Today marks the first day of my last official year in my late 20s. The realization that I will enter a new decade in just 365 short days prompts a lot of reflection. It’s a natural impulse for a perpetual overthinker—I’m always quietly gathering loose threads and letting them marinate in my brain; slowly, carefully weaving them into a narrative that makes sense, creating a retrospective story of my own life, connecting all of the dots until the picture snaps into place. And there’s nothing like the end of an era that makes you step back to admire your handiwork.

This year, I thought I’d talk about things I’m proud to have accomplished in 29 years, and I think this is particularly significant because what I consider accomplishments today are much different than the things I used to consider accomplishments. It’s taken a pandemic and a lot of self-evaluation to get here. But I’m pretty happy where I am.

1. Keeping this blog for eight years now!

Prior to 2014, I tried so many times to start a blog and it just never stuck. I’ve always been a writer but I’ve always struggled with keeping a consistent journal (case in point: this year I tried “microjournaling” or just writing a couple of sentences each day, and I dropped off around month five when I was traveling), but when I was spending a semester at home junior year, bored with taking community college classes, and in a very contemplative state of mind, I finally decided to just do it. I like to think I’ve stayed pretty true to my original intent eight years ago, and this blog remains my most consistent effort, even if I don’t write consistently. But I’m working on that too!

2. creating my own home

When I moved back to the city, I was determined to actually put down roots—I’d lived in five different apartments and five different neighborhoods in four years, and so I wanted to actually make it a home. And since then, I’ve settled in my favorite neighborhood yet, really committed to decorating, and invested in this apartment as a space I’ll occupy for a very long time. I really underestimated how much moving around destabilizes you; I’ve actually moved every year since 2012 because I lived in four different apartments in college, then moved to Singapore (where I also moved around a lot), and then to New York. It feels really nice to be in one place, to feel like it’s truly yours and it’s not just an empty space you’re inhabiting for a short while. I never decorated my walls in my college apartments because I knew I was only there for nine months, and being surrounded by objects, artwork, and furniture that I really love and personally chose makes me very happy. I’m also very proud that I’ve built everything in my apartment, and with the exception of my TV, have installed everything myself. It really feels like my space, and I love that it’s truly a testament to what I’m capable of on my own.

3. keeping my plants alive

I’m very serious about this, because I’ve always believed that I’ve had a black thumb (I couldn’t even keep succulents alive), but this is the most success I’ve ever had with plants! I’ve got big, south-facing windows and I’m very proud of my little plant corner. I’d say 70% of them are thriving, my silver pothos and monstera in particular; the latter is out of control. I still have not fed them, though, after two years, and I’m concerned that they may reach dire straits soon, so if anyone has recommendations for good plant food, please let me know in the comments.

4. Putting myself out there

I take a lot of pride in cultivating very rich friendships with great people, but I’ve unexpectedly made a lot of new friends in the past couple of years too—through the various organizations I’m a part of, through social media, through random chance encounters. Making friends as an adult is hard, especially when you’re socially anxious and very self-conscious! But in a city like New York, everyone’s a bit lonely sometimes and most people are seeking some kind of connection (which is why I’ve always theorized that people feel a special sense of kinship with other New Yorkers and particularly New York™ moments), and you just have to take initiative and make the first move. Some of my favorite friendship meet-cutes have come from when I was uncharacteristically social and just struck up a conversation with people—I met my college roommate and good friend that way, and another I met at a random party my second year in the city.

5. Putting my work out in the world

This one was so difficult for me, because I’m extremely self-conscious about my work! I think all strategists have a bit of imposter syndrome (a consequence of being paid to think for a living) and I never really felt like I had the authority to speak about anything as I’m still very early in my career. But making my work public has had so many lovely results—people have been so kind and generous in their admiration, I’ve met some great people (shoutout to Anastasia and Gabriel, who I met through LinkedIn because we had a mutual professional respect and are now my good friends). It’s also validated a lot of my work, I think, because prior to finding strategy, I always felt a bit alien in my thinking; I didn’t really know anyone whose brain worked the same the way mine does. But seeing the work resonate with so many people makes me feel a lot less manic.

