… and you learn that … you really can endure … that you really are strong …
and you really do have worth …
… grateful for the beauty of the author’s heart …
On Validating Self
I’ve always loved me some drama. Where most people, after a long and busy day, prefer to chill in front of the TV with a romantic comedy, I prefer to chill with a crime investigation. Anything goes – CSI, Prime Suspect, Law & Order – so long as there is dead people, and you don’t know who they were made dead by. I am rather positive that somewhere deep inside me there lies dormant a brilliant homicide detective, whose awakening is not destined to happen seeing how even bugs scare me s***less, let alone cold sharp blades or bullets. So I satisfy my mystery craving in theory, not practice. Wire In The Blood is an old British series, where this socially inept weirdo of a clinical psychologist, Tony Hill, assists the police with the most brutal serial murder investigations. In every episode you watch him unravel the psyche of the killer as he analyzes the crime scenes and the MOs. Hmmm, serial psychopaths… It doesn’t get better than that, especially when the psychologist is portrayed by Robson Green, who is so sexy I just about cried myself to sleep when I first discovered him, I swear; I heart the guy:
Anyhow, there is this one episode in the series, which opens with Tony saying to an unknown young fella:
Eventually, you get to a point in life when there is nothing left to prove… And you find there is nothing left.
I didn’t find out until a bit later that they are both sitting at a roof edge and the young man is about to commit suicide, because this line literally electrified me into hitting Pause. I needed to mull it over…
Those of you who have been with me on this blog from the start know that it attempted to serve a number of different purposes at one time or other. Now I don’t think it has any particular purpose other than just being, just writing, about all the many things life is made of – all this dirty mess of emotion and reason in which I, one day, hope to find the answer to the one question that’s always bothered me most – Why am I here? When I was younger and a lot more of a drama queen, I used to wonder about the meaning of Life in general, on behalf of the entire human population. Well, you learn a thing or two on the go, and I know by now I won’t ever be able to answer that one, so I scaled it down to just me. Makes me less anxious, knowing the entire human population isn’t waiting on my feedback any time soon. So now I’m just looking to work out a good reason for me occupying this space on Earth and all kinds of triggers send my mind a-wandering.
How many years of our lives, do you reckon, on average, are spent in efforts to prove something? How often do people persist in doing things that do not bring them joy just because someone couldn’t accept them as they were? A recent conversation with Ms. Feisty comes to mind. I spoke here of just one of her battles, but that was, quite frankly, the tip of the iceberg. There are also tensions between her and members of her extended family. Thing is, her aunts and uncles labeled her as ‘useless’ ever since primary school. Her grades were never good so they collectively decided she was dumb. Never mind the fact that Chinese educational system is inflexible, at its best, and nobody ever bothered to explore the child’s aptitudes and passions… She grew into a young woman, who is, most definitely, smart. The ‘useless’ label taught her independence, she says she figured out very early on that she has to fight for herself, which is great, strength of character is important, and being self-reliant is an advantage these days. But I know her, and I can see she is angry. At lunch the other day, she went “One day they will know. I’ll make them see, I’ll prove them they were wrong.” Now, I sometimes debate how far I should go in these discussions. She always wants to know my perspective, really really listens, and, perhaps most dangerously of all, takes it a step or two further by drawing her own conclusions. I find it entirely fascinating – it’s almost as though China and I are in this non-stop dialogue about the meaning of Life. But every so often I’ll think “Shit, maybe I should just drop it. Maybe she would be much better off not knowing me at all, content with the reality that surrounds her.” Well, guess it’s too late for that now…
I couldn’t contain myself and said: “Wait a second. I don’t get it. Are these people important to you?” No. “Do you see them in your future, playing a major part in your life?” No. “Then why are you wasting your energy trying to prove them something they in all likelihood will never understand anyway? If you want to do create something of your life, by all means, do it. But don’t do it for them. Do it for yourself. Because you want to.“
This is where it all comes together – Tony Hill, Ms. Feisty and I, and the proof. If you spend your life trying to prove the wrong thing to the wrong people, of course there won’t be nothing left. It’s not the proof that does the trick. We are not here to justify our existence to others. We are here to find what makes us tick – which isn’t an easy journey, but it is the only way to hit the jackpot at the end, when you draw your last breath thinking “Holy shit! This was one amazing ride!“
Well, at least I think that’s why I’m here. But that’s just me. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s a terrible tragedy ;)
Like this:
Yearning for Less
I’ve caught a bug. The kind that makes you yearn.
