I'm not sure what the purpose of this blog is-- whether it will be useful for career purposes or simply serve as another time capsule along with my journals. But I do hope to update it more regularly this year. I'm not upset with myself for taking a break. In fact, I understand that it must have been difficult given the hard time I've been going through. But now that I am coming out of the cloud of depression, it feels natural to express myself on here again.
I certainly feel a shift this year. I wish for everyone to see the fruits of their labor from 2020. I feel like as you get older, you realize that new year's resolutions seem wacky or overrated. Many people even start to reject the idea of making new goals. But human beings need deadlines. They need pressure in order to act. And there's no perceivable construct of time more dramatic than a year. This New Year, I did something kind of different. I started "realizing" my resolutions around Christmas time, but I didn't really feel the need to wait until the new year to start pursuing them. So I just kind of started. Very slowly. Started waking up a bit earlier everyday. Took a few minutes to meditate sporadically. Made my bed. Studied some Korean here and there. By the time January 1st arrived, I did everything on my list and the day flowed smoothly.
I watched Soul on New Year's Eve. I have a history of crying or experiencing something traumatic on the 31st of December, but this past year was different. I watched the movie, teared up because it reflected how I think about life, and peacefully went to bed right as the fireworks started exploding to signal midnight. Something about that feels symbolic. Or at least I want it to. That's the thing. I tend to attach symbolism and meaning to everything. It must be because it makes me feel more grateful for life. Life seems more poetic, more magical, when you romanticize it like that. The mind of a philosopher. The emotions of an artist. But a somehow practical me.
Today on my walk I saw a dandelion all alone. I looked around and not a single other dandelion was in sight. I walked half a mile further and still nothing. So I took it as a sign from the universe. I spent a lot of time wondering what I'd wish for. It made me realize how much I've matured and healed. I didn't wish for a new body because I've learned to respect the one I have. I didn't wish for love because fate will handle that when I'm ready. After a while of thinking, I settled on passion.
Going to Yale, it seems like everyone has a spark or purpose, whether it's Russian literature or global affairs or theater. I love learning but there is no single subject that I feel is meant for me. I had settled on deciding that passion is overrated. And it might be. Over a Face Time call, my friend, Sarah, told me that we are conditioned to think that our career or our job is the defining feature of our adult life. But for some people, life is about coming home for Friday wine nights or visiting a parent's house for Sunday brunch. For some people it's about laughing at your coworker's dad jokes or drinking morning coffee as you read the paper. I, of all people, know how precious those little moments of life are yet I am still bothered by this grandiose concept of a passion. I'd like to think I have one. I feel like I am destined for some purpose(s). So I wished for passion. Having a passion, realizing that passion, achieving that passion, and succeeding with that passion (hopefully from a career standpoint).
I believe this year will be better. I believe it will be transformational. And I look forward to living each day gratefully.
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