6. Doing things that scare me

On that note, I’ve done several speaking engagements about my work since I’ve made it public, which has been so flattering but honestly terrifying, every time. I have never loved public speaking (the absolute worst thing for someone who’s painfully self-aware and self-conscious), even when it’s just to friends, but I think being forced to do it, and also being able to talk about things I’m really passionate about, have helped me a bit. I’m still not totally comfortable with it, but I do enjoy it because of the response to it—I love the discourse it inspires and connecting with people who like thinking about the same things I do.

7. investing in my community

I’ve always given back to my strategy community via mentorship and resources, but I just recently celebrated my fifth year in New York City, so this year, I’ve made a concerted effort to be more involved. My neighborhood alliance hosts gardening and clean-up events, I occasionally volunteer at the local farmstand in my neighborhood, and I joined a volunteer organization for AAPI interests (we’re currently recruiting for our Steering Committee; I’ll be serving as Director of Marketing next year—come join my team!). It’s a lovely way of giving back to the various communities I’m a part of that have accepted me for five wonderful years. I’m always an advocate of being an active part of your community, especially in a place like New York where so many people are transplants. It’s sort of a mutualistic symbiotic relationship, which I think is the kind of relationship you should have with your community, because the alternative is...a parasitic one 😬.

8. Protecting myself and my community

Something I’ve noticed a lot—people who have moved here in the past couple of years don’t wear masks. Like, at all. Not only does this make me incredibly anxious personally, but I also do really think it shows who has respect for their community and who treats it as a temporary place to have fun. Those people weren’t here when the streets were dead and the trains were empty because we were all scared of the constant sirens, the refrigerated trucks in the street full of bodies. They don’t fully understand the horror of what we witnessed during the early days of the pandemic; they didn’t see just how devastating it was to so many small businesses and New York institutions, some of which still haven’t recovered. I’m still continually finding a balance between living my life and being cautious, but I am proud of myself for maintaining my resolve and not going to large, crowded indoor superspreader events, and wearing a mask all the time, even if no one else does. It’s made me feel a little bit like I’m losing my mind, to see everyone else just return to normal. But I’m doing it to protect the people I love, some of who are elderly or immunocompromised, and myself, because we’re still only beginning to understand the effects of long COVID (but we do know that the more times you’re reinfected, the greater health problems you will have down the line).

9. Knowing my worth

This is kind of related to protecting myself, because I think “not wanting to get sick” should be a good enough reason to be cautious about COVID. And I know most people don’t understand why I’m still masking indoors when no one else is, why I still refuse invitations to certain places. The tacit normalization of COVID makes me question myself all the time; it can feel like I’m overreacting or being dramatic about it. But I think of it the same way I think about doing anything for my health—eating well, sleeping well, exercising. It’s an investment in myself for the long term. And that’s the most compelling reason to keep doing those things.

I’ve also determined (through trial and error) what I need as a person, and the way I deserve to be treated in my relationships. I think too often we tend to accept less than what we need when it’s offered by good people because they are good people, even if it’s not enough for us. And that’s been a hard lesson, too: that people can do their best and it’s simply...not good enough, however well-meaning.

10. Setting (and keeping) boundaries

My 20s have taught me a lot, but one thing I learn more consistently as I get older is that people are not entitled to your time, your respect, or your relationship with them. These are things that have to be earned. Prioritizing yourself is seen as “selfish,” but it’s necessary in any healthy relationship, and anyone who really loves you will respect your boundaries! The only people who will object to your boundaries are the people who benefit from exploiting them.

11. working on creating a life that works for me

This wasn’t an overnight change but a gradual realization that I don’t want a conventional life. And I’m proud of myself for doing the hard work and really evaluating what I do want, and being able to disentangle that from societal pressure. It’s an ongoing journey and it’s often a lonely one, but my goal is to cultivate a circle of people I love to bring along while I figure it out. It’s definitely not easy, especially because I don’t know many people that want the same things as I do. But this lovely Tumblr post is the perfect example of the kind of community I’d like to build around me:

i want to be asked to come over and help put my friend’s kids to bed as casually as they might text their spouse and ask them to pick up milk on the way home

i want to stop and pick up milk for another friend because i know their spouse hates the grocery store

i want to buy fruit that i don’t like because it’s on special and i know people who do

i want to pass lemons over the fence and to take my neighbour’s bins out when they forget

i want group chats instead of rideshare apps, calls in the middle of the night because someone’s at the hospital, lonely or hungry or both

i want to do the dishes in other people’s houses, extra servings wrapped in tinfoil and tea towels so it’s still warm when you drop it off, a basket of other people’s mending by my couch

i want to be surrounded by reminders that ‘imposing’ on each other is what we were born to do