In fact, I yearn so much lately that going about my everyday business now feels as though I am pulling a tractor all by myself. All of a sudden, I wish I could eject myself from my life, and place me instead flat-out on a white sheet, then leave me there, in peace and quiet. As peace and quiet slowly wrap themselves around me, I will, at long last, be revealed the meaning of life…
Well, who am I kidding, that’s never gonna happen. Snapping out of it now and back to slightly more comprehensible sentences.
I’ve caught the bug of minimalism.
While it is hard to say how many people are currently on this wavelength, it is becoming more and more obvious that our mind’s desires and ambitions are experiencing a major tectonic shift. Towards something a lot less tangible than our belongings – towards simplicity and freedom from the burden of stuff. Tyler Durden’s message has finally caught up with us and now makes perfect sense. Over here a casting director offers you money for quitting your job and selling your possessions to move to an island (if only I lived in the States, damn it!). Some people go as far as relieving themselves of the burden of $22,000,000. Truth. Read about it here.
We don’t want things. We want meaning and fulfillment instead. I personally think that’s mighty awesome! And mighty awesome is something I definitely want a slice of.
me humble stuff
I am moving into a new house this weekend. So far, I’ve spent @6 hours packing up @a third of my belongings. That totaled up to 7 boxes, a tennis racket and two bookshelves. It is easy to predict that finishing this up before the truck gets here will take me @10 more hours. That’s a total of 16 hours or roundabout (precious off work time, which I cherish) that I could spend reading or writing.
Having recently been following people like Joshua Millburn, Derek Sivers and Lindsey Fox, this time I questioned the logic of it all. I’m saying ‘this time’ because, well, hmmm, this is going to be my 8th house in Shanghai… I can’t explain why I do it so often, every time there seems to be a good reason to move, but I suspect the simple truth is just that I become restless in the absence of change. And every time I want a change, I have to do this packing and unpacking, and I’m no fan of that.
If only all of this stuff was somehow adding value to my life, I’d probably keep quiet. But where is the logic in owning enough cooking utensils to feed a Gypsy family or two, if need be, when I’m just one tiny single girl, who hardly ever cooks or eats at home for that matter? Do I play tennis? No. I love New York, but can I really not live without a poster of it from IKEA? I think I can. Full length mirror? I suspect looking down should be sufficient to determine whether my knees look fat in those pants.
Garage sale is in order. Whatever can’t be sold, I’ll give away.
I don’t own that much. I’ve lived in rented fully furnished apartments for the past five years and I’m moving into a model house which comes with everything including wine glasses. So I’m not going to pretend like this is some cosmic change that will shake me to my very core and affect my everyday routines. My story comes nowhere near this one, for instance. I don’t own a house. I did, but I sold it when I was 21 – the only property that I ever had in my name – took the money and moved to China. Some people thought I was out of my mind but I haven’t regretted it once. I wanted to come here and study, my family couldn’t financially support me, so I sold. Never looked back.
Compared to that, getting rid of some bookshelves is nothing. But then again, if I had the guts to sell a house at 21 and move to a country I knew nothing about, perhaps deep down I’ve always been a minimalist, free-floating citizen of the world…
We’ll see. For now, I just want to get rid of the extra weight, I want to feel light, always flexible, always ready for a change. And I’m starting with some shedding.
It will be fun to see what the past five years of my life turn out to be worth… I’ll keep you posted!
Like this:
Great Expectations: Backbreaking Burden of Tradition
I wish I was a foreigner, living someplace on my own, like you. But this is China and I am Chinese. I don’t have a choice because I am poor. I can only do what is expected of me, what is acceptable and proper in the eyes of my family members. I am supposed to get married and have a baby. My husband and I will have to take out a loan on a house. With the baby and the loan I will spend the next 30 years of my life paying off the debt, struggling to save money for my child’s future. And maybe if I am lucky, I can enjoy life in my 50s. But it is so unfair. Why should I sacrifice my life in the name of cultural traditions when I am young and I don’t even know what I want yet? I haven’t had a chance to live for myself and never will, because I am getting older and my family is putting pressure on me to get married. It’s like a vicious cycle. Nobody here lives the life they have chosen. Everybody lives the life somebody else has chosen for them.
