finding solace in simplicity
my first month home
As the years have gone by, I’ve become somewhat of an antiresolutionist. Either I’ve just grown more realistic, or I’m still adamantly committed to attempting to eschew any sense of disappointment in my life. If I don’t set lofty goals for myself in the first place, I won’t beat myself up over falling short.
Instead of goals, I’ve created a bucket list of some tangible things and events I’d like to experience, including traveling to a new continent, meaning more people who truly move me, and walking in my graduation ceremony in the spring. In addition, I’ve picked some broad themes I’m striving to live by: consistency, compassion, and patience.
I have a bit of a toxic relationship with consistency, treating most tasks and hobbies as all-or-nothing endeavors. Either I run 5 miles or none at all. Everything I write has to be polished and convey some grandiose meaning or I’ll put off writing anything altogether. This mindset is probably why my hobbies tend to be short-lived or situational; it’s difficult for me to conjure up the patience to do something effortful simply for the joy of doing it. I’ve reflected on the desire for social proof— modern technology has thoroughly capitalized on this collective craving; did you really do or experience it if you didn’t post about it?
I find unparalleled satisfaction in checking things off a list. The lingering specter of unfinished tasks casts a shadow over my mind, making it all the more difficult to regain momentum and circle back to them even when I have the time. A lot of the time, if I pick up a neglected task or hobby and find myself less proficient at it than I used to be, I’ll immediately feel like I’ve retrogressed. Rather than setting performance-based goals, it might be more fruitful to set mindset goals— how do I want to feel, act, and think? Perhaps, the real issue here isn’t about goal-setting itself, but my propensity to tether my self-worth to my sense of accomplishment and productivity.
That leads me to my next segment— I guess I’m finally getting my first taste of post-grad life, that which people either paint to be the highest or lowest point of one’s young adulthood. My period of institutionalized exploration via quirky college seminars has come to an end. While all my friends depart for school, I stay put. I feel a bit like a high schooler again, being driven around by my parents, running errands in my neighborhood’s strip malls seemingly frozen in time, eating nightly family dinners, and spending more time lounging on my favorite couch than I’d like to admit. Living at home, the lines of adulthood are blurred. Despite having graduated, a supposedly momentous milestone, I feel as if I still reside in an interlude, rather than another stage of life. I’m trapped in this liminal time capsule of emerging adulthood, not knowing exactly what will force my transition out of this “emergence?” Will I even know when I’ve reached it, or will the switch be flipped on me at once? This Atlantic article urges us to think of life in terms of seasons, treating every phase as both transitory yet somewhat predictable. While the analogy isn’t perfect, I’ve found it helpful to segment out large stretches of time into digestible chunks, akin to the quarter system school has programmed me to follow.
“There will be times in your life when everything blooms, and times when it withers and fades”
In this current season of my life, I have found time to sit still. Maybe I always have been able to, but at school I always find a way to guilt trip myself out of it. Despite fearing that I would be clawing at the windows, begging for an escape, I’m unexpectedly relishing in this newfound tranquility.
I’ve mentioned my fear of routine several times before, specifically my aversion to monotony. However, I am starting to realize that I may have been falsely conflating stillness with monotony. Having a routine does not mean you must navigate life on autopilot, mindlessly going through the motions. If anything, living a slower life has motivated me to really notice and revel in the small pleasures. We tend to be so caught up in the vicissitudes of everyday life that we forget that there is so much to delight in all around us. There is something to be said about the familiarity and predictability that makes being at home feel so comfortable, albeit a bit humdrum. As I’ve adapted myself to this new normal, I’ve started to appreciate its charm, much like a sweater that gets softer with each wash.
I have habitually attempted to combat the tedium of routine and sameness by keeping myself overstimulated, whether that be by overloading my schedule with countless tasks and plans or constantly flitting from place to place, terrified of ever feeling like the walls are closing in on me. I don’t think I’m alone in this sentiment. Talking to friends, we’re always talking about the next travel plan, our next career ambition. Young adults in stable relationships are almost averse to the comfort, fearing that their freedom is in a chokehold, itching for a regained sense of passion and freshness. Despite collectively yearning for a sense of security, we’re taught to rage against the routine, actively working to combat any semblance of stagnation in our lives. Lately, instead of focusing on changing my physical surroundings and conditions, I’ve embraced monotony as a renewed chance to look into myself, identifying areas for change from within, particularly through reforming my perspective.
In our modern attention economy, the art of intentional observation has been systematically devalued. One of my favorite classes I took abroad was a French creative writing class. During one session, we all sat on a nearby cafe terrasse and were instructed to take note of every single thing within our immediate surroundings. I remember initially dreading this two-hour block, unsure of how I could continuously write a unique, exciting line about each passerby. To my surprise, there was so much more to be noticed within this bruit de fond: the faint smell of cigarette smoke mixed with espresso, the indiscernable chatter of the two women sitting a few tables away, the roar of motorcycles accelerating, people of all walks of life crossing in front of us. I couldn’t help but think ponder where each person or group was headed, where they came from, and how their day differed from mine.
What makes children so novel to us is how much wonder they tend to find in the things we perceive as trivial: playing in snow for the first time, trying a new food, seeing a new animal for the first time at the zoo. As young adults, we’re still constantly seeking novelty, but the psychological bar continually gets raised. A lot of this stems from social comparison— who has the coolest spring break destination, who is working on the most interesting project, who eats at the most exclusive restaurants… when it feels like everyone else is living in a different reality, it’s incredibly difficult to appreciate your own.