It’s choosing mutual aid over self-care, choosing communal wealth over individual wealth, choosing human connection over transaction or obligation. That’s the kind of community I want, the kind I think is key to real, sustainable happiness. We live in a culture that stigmatizes asking for help, that glorifies independence and self-reliance to a point of exploitation and moral shame. Venmo is a wonderfully convenient service but it makes me uncomfortable owing people money and having them owe me. I have never owed my best friends anything, nor have they owed me. We always know that it will be made up at some point. I will always do the dishes at my friends’ apartments, but I still feel weird letting people do the dishes at my apartment. I’m trying to feel less weird about it, to change the parameters of expectation and create that circle of people who I feel comfortable “imposing” on.

I recently realized, after two of my friends had an impromptu sleepover at my apartment and my both of my sisters recently came to visit, that I really enjoy taking care of people. I aspire to be a constant, reliable presence in other people’s lives.

12. Learning to be lonely

I’ve always enjoyed my own company; in fact, I used to believe loneliness was a weakness because it meant being dependent on other people. I treasure alone time—the lack of performance, the allowance of slowness, the introspection of it. I often return to this wonderfully bittersweet piece about the fierce triumph of loneliness by Helena Fitzgerald.

Loneliness and solitude are privileges of thoughtless and full-throated adulthood traditionally handed to men and kept from women. They are the strange and rich pleasures of the world beyond the social, beyond the structures of home and family. Choosing the domestic actively, out of love, is a sacrifice worth making, whether this is to make a family involving children or simply with a partner, but it is still a sacrifice.

It’s important to admit that we need other people—human beings were not meant to live in isolation!—but it’s equally important to be able to enjoy and luxuriate in solitude. Really loving and accepting loneliness helps you cultivate better relationships with the people around you; it positions time spent with them as a conscious choice you’re making rather than one out of fear of being alone.

13. Saving myself

2020 was awful for everyone but it was particularly terrible for me personally—by far the worst year of my life thanks to some spectacularly awful circumstances. I had to pull myself out of it, because no matter how many people I had supporting me, there wasn’t anything they could do to really fix it or make me feel better. There wasn’t even really anything I could do to fix it or make myself feel better. I just had to let myself feel, and accept that life sucked, and let the wounds close on their own. It took a lot of therapy, a lot of self-reflection, a lot of tears, a lot of really bad days. And the tenderness and pain is still there; I’ve just accepted it as a part of myself.

There’s a scene in the TV show Jane the Virgin after—spoilers!—Jane’s husband Michael dies of a freak accident, when her abuela comes into her room; the curtains are drawn, and Jane is lying in bed with tear-stained cheeks and a dead-eyed expression of emotional exhaustion. “Your life will be beautiful again,” her abuela reassures her, and Jane collapses into tears, because hope feels so incredibly far away at that point; it feels as though the world is ending. But it doesn’t, and then we flash forward to three years later, when Jane is preparing to go to a wedding and her son is four years old.

I know there’s usually a lesson from times of distress, like “It gets better” or “This will be a growth opportunity.” And those things are true, but not very comforting. I don’t have any particular advice for people going through the same thing. It’s just really miserable sometimes, honestly. But whatever meaning you create from it—whether it’s everything or nothing—is yours forever, and there’s something very powerful about that.

14. Learning to forgive

I’m still working on this one, but I’m proud of the progress I’ve made so far. I’ve held impressively long grudges in my life. I’m driven by a strong sense of morality and justice, and so forgiving people—especially awful, selfish people—does not come easily to me, because it’s inherently unfair. And because they’re awful and selfish, they don’t think about the unfairness of it all incessantly the way that I do; they can simply move on when they’ve hurt people. But at a certain point it’s not healthy to hold onto the anger anymore. There’s that quote, “Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” And so I’m learning to forgive not because people deserve it, but because I deserve that peace of mind.