Ms Feisty and I have luckily known each other long enough for us both to be comfortable with conversations of this sort. In spite of the fact that I, to her, am an embodiment of everything she craves in life, her sole purpose in sharing these thoughts with me is just that – to share. Of all the people surrounding her I am the only one who does not have the mindset she was born into but grew up to resent. There is never an expectation in her stories, there is nothing she wants me to do. Being the alien that I am here earned me her trust, which I value, and I am glad she thinks I am somebody she can confide in. God forbid she utters a word of this to someone in her family…
Ms Feisty is an exception of which in over five years I’ve seen a rare few. However, the objective of this post is not to persecute China for imposing this burden of tradition onto its people. I maintain my stance on a state’s sovereignty, and vouch once again to not judge a people who are not of the same making as me, particularly not while I am reaping benefits of their hospitality.
The objective in pursuit is to acknowledge that freedom to choose a course of life for myself is one less thing I take for granted. Humans are creatures of habit. Having something constantly within our reach, in unlimited supply, diminishes its value in our eyes. Unless we are exposed to an environment where what we take for granted is scarce, few of us will realize that it is actually something to be grateful for.
My parents bought me my first computer when I was 16, a freshman at college. We had internet installed right away and off I went, exploring. Soon enough World Wide Web became a source of drama at our house, because my mother insisted I was using it in all the wrong ways. It was me wasting my time in chat rooms that bothered her. Ten years ago those hubs were filled with creeps and perverts and she was rightfully concerned. Needless to say, I did not understand and we fought over it, almost daily. And almost daily I resented her for it. Then someone emailed me some sort of questionnaire, the ‘yes’ or ‘no’ type. The questions went something like this:
- Do you have your own home? Yes.
- Do you always have food on the table? Yes.
- Are you healthy? Yes.
- Are both your parents healthy and still alive? Yes.
- Are they still together? Yes.
- Are you doing this test from a computer which you own? Yes.
Answering ‘yes’ to all the questions put me within 1% of world’s total population. Remaining 99% were less lucky in one or more ways.
See, something like this is so simple, it seems almost retarded to pay it any special attention. After all, you can not go through every day of your life humbly staring at your feet, mumbling “I’m grateful. I’m grateful. I don’t need nothing more.” Of course not. Having ambitions is healthy and building on top of what you already have is natural. But for whichever reason, it’s ten years later and I still remember that email. I don’t remember who sent it, but I never forgot that I’m on top of the world.
But back to the freedom of choice, anyway.
I haven’t consciously registered its value until I got to experience China. I didn’t know that being able to say “I don’t know what pressure feels like. I am absolutely free to live any life I choose.” is a luxury that very few of us enjoy.
Ms Feisty is dreading the Chinese New Year family dinner. Relatives are going to ask her whether they have set a date for her marriage. Upon hearing “No.” they will be telling her how she is getting older (she is 26…) and thus needs to hurry up. Hurry up to do the thing she doesn’t even feel like doing in the first place.
It’s just such a strange collision of worlds, Ms Feisty and I. I consult my family on every decision that I make. We exchange opinions, but it always ends with “Whatever you choose to do, we’ll support you. It is your life to live and nobody else’s.”
The Luckiness Barometer results startled me ten years ago. I informed my parents of my findings and actually thanked them for buying the computer. Conflicts subsided because my fascination with chat rooms faded as quickly as it emerged.
And ten years on the answer to each of those questions is still ‘Yes’.
Dear Self: Seize Your Epiphanies, Won’t You?!