Zooming out, I’m incredibly lucky to be facing relative tedium, rather than tumult. My key to staying inspired and motivated during periods of relative tranquility is to find some way to do even just slightly differently each day. I’ve truly embraced the little joys of being at home. Trying a new local lunch spot, people-watching in cafes, daily family meals, catching up with friends over long facetime calls, getting to work remotely for a job I actually find exciting and rewarding, I don’t think I could ask for much more. It’s a testament to the fact that worrying about things before they even play out is never productive. While I do sometimes wrestle with the inkling that comfort can be a bit of a trap, I’ve put in an effort to try new things and build self-assuredness, like auditioning to be a pilates instructor and leading new initiatives at work. Life’s honestly pretty great when there isn’t constant pressure weighing down on you.
I feel myself gaining a heightened appreciation for the little details in my sensory environment— the first sip of my morning matcha, our dormant houseplant suddenly blooming, my dog’s comically small steps, the crisp breeze after walking out of a workout class with a friend, hues of bright pink and orange lighting up the late afternoon sky. I don’t have to be everything, everywhere all at once to feel at ease. I find solace in simplicity, trying to leave ample room for serendipity.
Lastly, as I reflect on my most immediate goals for post-grad life and finding fulfillment in every sense, I’m most determined to preserve the relationships I cherish most. While I’m immensely grateful for this time I get to spend with my family, it can be hard to feel like I’m out of touch with all my friends on campus. Despite feeling more secure in my friendships than ever, I still find myself second-guessing whether or not I should text someone if I don’t have anything meaningful or urgent to say, or putting my phone on do-not-disturb after asking a friend for a favor or to hangout. I am working on rewiring my internal dialogue and revising my meta perceptions, or others’ perceptions of myself. Laying down my pride and truly not taking things personally are easier said than done, but mindset changes are gradual, sometimes even lifelong processes.
Probably my greatest reflection I’ve had recently is about embracing radical self-responsibility, of acknowledging that I am individually responsible for how I react and deal with whatever happens in life rather than assigning blame to external factors or others. This also lends itself to having a “let-them” mindset— if someone else chooses to do something that I might not like, it is truly fruitless to intervene or take anything they do personal, if I am to avoid feeling disappointed or frustrated.
Looking forward to what’s to come! Next month, I’ll be moving out East for a month or so to visit cherished friends and hopefully add some more social stimulation to my life so…. stay tuned.
Consumption Diary
Books
Currently reading The Rachel Incident and getting quite a kick out of it… something about books about modern life in the UK just gets me going
Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow: I had been working on this for a while and finally had the time to finish it. And wow, I might write a whole other post about it— a story about friends-never-turned-lovers bound together by love yet often separated by their own ambitions
The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls: Incredibly moving, she perfectly embodies a childlike, eerily objective perspective whilst recounting her tumultuous lived experiences
The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment by Eckhart Tolle: The title sounds cheesy and borderline cultish but trust me when I say this book unexpectedly yet completely reshaped my perspective on how to live a fulfilling life
Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory: I enjoyed some stories more than others, especially the one from a dog’s perspective about his owner. A reminder of the absurdity even within the seemingly mundane.
Articles/Essays/Blogs
Play with AI: An essay on preserving playfulness and unscripted serendipity in the age of AI (Perhaps I miss the prototypical Bay Area casual conversation topics)
The Crane Wife: A beautiful, potent piece on the self-erasure inherent in womanhood
Lucas Sin Redefines the Chef: Lucas Sin on storytelling and identity formation via Chinese food and his East-meets-West restaurant concepts. Almost every food nowadays is a form of fusion, if you really think about it.
Notes on Taste: “Taste is a commitment to a state of attention”
The Birth of My Daughter, the Death of my Marriage: Stunning memoir about a new mother’s fraught relationship with her ex-husband, child, and most importantly, herself.
When Do You Become an Adult? Are our 30s the new 20s?
How to find joy in your Sisyphean existence: An excellent reminder to be as present as possible and to be a little silly: “When the broad sweep of life brings you horror, concentrate on this moment, and savor it. The pleasure and meaning you can find right now are real; the meaninglessness of the future is not.”
TV
Recently finished Beef, an A24 Netflix microseries. I’m usually not a TV person but I think this one swept the Golden Globes for good reason. Absolutely standout acting performances and such immense attention to detail in every scene. I love how it delves into emotional suppression, intergenerational trauma, filial expectations, and workaholism so quintessential to the Asian American experience. The plot is expected and pacing is incredibly smooth. Just mesmerizing, highly recommend.
Best Bites
Camicia (eggs bathing in a tangy basil tomato sauce, mozzarella, dollops of fresh ricotta) from the Fat Hen in Ballard paired with a hot, toasty baguette for dipping. 10/10 no notes
Everything bagels from Mt. Bagel in Phinney Ridge. Rip and dip them in the scallion cream cheese and you’re in for such a treat.
Homer in Beacon Hill is an absolute treasure and possibly my favorite restaurant in Seattle— the beet dip and roasted squash on the latest menu were superb
Tamago sandos from TRES Sandwich House— tiny and unassuming Japanese sandwich house. For $4.3 a pop, the egg sandwich, reminiscent of the one I fell enamored with from FamilyMart in Japan, is truly the answer to all my prayers.
Frozen greek yogurt from Hellenika in Pike Place. Newly opened by the brother of the owner of Ellenos Yogurt I believe, this churned yogurt is heavenly. Absolutely worth the hassle of Pike Place.
My matcha latte I hand-whisk every morning with Ocha & Co Matcha powder— I’ve been trying to find a high quality ceremonial matcha that won’t break the bank and this one is quite good
Home cooked meals— truly one of the best parts of being home. My dumplings might not look nearly as intricate as my mom’s but I’ll gobble them up nonetheless.
Beats
salute b2b Barry Can’t Swim in Sydney. I’ve been absolutely obsessed with Barry Can't Swim— the way he blends house with afrobeats and jazz in such an effortless, colorful way is just mesmerizing