the ugly

sharing an unedited piece of writing

It’s the first time in a decade that I am truly living without any anxiety. I am supposed to be happy, yet I am lost.

I left my previous job, have enough money to not work for a year, have a good job offer, have an awesome relationship, and did a bunch of self work to stop needing social validation. Life is good. I had an awesome week where I played, went down rabbit-holes, got excited about random things, and received lots of love from old and new friends.

Then I got stuck. The stressors are gone, but so did the desires. I wake up each morning thinking through the log of things I could do, and often the activation energy of doing the thing is higher than my actual motivation of doing it. After failed prep talks, I end up cuddling with my pillows on the long section of the couch watching the kids swarm out of the classrooms in the middle school across the street as the bells ring. What is happening?

In some ways, this makes sense. After years of following “the voices” and tried to be good, diligent, strategic, ambitious, I am tired. I knew it would be hard to get rid of the voices so that I can hear my own, but I didn’t expect it to be radio silence inside. I thought I was genuinely curious, enjoyed travel, wanted to do theater, learn to dance … I thought there were more things exciting to me than what I have time for. Now I have the time and resources, I couldn’t get myself to do any of it.

San Francisco and the internet is full of unsolicited advices, and I naively opened my arms to all of them. Some says I should sit in this feeling for a little longer. Others say sitting and thinking gets you nowhere. Some says don’t force yourself to do anything you don’t want to do. Others say magic doesn’t happen on its own, and slogging is the preface of new revelations. Some says I should just take the job. Others say it’s not a good idea if you don’t feel energized by it. I had hoped that someone’s some sentence would chase away all the clouds. But elegant prose or hot takes alike failed to get me unstuck.

I resent the fact that even under the perfect conditions, my life can still feel miserable. I also resent the fact that I could possibly have such a negative outlook on life. There’s always more questions than answers, more bewilderedness than determination. The search for conviction never stops. One can never quite “make it.” Is that both what keeps life interesting and what makes it hard?

I am trying this new thing of publishing unedited pieces. A friend says that I seem to think by writing, and the traces of my thoughts could be interesting to people. I thought and still partially think I can only feel proud of a piece if I can offer some inspiring narrative, some wise insight, or some convincing answers. That’s what made me stop writing. I vaguely remember reading about allowing oneself to be ugly opens the door for good work. I have an entire Notion database full of angsty, happy, depressed, and hopeful words - it might be time for some of these raw pieces to see the world. After all, this is a journey to love the ugly parts of me too.