15. Accepting help

I am a hyper-independent person, and I’ve learned that that’s not actually a good thing—it’s a response to anticipating that people are going to let you down, and always taking care of yourself because you feel like you can’t trust other people to take care of you. Perspective helps. The benefits of allowing people into your life far outweigh the need for absolute perfection.

16. Treating myself

I used to believe that all nice things had to be earned—my family ingrained in me that nothing was free, and while they never spared any expense when it came to experiences, material goods were seen as a waste of money, and so I always felt guilty buying myself anything that was more expensive that it needed to be, because I didn’t “deserve” it. The pandemic has changed that it so many ways. According to The New York Times, “people are coping with big existential problems by making time for simple joys” (or “treat brain,” a comfort-seeking mechanism), this can mean anything from getting boba on an unremarkable Tuesday night to going to a musical alone to buying a luxury purse (much more on this later) to just giving myself grace to not do things I don’t feel like doing. As an adult, I’m trying to allow myself small luxuries that make me happy (i.e. I now live and die by this tweet), which is such a simple concept but radical when you were raised to believe that pleasure was a reward. But life is short. Big joy is wild, vivacious, fulfilling, but small joys are quiet little reminders of the life-altering value of shifting from a scarcity mindset to an abundance mindset.

17. Consistently showing up for therapy

Next year will mark my third year of therapy, and it’s one of the things that has made a significant difference in my life. I wish I’d started it much sooner, and from an almost-30-year-old: If you can afford therapy, you should absolutely go, and if you don’t think you need therapy, you probably do. But you can’t just show up and expect it to work. You get out of it exactly what you put into it; it’s a commitment to emotional intelligence and doing a lot of work to understand both yourself and the way you navigate the world around you. I’m proud of the fact that I’ve shown up every week for three years and fully surrendered to the process. And in exchange, I’ve found it invaluable. I genuinely enjoy therapy—as someone with an overactive brain, therapy feels like a spa treatment for my mind, and I feel refreshed after every session.

18. Redefining my own life

Much of therapy is learning to reframe—questioning your most deeply-held beliefs, challenging your personal biases, and interrogating your own reasons for doing things. All of which makes for a deeply uncomfortable process. But it’s also so rewarding. Reframing has helped me understand so much of myself, and it has made me question all of my many complexes.

Some reframings I’ve recently adopted in the past couple of years:

• Scarcity mindset → abundance mindset

• Ambition → anti-work

• Beauty and self-care as empowerment → beauty and self-care as tools of the patriarchy and white supremacy

• “Aging gracefully” → aging is a privilege

• Having to earn your worth as a woman → having inherent value as a person

These are all huge, fundamental changes to the way I’ve constructed my identity over my lifetime, and dismantling them was (is) incredibly challenging; it’s a long, arduous, emotionally and intellectually exhausting process. But I think once you understand the systemic roots of everything, you realize how much of your life is unnecessarily oriented around them. And freedom from these preconceptions can be leveraged into collective liberation, which is one of my ultimate goals. I developed a two-part mantra this year, which was necessary because I felt conflicted about enjoying life during a pandemic: I will not suffer in solidarity but I will do everything in my power to make life better for others. It’s the only mantra I’ve ever had that has felt true to the things I want to accomplish in my lifetime. But it requires a lot of independent thinking and decision-making, which is not easy.

19. Using comparison appropriately

I think we know, rationally, that comparison to others is useless, but it’s human nature, and it’s also ingrained in the culture in which we live. And it’s not necessarily a bad thing—we should to an extent always be thinking about what other people are doing, because we coexist with them, and the pandemic has exemplified the problem with rugged individualism. In fact, social science shows that our sense of morality is heavily influenced by social cues, and that we tend to make judgments based on what we think specific people in our lives (called “social referrents,” or people we perceive to be influential) believe, which means that our fundamental beliefs are much more malleable than we would like to think. But there’s also a fine line between using people as social referrents and living your life according to what others think. Social media obviously exacerbates the latter. And that’s why even the trend of “vulnerability” and “authenticity” on social media is, frankly, ridiculous. Because it’s always a performance, no matter how heartfelt it is. You’re always aware of how you’re being perceived, and that shapes your behavior. So I think the best thing you can do is to consume mindfully, which in itself has become a bit of a buzzword. But what it really means is questioning everything, interrogating every feeling, understanding your reactions. It’s tempting to feel rushed or like you “should” be doing something because everyone else is, but ultimately, it’s your life, and you have to live it in a way that makes sense for you. And one of the most important lessons I’ve learned thus far is that you are under no obligation to explain it to anyone.

