Hi everyone,

I still remember sitting on that plane to Japan.
 

I had just left my stable but stifling career in science to take a year off and live in monasteries.

The engine whirred. I sat in the middle seat, holding a color-coded itinerary that mapped the next twelve months of my life.

As the plane rose, I felt relief, this deep exhale from the inner caverns of my being. There was this rush of freedom, like my heart could leap out into the sky and twirl among the clouds. 

But when the pilot announced we’d be landing in 25 minutes, my stomach dropped. My chest tightened.

What have I done? This isn’t safe. I’m not ready. Turn back.
 

 

After landing, I clung to my itinerary.
Every night, I mapped the next day to the five minute mark, as I had done for years.

Every opportunity that invited me off-script—a spontaneous dinner, an unexpected train ride, a stranger’s story—I declined.

I was abroad, but still playing out the same motions, like a puppet wound up in the past, by a hand that wasn't mine.

I could feel life knocking, offering beauty, serendipity, aliveness.
But I kept choosing my plan. And like a jacket a few sizes too small, it was cutting off the circulation of my days. 
 

So one day, in a Tibetan neighborhood in Nepal, I let go.
I deleted my itinerary.

I woke up the next morning to a blank page.

No alarm. No schedule. No plan.
Just space. 
 

It was terrifying.

I didn’t know how to just… be.
To move without a script and let wonder lead the way.  

At first, I fidgeted. 
I couldn't linger in a conversation without checking the clock.
But slowly, my body began to unlearn its urgency.
Time softened. 

Synchronicities returned. 

Strangers became guides.
The road became a partner, not a problem to solve.

I stopped gripping, and life began to meet me again.
 

 

That one year turned into four.
Four into ten.

One open day led to another, and slowly, a new kind of life took shape.
I lived with people of different paths- monks, nuns, elders, indigenous tribes, farmers, artists, real estate moguls. I documented stories across continents. I started making a living from what I love to do. 

And the strangest part? 

Going with the flow didn't lead me into the abyss, as I had predicted. It led me into the most meaningful chapters of my life. 

 

There was an inner logic all along— one I could only see in hindsight.

Now, I still plan. I still make to-do lists. 
But I also trust in the natural unfolding of things.

And this trust doesn't feel flighty. 
It feels like the most grounding force in my life. 
Like a carrier pigeon sensing its direction through the magnetic lines of the earth.

 

Trust is the needle. Life is the thread.
Some days, I stitch with ease.
Some days, I undo the seam.
But I know the embroidery is worth returning to.

Now, I’ve come to see that trust is not blind.
Trust is a flowering of humility—
a deep bow to the intelligence that weaves our days far better than we ever could.
 

 

So how do you begin to trust in life?

It starts with one real leap.
One moment where you choose alignment over certainty.

And then experiencing the gifts that come with that. 

At first it will feel dangerous, reckless even.

It will confront the stories that have kept you small. 

But like any skill, trust becomes easier the more you practice.
Until it becomes a way of life. 

Just one thing: 
When you take the leap, do it with your full self. 

Don't hold one ounce back. 
And add a deadline, because that pressure draws out your fullest capability.
 

inevitable momentum. 
 

If you know you're meant for more…
If a part of you wants to leap but your mind keeps grasping for certainty…

I’d love to invite you to my free live masterclass next Wednesday, April 16th, 1-2:30 pm ET. 

It's called: Take Back Your Life: The Shortest, Proven Path to the Life You’re Meant to Live. 
 

In this fun, relaxing event—part of the Unravel Open House—I’ll walk you through the full roadmap that’s helped me and others let go of control, trust life again, and create lives that feel deeply aligned, creative, and alive. 
 

→ Save your spot here.
 
You don’t have to have it all figured out.
But you do have to listen to that small, steady knowing that says:
It’s time.
 

I can't wait to see you there,
Dandan

PS: Know anyone who might benefit from this event? Forward them this invite—it might be exactly what they need right now.
 

www.dandanliustudio.com