Leap of Faith

 About two weeks before 2025 began, I had a gut feeling that changes were coming in the next few months. I can’t explain it—it doesn’t happen often, and this time it wasn’t very clear or vivid, but it was there. For some reason, I never sense bad changes or events, only something good, even if tough events come first. About two weeks after New Year’s, I got a call from the Justice Department. They said my security guard license, which I’d been expecting to renew any day since I’d applied for an extension long ago, couldn’t be renewed or replaced because I had a temporary license. To get a full one, I’d need to take a course and pass a state exam. This was news to me. When I took the course and passed the exam at the same school, I didn’t think it wouldn’t be enough. Either way, it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that to keep working as a guard, I need not only a driver’s license but also a security license. Staying in this job is getting harder. Or rather, too many tasks I don’t want to do are piling up.

Now I have a choice: focus on getting the required documents to stay in a stable job with a decent salary for someone without special skills, or ditch it and leap into the unknown. I don’t know what to do. On one hand, I’d like to keep the job—I like everything about it except the work itself, but it doesn’t bother me too much. It’d give me stability, financial security, and the ability to save. On the other hand, I have no idea what’ll happen if I quit. I’m not sure I could get benefits, finding a new job at the start of the year is tough, and my savings won’t last long. Thinking about it makes me want to say screw it and head to a temple in Thailand, live there for a bit, and forget all this hustle. But lately, I’ve been feeling a bit more drawn to society; I increasingly want to realize myself somewhere, but I have no clue where or how. A dead end within a dead end. Too much is unclear and unpredictable. Maybe for the first time in my life, I’m in such an uncertain situation. Even when I flew to Canada with almost no money, I had a solid plan with the CUAET program and knew I’d be fine. Now, I don’t know what to do. But I need to think about it now because whatever I choose will set a new course for my life. Trying to keep this job while looking for another isn’t an option—it’d just waste my energy. I need to pick one path and follow it. When I imagine myself on the guard’s path, I feel calm but also glum, like there’s some resistance coming from somewhere, and I feel a bit nauseous—though that might be because I ate a whole bag of chips and I’m in a car on a bumpy road. When I think about leaping into the unknown, I feel fear, excitement, confusion, but also some joy and inspiration, and it doesn’t make me nauseous, so it’s not the chips.

A day after returning to Winnipeg, I started assessing my chances of getting benefits so I could look for another job without stress. But my chances turned out to be slim, so the thought of “escaping the hustle” kept popping up, and I increasingly wanted to learn about Buddhist monasteries in Thailand. I even found some Facebook groups and posted asking if anyone lived in a local temple. No one replied.
That same day, my friend Raphael messaged me. He suggested meeting up, saying he was going to a lawyer for his own matters, and we could go together, chat along the way, and hang out at a café afterward. Though I had no reason to see a lawyer and could’ve met him after he was done, I wanted to spend more time with my friend, so I agreed. The law office was near the building we lived in, so we walked. For mid-January, the weather in Manitoba’s capital was unusually warm—around zero Celsius—and the melting snow on the streets looked more like a swamp. When we got there, Raphael said some acquaintances of his would be there, dealing with legal issues with the same company as him. Though their complaints differed, they shared a common oppressor. He also mentioned their issue involved bedbugs, which were too common in this city. Those unpleasant insects showed up in residential buildings at least twice a year, and I’d had issues with them too. The best remedy I’d tried was lavender oil. I’d add it to the water I used to mop the apartment floor, and this harmless-to-me solution worked better than chemicals or even a disinfection team. Raphael said I could share my method with these people. When we arrived, I saw a line, and from it, a man and woman of Asian appearance looked at my friend with warm smiles. They were with a five-year-old child, so it was clear they were a family. I introduced myself. While waiting for their turn with the lawyer, they discussed their pressing issues, and after covering the basics, Raphael mentioned that this couple was from Thailand. I’d once told him I wanted to visit the country, and he must’ve remembered, because he told them so. At a time when I’m unsure where my fate is leading and tormented by the idea that going to a Buddhist monastery in Thailand feels more like a wild extreme than common sense, I randomly meet people from Thailand. A wise turtle from Kung Fu Panda said there are no accidents. So, “Isn’t this a sign?” I thought, and without beating around the bush, I briefly explained my situation and asked if they could recommend a monastery if I decided to go. Without any mockery and with kind understanding, they started recalling places I could visit. Since this was just a hypothetical future plan, I didn’t dive deeper. Knowing these people could actually guide me was enough for now. We exchanged contacts and didn’t talk about it more that day.