The first two weeks of 2012 have welcomed me with warmth and I am happy to have a number of excitements to look forward to this month. First off, I am about to partake in another New Year’s celebration. Living in China means I get to do that twice, ha! While I certainly am western and 2012 has already begun for me, I am more than delighted to go along with the Chinese in their rhythm: we don’t just get a corporate party, we get an all-out corporate feast. That’s scheduled for tomorrow and I confess I’ve spent a fair amount of time this week fantasizing about all the yum yum to be enjoyed Saturday night. Considerable amounts of money handed out in lucky draw make it that much better. So far, I’ve won every year! But I should probably stop talking about it lest I jinx it this time. Shush!
Soon as I stuff myself with all that yum and pocket all that cash, I’m off to attend to my second big thing of January – moving house. I have to admit to mixed feelings about that. I love my new place, it is absolutely stunning, but I do sort of wish I didn’t have to go through the manuals of actually making the move – the packing, the loading, the unloading and the unpacking. I secretly wait for the days when one can just close their eyes, open them and bam! all moved in! I don’t as of yet make enough to afford that luxury, hence tonight I found myself dragging one of my suitcases (which I keep at the office, just in case), empty, back to the house with the ambition to use it this Sunday to move part of my belongings.
Very puffy in my down jacket, Tibet boots and a mile-long scarf wrapped around half my face, I absent-mindedly approached the curb. I put my doughnut bag on top of my suitcase (I arrange doughnut Fridays at the office once in a while, and take the last one home as a bonus treat to meself for being such a good supervisor!) and ran a scan of the taxi grabbing competition. Fierce. As a side note, the Chinese don’t give a tiny rat’s bottom who was at the spot first, they’ll elbow their way into your cab, whether you kick, yell racial slurs or smoke starts coming out of your ears. I had nowhere to be, wasn’t hungry or cold, so I felt no urgent need to put up a fight. I decided to just stand there till they all dissipate and somebody drives up to me without me lifting my pinkie. I do get that lazy towards Fridays. Don’t judge.
Having made peace with my curb predicament, I zoned out – you know that mode when you tilt your head to the side and empty-stare into thin air just about drooling on your shoulder? Recent Newsweek tells me it is good and we all oughta be doing it:
Let your mind wander. A string of studies suggests that zoning out, especially when you don’t consciously realize you are doing it, allows the brain to work on important ‘big picture’ thinking.
When I came to, I thought:
– What a Goddamn waste of time! Standing on the curb, guarding a doughnut on top of an empty suitcase. You sa-a-ad little white girl…
Then somebody answered:
– Well, hold it. It’s only a waste of time if you allow it to be. Think about it. You have strings of minutes to go anywhere you want in your mind. Isn’t there a project you have been pondering as of late?
– Well, yeah… But…
– No ‘but’. Just think. Think of how you are going to build it. Time to get started. You’ve been an absent self long enough.
I sure have. And that part about the project is also true. For now, I’ll just refer to it as WFD. It is an embryo and therefore needs nurturing, but my zone out session did bring about a few ideas on what I want it to look like once it is carried to term.
A cab. The driver pops the trunk and just sits there. I know my suitcase is empty, but an insult directed at him still flashes through my head – “Lazy-ass wacko.” That must be me getting hungry, on an empty stomach I’m worse than Hitler. No matter. I get into the cab and drive off thinking:
Now you are going to go home and you are going to write. No, you are not watching Desperate Housewives on Hulu. And you are not watching Ramsey and Pablo videos on Youtube. And you are definitely not working. You go and you write. Okay, maybe you eat first, but then…
Any minute spent anywhere is only wasted if you let it be…
Like this:
Moments to Savour
A few weeks back my mother and I had an interesting conversation on the subject of growing up. As your life moves forward, especially if you bear sole responsibility for any changes that occur in it, I find you begin to have this split vision of who you are as a person. With my parents and around them, I still feel like a child. I am loved and taken care of. Every trip back home is enveloped in so much warmth that after about a week I become this very fuzzy white little bunny making purring noises. My mother still wakes me in the mornings by whispering all my kiddie nicknames in my ear, hugging me, brushing my hair with her hand. The dog is constantly trying to steal a kiss or two, my dad makes breakfast. It’s paradise, really, – as good as it gets this side of the Sun. I do nothing, literally. I just take all the fuzziness in. I behave silly and we laugh, a lot. I’m not a grown-up there, I’m just somebody’s daughter, just somebody’s little girl.