20. Dealing with imposter syndrome

On that note, this is probably the one I’ve historically struggled with the most and the one that still gives me the most anxiety, because I often feel like I’m masquerading as an adult, as a strategist, etc. I never feel like I intuitively know what I’m doing. And the knowledge that no one else really knows what they’re doing either should be comforting, but it only makes me more anxious. Imposter syndrome is a reflection of nothing else but your own insecurities, and therefore there isn’t really one approach that will assuage it. One friend of mine told me that she doesn’t believe imposter syndrome because she has succeeded despite all of the obstacles in her life; she has no choice to believe that she has made it only on her own merit. And I’ve seen someone else on TikTok flip imposter syndrome on its head—Aren’t I so great that I’ve managed to convince you that I’m better than I actually am? Neither of these approaches really resonates with me. If I’m being honest, knowing myself, I think I will always feel imposter syndrome. I think my way out of it will be finding a way to simply be okay with it. But it is tricky because as personal as imposter syndrome is, a lot of it does come from validation. When I don’t feel like I know what I’m doing as an adult, it pleases me when people come over and compliment my hospitality or my apartment decor. When I don’t feel like I know what I’m doing as a strategist, it helps when people are impressed by my work. It’s always a calculation of what to believe and what to dismiss. So I’m proud of myself for managing imposter syndrome. Not eradicating it completely, but maybe managing is as good as I can hope for.

21. Letting go of perfectionism

I have always been a perfectionist. I tend to only play games that I can win, which makes me ruthlessly competitive and needlessly harsh on myself. So recently I’ve tried something radical—not being good at my hobbies (even though I desperately want to be good at my hobbies). In the past couple of years, I’ve picked up both ice skating and hand-lettering. I’m not particularly good at either. And sometimes I have to question why I want to be good at them, rather than just enjoying them for what they are. But a lot of it can be attributed to hustle culture, especially as it’s rebranded as “productivity” culture (see: aesthetically pleasing “5 to 9” routines before your 9-to-5 job). Leisure for leisure’s sake is highly underrated, and I’ve made an effort to be more accepting of rest as a form of nourishment e.g. The Nap Ministry and Lord of Leisure. I think part of this is letting yourself be mediocre at your hobbies and to just enjoy them.

Even writing this blog post was a challenge, because “things I’m proud of” makes it sound like things that I’ve achieved, but truthfully, most of them are still in progress. I feel like I’ll never be fully baked. And perhaps that’s a good thing. I’d hate to be so arrogant that I feel like I have nothing left to learn. But of course I think that leaves perpetual dissatisfaction. If anything, accepting imperfections can lessen social anxiety; whenever I realize that likely no one else holds me to my impossibly high standards, I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders. I think that’s a big part of it—understanding that people do not think of you nearly as much as you think they do.

22. Being gentle with myself (and others)

Re: perfectionism, I’m guilty of being an exceptionally judgmental person, mostly because I hold everyone else to the same high standard to which I hold myself, and assume that everyone else has those standards too. But I’ve learned that it’s mostly unhelpful, and has led to a lot of unnecessary harshness and resentment. Someone actually observed once that, “You’re so hard on yourself,” after I was upset at a stupid mistake I’d made, and that really struck me because it wasn’t a judgment but an observation, but they were very surprised by it, considering the way I treat other people when they make mistakes. My therapist once asked me if I would talk to my friends the way I talk to myself, and my immediate response was, “No, never.” Healing your inner child, trying to rewrite your own patterns of behavior and give yourself grace is a strange and uncomfortable process, but I’m learning. It also reminds me of something my uncle once said to me, about stress-induced fight-or-flight reaction to negativity, and how it can be detrimental over the long term. Usually, it’s not worth dying over. It’s better to simply let it go and move on.

