**To listen to me narrate this story, tap on the ▶️ above**
Today’s story is served with a slice of humble pie, as it’s the first time I’ll be sharing here at With Gusto about my unwelcome relationship with rare, but potent, panic attacks.
As I sit here, slowly breathing myself out of this morning’s sudden, self-created hysteria, I realize something wildly ironic.
Today is a memorable day.
Exactly one year ago, I landed back in Bangkok to begin a 7 and a half month journey unlike any other.
Thailand. Cambodia. Nepal.
All countries I’ve spent significant chunks of time in.
All places I have deep, soul-rooted connections to.
But unbeknownst to me, this time would be different.
This time, the journey would unfold as a roller-coaster of consecutive highs and lows.
Starting with this story right here.
Which took place on my very first night back in Bangkok, exactly 365 days ago.
Luckily, I don’t experience panic attacks often, but when they hit, they shake, rattle, and roll my reality.
Just like the one that engulfed my central nervous system moments ago—here inside the cozy comforts of my own Dallas apartment.
While this morning’s wave was mild, it was enough to momentarily rock my sense of self and safety.
After several long, deliberate breaths, I shut my eyes and began methodically tapping my temples.
And then—an uncontrollable smile stretched across my face.
I was hit with a beautifully nostalgic flashback of the two concerned strangers sat across from me, staring back with nothing but kindness and compassion.
I’d spent all afternoon across the table from Rasmus and Randi, a traveling couple from Denmark I’d met that morning over breakfast at our guesthouse.
What began as a simple, curious exchange about their handful of months backpacking Asia turned into six hours of raw, emotional, and vulnerable conversation—about friends, dreams, trauma, love, and heartbreak.
It was the kind of deep sharing that’s rare among lifelong friends, let alone two strangers you just met over scrambled eggs and coffee.
But see, that’s the thing about travel.
It gently leads you into situations where cracking your heart open feels way less risky. It creates the confidence, trust, and connections that allow you to lay it all out on the table—ultimately inviting others to do the same.
I can’t count the number of friendships I’ve made abroad where we’ve spent merely hours together—and yet our bond can be just as strong, if not stronger, as relationships I’ve had for decades with friends back home.
I can’t explain the science behind it, but ask any other traveler who’s lived it.
I have no doubt they’ll tell you the exact same thing. It’s sacred—and it’s real.
If not for connections like these, my love and commitment to travel just wouldn’t be the same.
After spending most of the day together, we decided to part ways and reconvene for dinner.
I invited Rasmus and Randi to join me at one of my secret little spots, Roti Mataba—a Thai-Muslim hole-in-the-wall I’ve been going to for years.
In fact, it’s the very first restaurant I ate at my very first night in Thailand, way back in 2004.
Shoulder to shoulder, weaving our way behind motorbikes and sizzling street carts, the three of us trekked through the pulsing chaos of Bangkok’s neon streets.
When we arrived, the now elderly women who run Roti Mataba lit up like Christmas trees when they saw me.
The neighboring shops beside the restaurant may have changed a dozen times over, but these fuller, aging faces have been greeting me with the same warm smiles for two decades now.
The downstairs of Roti Mataba is open-air, which provides no mercy from the heat—and though the sun had set, it still felt like a blazing furnace outside.
We quickly ducked inside and climbed the narrow staircase leading to the arctic relief of an air-conditioned, upper deck dining area.
Rasmus and Randi insisted I do the honors of ordering, and within minutes, our table was buried under bowls of decadently spiced curries and warm, flaking roti.
Sharing food is a love language of mine.
And once I heard them both let out a “Mmm-hmmm” after their first bite, I felt a swell of pride blooming in my chest.
But then, without warning, it began.
The cool air quickly grew thin.
The walls slowly started to cave in.
My heart rate quadrupled.
Trying desperately to stay calm, I clinched my fingers and toes, but the looming panic prevailed—inching its way up and across my chest.
I could see both of their mouths moving, but I couldn’t hear a word they were saying.
The internal whispers grew louder, “Something bad’s about to happen. Something bad’s about to happen.”
“Play it cool. Deep breaths,” I coached myself.
The last thing I wanted to do was ruin dinner.
But it was too late.
They could see it written all over my face.
Rasmus leaned in, his forehead crinkled with concern, “Adrian, is everything okay?”
Fuck.
I wanted to disappear.
I felt exposed and embarrassed.
I didn’t wanna have to share my struggles.
But.. I did.
“No. I’m really sorry. But I’m having a panic attack.”
Typing this now, I’ve got tears in my eyes.
Not because of shame or panic—but because of how they responded.
Not wanting to disrupt dinner, I’d tried to excuse myself.
I told them I wanted to head back to the guesthouse while they stayed and finished their meal.
I desperately wanted to shield them from the storm that was roaring inside of me.
But Rasmus shook his head, calm and defiant.
“No.”
He reached across the table and he took my hand.
Randi leaned across to him and threw her arm over both his shoulders—instantly linking the three of us, physically and emotionally.
“We will stay with you,” Rasmus said.
“Take all the time you need, Adrian. We’re here,” Randi added.
So there we were.
Three traveling strangers just hours before—now, hand in hand, sat in silence—waiting for my internal storm to pass over.
No judgment.
No rushing.
No need to explain.
Breath by breath, the walls opened back up and the panic dissolved.
When I returned to feeling like myself again, they both grinned and nodded, as if to say, “Welcome back, old friend.”
I fumbled for words, wanting to apologize and over explain what happened.
But that wouldn’t be necessary.
They already knew.
And they’d graciously sat and held space with nothing but kindness and compassion.
Wow, what a gift.
A gift wrapped inside a moment that I will carry with me forever.
We finished our meal, shared a few laughs, and eventually made our way back downstairs.
The night was still young, and the two of them were thirsty for more.
But my mind and body were begging for rest—which they completely understood.
We hugged, snapped a selfie, and set our next therapy session for breakfast-time the following morning.
Funny how the Universe works.
Exactly one year to the day, thousands of miles away, while sat tapping my temples in Dallas, Texas—I’m humbly reminded of this:
The magic of travel isn’t always found in the destination—
Sometimes it’s in the hands of strangers kind enough to reach out when you’ve lost your way.
With Gratitude & Gusto,
Adrian ⚡️
Dedicated to Rasmus & Randi—this is why I never sent you guys our selfie—I knew one day I would end up writing about the beautiful dose of grace the two of you gifted me. Tak til jer begge!
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