddhism, as it has played a significant role in my life for many years. If you visit my home today, you will still find many relics, statues, and artwork reflecting the culture of Buddhist practice.

And now, onto the next destination.

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I’ll continue all of this in a new blog post on another day. Pictured below is from 2010 when I was in Thailand at the train station in Bangkok.