23. Leading with kindness

By that same token, I’ve learned that there’s a difference between being nice and being kind, and while I do not care about the former, I try to live my life in service of the latter. Social niceties are usually dictated by the patriarchy and white supremacy—decorum and etiquette were created as a way of separating the upper from the lower class, and reminding people of their rightful “place.” And there’s nothing wrong with niceness, of course, but if it comes at the expense of kindness, it’s usually a tool to marginalize other people, and that can be more damaging than helpful. And so I’ve made an effort to be really kind, to hold opinions rooted in empathy and compassion, regardless of how uncomfortable that can be at odds with social niceties. But it’s given me a real purpose and a way of living that I can feel proud of, even if it alienates some people.

24. Finding balance

I am a person who lives in extremes. As Ron Swanson says, “Never half-ass two things; whole-ass one thing.” And I’m an all-or-nothing person. But lately I’ve tried to develop small rituals. Not routines; I have never been a routine-oriented person and I doubt I ever will be, because I am not a machine. But small little response mechanisms that I can use. Instead of feeling shame that I haven’t been doing the things that make me feel good but I hate doing—eating well, sleeping well, exercising—I’ve been trying to find ways of making small changes, e.g. taking just two minutes to stretch in the morning and get blood flowing instead of committing to a whole workout routine. It’s kind of why I don’t believe in resolutions (other than the fact that they’re scientifically unsound). I think of them as tiny recalibrations toward better living, which feels much more manageable.

25. my resourcefulness

If nothing else, my resourcefulness has always been one of my best qualities. It’s why I used to want to be an engineer or a mad scientist when I was younger, until I found out there was a lot of math involved—I liked the prospect of creative problem-solving (fast-forward to my actual job today, which is still creative problem-solving but in a much lower-stakes capacity with zero math involved). And I’ve always maintained that capability. While I’ve often doubted my intelligence, I have never doubted my adaptability or my cleverness. I’m highly confident in my ability to navigate challenges, and that’s what I think makes me an excellent traveler. I can always find a way out (of course, my immediate reference is to Costa Rica, which was an amazing trip despite many mishaps). My mom once told me, “I never worry about you [when you’re traveling] (this absolutely does not apply to the day-to-day), because I have no doubt that you’ll land on your feet.” And that’s one of the compliments I’ve always remembered and tried to live up to.

26. Staying sane these past couple of years

No explanation necessary.

27. Being an advocate for myself and others

It’s quite telling that, as an ardent feminist raised in a matriarchal household, I have still felt the pressure to shrink myself, to demur when praised, to keep my head down. I think a lot of undoing that has genuinely come from understanding intersecting systems of oppression. I’m naturally quite confrontational, but I also have a weird natural deference to authority. But I’ve realized that one of the reasons I always try to advocate for myself is that I’ve realized that if I don’t, no one else will. You have to demand that respect for yourself. And I think once you’ve earned it, you have a moral obligation to use your influence to cultivate that same respect for others. This is where I don’t agree with girlbossing—it’s always about personal gain, about accessing spaces that were previously inaccessible to you, but it says nothing about collective liberation and overall equality. I am never trying to raise my personal standing professionally, financially, for my own personal gain, but rather so that I have the social and financial capital (i.e., power) to help other people.

28. Changing my mind

As a kid, I was frequently accused of being stubborn and immoveable, but I don’t think it was always true; I think that’s simply a story that I’ve let myself believe and shape my life. But as an adult, I’m very proud of how I’m able to accept new information and revise my opinions. I’m much less concerned with being personally right than having the “correct” opinion (although that is subjective itself). But it’s helped me rewrite the narrative of who I was and who I want to be, and it’s allowed for me to expand my parameters of though in ways I never imagined.

29. Acknowledging my growth!

I think in my early 20s I would have felt silly writing this post, because I would feel hesitant to say I’d “accomplished” anything that I didn’t feel was “finished.” But just looking back on how much my mindset has evolved just in the past couple of years has made me very proud of the work I’ve done and the perspective I’ve developed. Growth is not linear, and it’s been a wild time. But I’m here now. And I’ve surpassed all of the things that once felt insurmountable. Cheers to 29 years. In the least ominous way, the countdown to 30 begins now (this makes me think of this tweet, which always makes me laugh).

26. my favorite things

27. acts of kindness

28. stories to tell

21. things i’ve learned by 21

22. thoughts on 22

23. bits of gratitude in 23

24. moments from 24

25. goals for 25

Happening Meow