And then there is the other me – the one that lives here, alone, and she is anything but fuzzy. She doesn’t really have the time to get all mushy, there is rent to be paid, plus hungry tummy does nobody no good. So she keeps herself busy making a living in this land she still doesn’t get. For the most part she is strong, and I’m pretty sure people have known her to be cruel – well, she thinks she is just sparing them the bullshit, but, you know, not all of us are into tough love. So be it. She has earned respect and is trusted to make decisions. She is obsessively self-sufficient, won’t take nothing from nobody unless she earned it. That annoys me once in a while, and I wish she could just let go and choose the easy way here and there. But then I remember that we are one and the same and such is our nature, so we both relax. Now, this second one, she is most definitely a grown-up, right?.. No idea.
These two versions of me overlap on occasion and turn me all confuzzled. So I asked my mom: “When did you know, I mean really know that you were all grown up, that you were an adult? When did you feel that you have made that transition?” Oddly enough, she knows not of such thing. There I was, thinking that my parents had it all figured out by the time I came into their lives! Mom laughed at my suggestion of them two being that well thought-through. She was 23 and my father was 22, and if there is one thing they both know – they were just plain silly. Well, think about it, they bring me home from the hospital and decide they won’t sleep at night because they are afraid I may want something and they won’t hear me ‘ask’. Quick show of hands – who thinks you can miss an infant screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night? Right. They learned. The first night.
So I guess there is really no train to take you to the “Grown Up” station – you don’t cross over to a place where you are just one thing. You just keep moving, trying on different roles in life, like new outfits. Some are an average fit, some make you look fat, and in others you just look smoking hot. The latter ones are probably those you should stick with. I know I’m definitely keeping this one in my closet:
the good life
Every chance I get, I’ll keep going back to be that girl. To feel little, to feel precious, to tell the woman who gave me life that she rocks my world and feel her arms around me again.
Not everyone is lucky to grow up like that. If you were, you make sure to let them know how grateful you are.
The most genuine, beautiful things in life are really just that simple.
Like this:
Rejuvenating Powers of Solitary Confinement
Whether somebody gives up on you, or you yourself choose to walk, an ending never feels like a win-win situation. Even when the decision is your own, you will be hurting, questioning how right you were in your judgment. You may also feel like you have failed, like you have not done enough to make it work. Some times that may be the case, others you may just find it to be the best choice you have ever made. You only need to listen in on yourself to find out.
A little over a month ago I turned 27. My birthday was on a Saturday and nobody was with me. I spent the morning at a coffee house, reading. Followed it up with a generous treat from me to me – several hours of spa rituals - and, cocooned in lotiony oily blissful cloud, returned to my computer to Skype my parents. They prepared a feast, laid it all out on the table so I could see it and the three of us spent hours chatting, laughing, eating and drinking – well, virtually, but still… If it wasn’t for my Mother, I would likely end up hating that day for the lack of human beings in it. With just one sentence she made it okay – “You are a kind person, filled with light, and every day that I live I thank God for blessing us with you.” I must’ve done something right in this life, even if she is the only one on the planet that knows it…
I lick my wounds in solitude – temporary retreat is my way of recuperating, always has been and I suspect always will be. Those truly close to me know not to poke until I silently emerge from my cave, shake the dust off my shoulders and gently pat them on the arm.
Not this time. This time, I subjected myself to solitary confinement with no intention to resurface. Not as my old self.
Slamming the door into the face of your life as you know it is terrifying. Having no new life lined up exacerbates the panic. It’s like standing naked in the dark, at the edge of a cliff, staring into big fat Nothing. Regardless, I felt, very distinctly, that I would rather stay right there and shudder than go back to the false comfort of my ways.
If you stand in a place like that long enough and find it in you to look past the terror, you may see a bridge, to the side you really want to be on. I think I am about to cross it, and quite honestly I can’t remember the last time I felt anything like this. It’s exhilarating. I feel like I just came off the assembly line, brand new.
The silence, the clarity – away from the cacophony of human clamor – they are priceless. And if you find yourself at a dead end, remember it’s never too late to admit that you’ve made a mistake. If what you walked out on is, in fact, your life, it will embrace you as you walk back.
