Spontaneous Sunset

Spontaneity is the True Enemy of Fear

📍Da Nang, Vietnam

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One lazy morning in Da Nang, I woke up with a single thought: today's not for work. Today's for freedom. Just me, some light writing, video editing, and little tasks I could do anywhere—without dragging my laptop around.

I headed toward the beach (literally three minutes from my apartment—Airbnb descriptions do tell the truth sometimes!) and stopped at this little street packed with food stalls. Grabbed myself a bánh mì sandwich with eggs and veggies and an iced coffee. Total damage? About $1.50. Seriously, not kidding.

The beach welcomed me with warm sand as I spread out my blanket. The water was that perfect cool temperature against the morning heat. I splashed around for a bit, feeling the calm sea against my skin while the sun hit just right. One of those moments where everything feels perfectly aligned.

When it got too scorching, I retreated to Maia Beach Club and snagged a shady couch. I'd been writing about some guy sitting in the sun, but he and his friend left as I arrived, and someone else took their spot.

As my iced ginger tea slowly warmed in the heat, something magical happened—I wrote what felt like the best thing I've ever written. Not about the guy in the sun (he was just a random character, one of many I notice everywhere). This was about healing, about keys that unlock something deeper. Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face.

I sat there reading my own words, stunned by how my soul had hijacked my fingers and written things I'd never consciously thought about before.

Mid-tear-wipe, the waiter appeared with what could only be described as a mountain of cheese sticks I'd ordered. Talk about perfect timing! Nothing turns tears into smiles faster than unexpected food. Story of my life – food showing up exactly when emotions run high.

I was still staring at this ridiculous portion, plotting my attack strategy, when the guy next to me stood up and asked if I could watch his stuff while he jumped in for a swim.

"Sure," I said, wondering if he noticed the tear tracks on my face. Then decided I didn't actually care if he had.

Working my way through Cheese Mountain, I kept writing. When the guy returned, I felt that urge to connect that sometimes hits me out of nowhere.

He'd been sitting there a few minutes when I wanted to say "The water is amazing, isn't it?" But my brain got stuck in this internal grammar debate: Is water or Are water? We (my brain committee and I) finally settled on Is.

"Yeah, absolutely! You should try it!" he replied enthusiastically.

"I was in earlier—it was perfect!" I said, having no idea where to take the conversation next.

"Where are you from?" he asked, rescuing the awkward moment.

When I answered, he told me he was Spanish, and suddenly conversation flowed easily. I suggested he sit closer since shouting a whole conversation felt ridiculous. He explained he lives in Da Nang six months every year because he fell in love with the place. Used to be a flight attendant for a major airline, and after 15 years got this lifetime free flight perk. Quit the job but kept the travel benefits—dream scenario!

I shared my route, my goals, and mentioned my blog. He seemed genuinely interested and asked to see it. Thankfully, this time, he didn't sit there reading it in front of me (always so awkward).

"You're so positive!" he blurted. "That's refreshing. Not many people are like that."

His comment made me look at myself differently. "I guess I'm living my dream right now," I smiled. "Life feels pretty wonderful, and I'm just genuinely happy to be here," hoping I didn't sound like I was bragging (realizing he'd totally missed my earlier tears).

We gushed about Da Nang—how it has everything, how affordable everything is, how it's basically paradise. No wonder so many people never leave. Everyone here seems focused on quality living—sports, healthy eating, beach volleyball, and this tennis-like game called Pickle ball that's played with a small paddle.

The nomad community here feels huge and welcoming. Why wouldn't it be? The whole place is practically utopian.

When I asked about his plans for the rest of the day, he mentioned riding his motorcycle up to a mountain viewpoint for sunset. "There are these cute cafes up there with city views. It's perfect. Want to come along?"

"I'd love to!" The words jumped out before I could overthink. The spontaneity was exhilarating—deciding something on the spot with no idea how it would turn out.

We set a pickup time, and walking home, I had that flashback to childhood warnings about strangers. I still think kids shouldn't talk to strangers, but as an adult? Those spontaneous conversations with people I've just met have become the highlight reel of my journey. They're how the best connections and experiences happen.

"But you literally just met him, you don't know anything about him, be careful!" said that voice in my head (suspiciously similar to my mom's).

"I know, I'm street-smart and I trust my gut," I answered myself, realizing that spontaneity might actually be fear's biggest enemy.

He arrived right on time, and we headed toward the sunset (sorry for the cheesiness, couldn't help it).

Cruising through Da Nang, he played tour guide, pointing out different neighborhoods. The city really is beautiful—clean streets, wide sidewalks, well-maintained. Sure, like any city, it has its rougher edges, but those manicured trees lining the boulevards? Totally get why people compare it to Miami in all those videos I watched before coming.

Wind whipping through my hair, I tried looking everywhere at once, afraid to miss anything. Sitting on that motorcycle with the biggest grin plastered across my face, I felt like I was in some Southeast Asian version of "Emily in Paris." I had this moment of clarity about where I am in life right now. Pure joy. If we were in "Inside Out," Joy would've kicked everyone else out of the control room.

When we hit the mountain roads, the ride changed—winding paths, steep climbs, breathtaking bay views below. Similar to the Hai Van loop tour, just on a tiny scooter this time. But hey, we made it!

At the viewpoint, we settled into a cute café. We were admiring the spectacular panorama when he suddenly said, "Yeah, but that electric pole ruins the picture." Classic! That's when I knew he really was the pessimist he'd described himself as.

Talking about it, he admitted he struggles to see positives. Gets stuck on tiny annoyances for days. Always notices what's wrong rather than what's right.

I told him that's actually completely normal—it's hardwired. I shared this podcast bit about how negativity bias kept our ancestors alive. If two people walk through a forest and hear rustling bushes, the optimistic one thinking "probably just a bunny!" might not survive, while the cautious one thinking "potential threat!" lives to tell the tale.

"I'm actually like that too," I confessed, "even if it doesn't seem like it right now. I'm super self-critical, which is exactly why I had to train my brain to spot the good stuff. It's not an overnight transformation—but the more you practice noticing positive things around you, your brain slowly builds new pathways."

"See?" he laughed. "Even when talking about negativity, you stay positive!"

Since that day, I've noticed how genuinely positive I've become. Even when people say things that could sting, I automatically find the bright side.

I wonder when this shift happened. Is it just a phase that will pass? Probably—I doubt I'll be perpetually positive forever. Like most people, I probably cycle through periods where positivity comes easily and times when it's a struggle.

Maybe this beautiful city really did infuse me with its good vibes. Or more likely, it just helped me uncover the positivity that was already inside me all along. Because that's what places, people, and experiences really do—they're like the best kind of therapists. Not the ones who tell you the answers, but the ones who help you discover the wisdom that was already there within you.

Your support helps me to continue experiencing new worlds and sharing them with you through my words. Sometimes, a single cup of coffee can make a difference.

Thank you for being part of this journey.

Who Am I? | The Journey Through Time | The Daily Journey

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