In ninth grade, one of my teachers gave us the typically corny assignment: to write a letter addressed to ourselves, to be opened at our high school graduation in three years. I found myself continuing the tradition, probably for sentimental (and egotistical) value, and have accumulated letters through college and work. I’m supposed to open the next letter to myself this August. Sifting through the old ones, I notice there’s always something that I was worrying about – in high school, boys, grades, and k-pop (it’s good to know some things will never change); grades, friendships, and faith in college; family relationships, work, and self-esteem post-college. In a few instances, it was a good way to motivate myself by seeing how far I’d come, but usually, I realized how ridiculously easy it was to let the trivial side streets lure me away from the main road. Not all detours are made the same after all.
During college, I used to write down so many thoughts on Xanga (aren’t you glad I stopped taking those side streets?). I miss pondering some of the questions I struggled with back then. I used to err on the side of too much introspection and not enough reality. Now, tapping into my thoughts is like opening up a rusty old chest of drawers, pulling and yanking, airing out each thought like wet laundry. Life has a way of spinning cobwebs around your mind, and your brain succumbs to the lull of each thread if you’re not careful. But then again, others will say such introspection is a luxury. Reality is not so generous to some, and often decisions on how to spend time, and thoughts, are made for us rather than by us. But insofar as it is a choice, I hope to make it deliberately.
With another year under my belt, I figure there will always be an endless supply of things that will take the place of previous worries if I let them. If it’s not grades anymore, it will be relationships, and if not relationships, it will be work. If not work, it will be kids. And so on. Then where’s the happiness in the journey? Is it hidden in the cracks, where the little things make a day just right? Is it found in the spontaneous, novel, or unexpected? I don’t know. But I’m feeling more and more that the peace I find in connecting with others makes me the happiest, rather than novelties, or traveling to exotic places, or even intellectual stimulation. A bad experience shared with the best of friends becomes a comical memory. Eating the best meal in town with a bunch of strangers probably wouldn’t even make the memory bank. This was most likely true before, too, but I was reluctant to accept it.
All this to say, I'm thankful for the gifts I've received in this life. I just hope I make fitting choices. It's always harder to be kind than clever.
I recently had an experience sort of similar to the one you're relating, Sunhee. My little brother graduated from high school a couple of weeks ago. I went back to the school for the graduation ceremony, to the same gym where I commenced four years earlier. Sitting 20 rows up in the bleachers and watching a sea of 400+ faceless caps and gowns cascade across the stage, it was hard for me not to superimpose myself into their moment-- as if I were some older, wiser version of my younger self invading my own special day. What would I have told that HS graduate? What would I have withheld?
ReplyDeleteThat thought bothered me a little for a couple of days. Ultimately, though, I had to acknowledge that, for as much as I have gained in the past years, the questions are really still the same. The specific hopes and fears are functionally equivalent to the ones I had then, even if they have been shaped around the edges. But it's the end goal that's different. Rather than thinking, 'I need to do a-zzz by the time I'm 30,' all I really want now is to be content.
The bad thing is that, even still, I often think about contentment as a future goal. The hardest thing to do is to set things aside for a few minutes and contemplate contentment for the present. Not after law school and the bar. Not after those first trying years in practice. Not after there's a family and kids and a mortgage. But right now.
I'm with you, Anna. Living in, and appreciating, the present has always been so difficult for me, for one reason or another. I think it partly has to do with an irrational fear that if I get too satisfied or settled now, I will never end up reaching my goal(s). But it's funny because those goals end up changing as I grow up.
ReplyDeleteIt's probably a sign of maturing, a changing of goals. Up until the end of this school year, I was still bent on achieving some version of myself that I was sure would bring happiness. If only I worked harder, ran faster, pushed myself to the limit could I find contentment. But all that produced was a hallow weariness that left me confused as to who I was and as to where I was headed.
ReplyDeleteBut law school, as we all know, is humbling. Sometimes you just have to cut your losses and run. I've come to the gradual realization that maybe I just need to be content with mere self-improvement, even if the form it takes is infinitesimal. While life appears to have taken a sobering turn, my goals are much more realistic now - achievable really. I haven't lost that irrational edge though, but I think I've tempered it with some realism.
Hopefully this will help me keep my head screwed on.
"Achievable goals" -- remember JK Rowling's commencement speech? She knew what she was talking about, that woman :) And self-improvement, I think, is never "mere." But my irrational side threatens to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune times. I'm glad we met each other though :)
ReplyDelete