The Mind is a Battlefield
And the most arduous one to navigate, too.
It may not be all that obvious (what with such scarce number of posts here) but I blog every waking hour of every day. Reason you don’t see it? My day job. Or maybe that’s a lie.
No, no, I am not about to launch into a rant, I wouldn’t dare. Truth be told, I’m positive I’m one of them lucky cookies – I enjoy what I get paid to do. What is it exactly, one might ask? Well, simply put, I make clothes. Not so simply put – my team develops knitwear collections for several clothing labels. We are a full-scale manufacturer with own production facilities, which means we take that very first sketch from the designer and over the course of several months turn it into finished product, loaded onto a container to be shipped far far away. I oversee the entire thing.
I love developing product – it is never repetitive or dull. Every day I learn something new. My biggest client is a luxury brand and working on their line brings me sheer joy – especially on those days when I see some of the final samples – the fruit of my team’s labor. Most of us, when we shop for clothes, we don’t give it much thought, we never question how much work went into creating that shirt or that pair of pants. An incredible amount of work. Even for the most basic of garments – behind every loop of yarn, every thread which you don’t even see, behind every button and every label – there are people who spent months thinking it through for you…
I am one of those people and I genuinely enjoy the process.
But even so, I can’t seem to shake off the feeling that I am not what I’m supposed to be.
There is this girl, trapped in my upstairs and this blog is on her mind always. It’s not that she is not happy creating beautiful things, it’s just that she feels she would be even happier creating beautiful reads. Her idea of a perfect day is so simple it’s almost cliché – watching the world, the people in it, drinking coffee, writing, reading, thinking. A lot. She loves to think.
I overrule her. Most days. Occasionally she thinks she is about to break through.
Enter demons.
I’m sure you know the kind. The kind that stems from all the things you think you should be, and you think you are not. They are your fears, your failures, your insecurities. There is so many of them. They overwhelm you with their yelling and finger-pointing.
“Oh come on! You are a nobody – who wants to know what you’ve got to say! What, you think you are smarter? Who says? Drop it, it’s not going to be interesting enough. You are not even funny when you write! People like funny and you can’t do it. Nobody cares. You are not going to change anything. You are quite lame, actually. Can’t even figure out your own life… And you want to go around telling people how to be happier in theirs! Well, that’s just pathetic!”
That’s it, I give up. I’m cornered, immobilized.
I end up not writing.
So I did open this post with a lie. It’s not my busy schedule that’s stopping me. It’s the demons. The demons that tell me that I’m not good enough…
***
A few days ago I was reminded that it can be otherwise. I do actually know it myself – know that I don’t need to listen to that bullshit. I’m no coo-coo here, I know those creatures aren’t real. Thing is, I forget that I know it sometimes. Even more so when I’m not feeling all that awesome. Well, duh!
So, who reminded me? You’ll be thanking me for this later - The Soulful Contrarian!
I am so moved by the author of this blog that I simply have to share, before you go see it for yourself.
In order to fully appreciate the work that Lindsey is doing, I recommend that you begin at the beginning – her first post – Enough! As you work your way through the essays, you will hopefully see what I saw – a beautiful person, who strives to live an authentic life. A person who is not claiming to be a know-it-all, but instead openly talks about her fears, her insecurities and her demons. She has made a commitment to her personal growth, her self-improvement, and she has made a commitment to honesty. What I was mostly touched by was her honesty. Not as the essence of The Truth Experiment she has embarked upon, but as the essence of her writing. It’s genuine, it’s very personal, it’s raw. She is afraid too, she is hurting too, but she insists it’s no reason to keep living a lie.
Throughout our lives, we all carry the burden of expectations. We assume people only want to see the perfect part of us and we shy away from exposing our struggles. Perhaps you are not like it, but I am. And it’s exhausting. Well, now I am inspired to quit. Quit listening to what the demons have to say, quit trying to be something I supposedly should. I am inspired to hold on to what makes me happy and stay true to what I hold dear. If it’s important to me, there is a good chance it is important to other people too.
From now on, it’s me pointing my finger right back at the demons, telling them to go to Hell.
The girl from my upstairs needs some air. You’ll be hearing from her…
