Time and Distance

Notes on mortality, distance and the preciousness of it all.

It's good to be back, writing to you again after these weeks away.

I disappeared while I was in Hong Kong. Partly due to some technical issues, partly due to Substack account glitches and mostly because life was whispering: be here now. The irony wasn't lost on me.

My father lives there and we see each other maybe twice a year if we're lucky. It's the cost of two busy lives on opposite sides of the world. This time everything aligned: I had planned to visit him just as The Upper House Hotel invited me for a teaching residency. Three weeks living in a five-star hotel sounded like a terrible idea. Terribly good.

Seeing Him

Something has shifted during these last few visits with my father. I began to see my father's mortality for the first time: the mortality of the man I've looked up to all my life.

He's still as sharp as a Japanese knife, but thinner than I remember. There's diabetes medication now, an aging body, more wrinkles carved into his brown face. And naps. My dad, who could drink anyone under the table, now takes naps.

I started seeing him differently, realizing that because of our distance, our time together is precious. It has to be. The thought of losing both of my parents mortifies me. In their eyes and often still in mine, I'm just a kid. Still in need of advice, a home-cooked meal, a good talking-to. Still in need of that feeling of home.

It wasn't always this way. My relationship with my parents was strained for years through my adolescent rebellion, all kinds of trouble I used to get myself into and later, their divorce. But meditation softened the hard edges. Through practice, I began to see them not as abstract figures of authority, but as first-time parents. New immigrants. Two people shaped by their own messy families. They became real, not mythic.

I know not everyone has this relationship with their biological parents. Family is complicated, layered, and often painful. Many of us choose our families: friends, mentors, partners who become our blood.

What Hong Kong reminded me is simple: time will come and go quickly with the people we love, whether by blood or by choice. So don't wait. Say the things you've wanted to say. Tell them you love them, even if it feels awkward in your culture, as it does in mine. Tell them how grateful you are for them. Thank them.

Gratitude, unspoken, is wasted.

Please See The World

We live in a world where we can scroll through someone else's photos and feel like we know a place. But we don't. Until we walk the streets, smell the air, eat the food and sit across from strangers, we really don't know.

Before going, I had absorbed so much propaganda from friends and the media about China. But being there; wandering through Shenzhen, Guangzhou and then Macau and back to Hong Kong—I was struck by their pace of change. Technological, cultural, artistic.

Travel doesn't just open your mind to others. It opens your mind to yourself, shakes you out of the grooves you've worn down at home. Psychologists call this cognitive flexibility. It’s the brain's ability to adapt and reframe. Studies show that immersion in new cultures can increase creativity, empathy, and resilience. In Buddhist practice, travel becomes its own form of mindfulness. You're forced to pay attention, to see things as they are, not as you assume them to be. In a time that feels more divisive than ever before, putting ourselves out there can be vital.

The Journey

I had the luxury of traveling business class with Cathay Pacific for this trip. I don't always move through the world this way, but this time I was fortunate to partner with them. Beyond the space to stretch out, what struck me was the care put into the journey itself. Their lounges in Hong Kong felt less like airports and more like sanctuaries—tea, light-filled interiors, quiet corners. In the air, there was thoughtful design: cabins softened with Bamford amenities, meals shaped by Michelin-starred chefs, even a signature drink called the Cathay Delight.

Flying is rarely glamorous. There's the radiation exposure, the dehydration, the broken sleep cycles. But I did some research for this trip and road tested some tools that helped me land feeling alive rather than depleted and I want to share them with you.

Light exposure timing. Your circadian rhythm runs on light cues, and Harvard research shows strategic exposure can reduce jet lag by 50%. I wear my blue light blocking, red lense glasses from the time I step into the airport up until I try to sleep. Then it’s a silk eye mask for me, a little bougie but a good quality mask that blocks all the light out signals your brain to produce melatonin.

Targeted breathing. Cabin pressure drops oxygen levels by 6-25%, causing fatigue and crazy brain fog. NASA did some studies that confirm breathwork practices like the 4-7-8 technique activates the parasympathetic nervous system within minutes. Box breathing enhances focus and reduces cortisol by up to 25%. These are simple but on my return leg home I felt their effects.

Strategic hydration. Airplane cabins maintain 10-20% humidity, drier than most deserts. The Aerospace Medical Association recommends 8oz of water per hour of flight time, while limiting alcohol and caffeine, which increase dehydration by blocking antidiuretic hormones. It’s crucial you take some electrolytes on your flight. Given we’re probably not going to be drinking that much water on flights, supplementing with some good quality sea salt or electrolyte will help.

Supplements. Altitude increases oxidative stress by 30-40% due to cosmic radiation and reduced atmospheric pressure. Clinical studies show that vitamin C, quercetin, and N-acetylcysteine taken two hours before flying can reduce inflammation markers. Beyont that I take 0.5mg of melotonin in light with the sleep schedule of the destination. I pair this with Ashwaganda that seems to work well for me.

Circulation maintenance. Prolonged sitting increases blood clot risk by 2-4x. Ankle flexion exercises every 30 minutes and aisle walking every two hours. This was a game changer for me, I felt much more in my body after a 16hr flight thanks to prioritizing this. Compression socks also help, reducing swelling by 60% and lowering clot risk, particularly for flights over four hours.

Travel Thoughts

Being in Hong Kong reminded me of two things: the fragility of time with those we love, and the way travel wakes us up to the world, and to ourselves.

So tell the people you love what you need to tell them. Also, book the trip, even if it feels inconvenient. Sit in the unfamiliar. Taste something new. Life will keep lifeing and the world is wide.