The next day, I went to my company’s office to talk to the manager about whether I’d keep working. I thought that after saying I’d need to take a course and pass an exam, which would take about three months, they’d just fire me since I can’t work without a license. But they said they’d wait until I sorted everything out and got the license, even assuring me they’d put me back on the same site where I’d been working. I was a bit thrown—I didn’t expect the decision to quit would fall entirely on me. I gathered my thoughts, thanked the manager for the chance to stay, and honestly said I didn’t want to deal with it all and didn’t want to be a guard anymore. That’s how I ended my security career.
A few days after quitting, I messaged the person from Thailand Raphael introduced me to. I asked him to send any info about temples where I could stay. He took it seriously, sending me links to what he considered the best temples, along with a detailed cover letter and a recommendation for one temple where he’d done some practices himself. His seriousness cheered me up and gave me a boost. I looked into all the places he sent, and the temple he personally recommended stood out the most. For me, that was another small sign. After that, I finally decided to fly to Thailand. There were two weeks left in the month, and I knew I couldn’t wrap up all my affairs in Canada by then, so I booked a ticket for the end of the next month. I had a month and a half to finish everything. That time passed quickly—I didn’t have many tasks, just some that dragged on, so I had plenty of time for myself. I rested, hung out with friends, and reflected on how life in Canada and the people I met there had shaped me. The people I interacted with had a big impact on my life and its events. No… that’s not right. I let them have that impact. And I’m glad I did. Now I see how important it is to let the right people into your life, and I understand which people are “right” for me. It’s not always obvious amid routine, but when you think about it, it’s clear. Take Raphael, for example. He helped me rent the apartment I lived in in Canada, introduced me to Lisa, helped me find my first job, and found the security job for me too. And this was when people went months without finding work and even had to leave the country because of it. In my last month in Canada, Raphael got a job as a building manager for rental apartments and offered me a job there. He was like my island of stability and support this whole time. That’s another reason it was hard to decide to go to Thailand. I had a choice. I could’ve stayed in Canada with a job, stability, and security. But thinking about it always made me a bit bored. So, I chose the path of my heart and want to follow it as far as I can.

Time passed quickly, and soon I was sitting on a plane, thinking about how inventive and adaptable people are. As far as I know, humans can’t fly, yet there I was, high above the earth, crossing an ocean. I thought it all starts with a dream. Maybe once, someone looked at the sky with burning eyes, longing to soar through the clouds like a bird. Or maybe it was completely different—I don’t know. But if it all starts with a desire, where does desire itself come from? To figure that out, I think you need to look at the concept closely. When do I desire something? What causes it? Thinking about it, I realized not all my desires are genuine. Some come from need, like eating or washing. Some come from sins: laziness to do something properly, or wanting something out of envy or pride. I often crave stuffing my belly, though I don’t need it, and it gives me heartburn or a heavy stomach that saps my energy to digest so much food. So, the nature of my desires varies, and I need to learn to identify their source to understand the consequences they’ll bring. I think it’s easier to call desires like these just “wants.” True desires, I’d place closer to dreams. For some reason, it got hard to think about this, so I looked around. The plane was full of people; almost every seat was taken. Except for the woman sitting in front of me, no one seemed to look out the window. Many wore headphones, some watched videos, some read, some slept, others just sat with glum faces. I had a middle seat. To my right, a man a bit past middle age was dozing. To my left, a young guy sat by the window but didn’t look out; his eyes were glued to a tablet playing a movie. The cabin was filled with an aura of boredom and gloom. Not long ago, flight was unthinkable, on the edge of fantasy, and now it’s just dull routine. Humanity’s dream made real, horizons conquered, the impossible achieved—now just a chore. Time strips the grandeur from any creation. I think there’s no point in craving greatness, power, or fame—it’s all too fleeting and ephemeral. I see no sense in spending my life on it. I was flying, wondering what comes next. What’s this country, Thailand—will I like it? What people will I meet? What challenges await? How much new, tasty food will I try? Why am I going there? What will I understand, or will I understand anything at all? What boundaries will open for me? How much new will I see and experience? Will I find answers to my questions, or will I end up with even more? Where will I go after, and what will I do? I have so many questions and so much uncertainty. It’s a bit scary, but it makes my life interesting. It takes a lot of resolve and adventure, but it gives meaning to my path. I can’t say it’s easy, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.