Category Archives: Greatness

Brokenness, Changing, Discovery, Greatness, Mental Health, Reflections

Line of Delineation

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I would like to start this post with a disclaimer. If you get to the end of this and feel that it’s incomplete, that’s because it is. I don’t quite know how to describe it, but I know a post is done when it’s done. There’s no set word count or guideline that I follow. But in everything that I post, I stop writing when I feel a sense of completeness. I guess the perfectionist in me has an inherent feeling for when that is. I may meander in my posts, but they generally come full circle, connecting the beginning with the end. 

However, that won’t be the case here. What started out as a single premise has quickly ballooned into something that will not fit in one post. The more I write, the more I understand that sometimes your writing has a mind of its own. This monster here is no different. This post will be the first part of three or four. I’m not quite sure yet how many times I will split this. I’ve been trying to lower my word count (not trying very hard evidently), but it hasn’t really been working. But since I am preemptively splitting it, hopefully I won’t make your eyes bleed too much. That being said, let’s begin.

I’ve always been different. Always thought differently, always acted differently. As a kid it came to me naturally. Simply put, I just wasn’t wired the same. I zigged when others zagged. In my teenage years it became somewhat intentional and exaggerated. I wanted to be known. I wanted to be unique. I wanted to be remembered. One of my biggest fears was being forgotten. So I did whatever I could to stand out. I wanted so much to make a name for myself. But I didn’t need to try so hard. I didn’t need to stress as much as I did. When you do great things, your actions speak for themselves. It’s not necessary to embarrass yourself for the sake of name recognition. Not all press is good press despite what they say. Fame and popularity are not even things that you can catalyze or manifest (frankly they’re overrated anyway). They don’t come as a result of your actions or your behavior. They are rather, people’s reactions to things you have done or created. Excel at what you do and be confident in who you are, and all things will fall in place. 

Trying too hard is honestly an easy mistake to make. As we grow up we slowly discover who we are. We find what we’re capable of, we learn about ourselves, and we discover what motivates us. But oftentimes in doing so, we don’t remain true to ourselves. We try to be someone that we’re not. We attempt to live lives that aren’t the ones that are meant for us. We don’t make the best use of our gifts, and we try to pursue paths that we aren’t optimized for. It comes with the territory. Growing up and finding who you are also includes discovering who you are not. Finding who you are involves trial and error. We don’t start pursuing greatness from Day 1. We’re not capable of it. That’s why we go to school for 13+ years. Our rudimentary tools need to be developed and honed. They tell us from the start to dream big. The motivational posters and banners hanging up in classrooms may be corny, but they generally hold some semblance of real truth. Dream big. Always. But make sure that it’s your dream that you’re pursuing and not someone else’s. Life is more satisfying that way. 

I can attest to that. We can all agree on that can’t we? If you’ve been reading along with me, you know by now that I like to distinguish between pre-therapy Justin and post-therapy Justin. What can I say? It was a definite turning point in my life. We are ever-changing, so each year we show a different version of ourselves to the world. But I like to break up my life so far into three phases. No it’s not childhood, pre-teen/adolescence, and adulthood. That seems like a reasonable line of delineation, but it doesn’t quite work for me. The main crossroads in my life didn’t line up that way. For me it’s childhood, pre-therapy (disheartened youth), and post-therapy (mended human). We all know that I am quite open about my struggles with mental health. After all, that’s been my thing ever since I started posting more regularly on this blog. It’s been the drum that I’ve been beating and will continue to beat. I do not hesitate to talk about it. It may be taboo for others but it’s not for me. It’s a necessary discussion and relevant to us all. 

I don’t find myself meeting new people that often—I don’t go out much after all. And although I don’t generally take initiative in starting conversations, I am open to conversing with people I don’t know. I don’t have a problem talking. I can carry a conversation just fine; I’m just not much of a conversation starter. When I do find myself partaking, the conversation generally flows in much the same direction. They ask me what I do for work—no surprise there. I rehash recent history: this is what I used to do, but I quit in January, and now I spend my time writing. The conversation usually continues in much the same way. I don’t go out of my way to talk about myself (I’m not that conceited), but if someone is asking me questions about myself, you’d best believe I’ll answer them all as thoroughly as possible. That being said, I routinely find myself being asked something along the lines of, “what spurred you to quit your job and start writing?” I’m glad you asked! The short answer is that I went through dark times, I sought out help, and I worked on my mental health. We’ll get to the long answer later on.

Mental health might seem like a heavy subject to discuss during a first-time conversation, and I have to admit that I agree with you! But if we sidestep the discussion in order to stay within our comfort zone, won’t it become easier to just sidestep it every time? If we don’t talk about it when it comes up naturally, then when will we ever talk about it? There won’t be a better time!

Willfully ignoring a prime opportunity like that wouldn’t sit right with me. Are we ready to jilt ourselves out of a genuine conversation with life-changing potential? I don’t know about you, but that’s not a risk that I’m willing to take. I don’t want that blood on my hands. There’s already enough artificiality in this world as is, we don’t need to doctor our conversations. Of course there are some things that should be kept to yourself when meeting new acquaintances, but in my opinion this is not one of them. If profound subject matter makes you uncomfortable, then great! It means that it’s working. It made you think. It was thought-provoking. I’d rather have that than go through the motions with small-talk. Get to know people truly. You’ll be better for it.

As much as we like to think that we’re empathetic and observant, we simply do not know everything that others are going through. That’s part of being human. And although we regularly engage in nuanced communication such as body language, tone of voice, and facial expression/non-verbal cues, nothing beats communicating through conversing. We can only imply so much, we can only hint at so much. Some people are better at reading non-verbal language than others. Some people are utterly clueless. That’s just how it is. The best way to understand another person has been and always will be talking to them. Listening to them. Discussing consequential subject matter. Having a back and forth. The preeminent method of characterizing how you’re feeling is verbalizing it. Bring your thoughts to life in the form of word or action. I know us males don’t like to talk about our feelings. It’s seen as weak, feminine, vulnerable. But if we don’t communicate, then how will we foster healthy relationships with other people? So let’s start a conversation. Let’s talk. Let’s facilitate a safe space. Let’s come to an understanding. Let’s discover what it means to be mentally healthy. I can and will talk to anybody and everybody about mental health. I think it’s that important. It bears thinking about. Think deeply and profoundly. Reflect on your life. Be proactive in addressing your issues. Discover who you are through active contemplation.

A fruitful life calls for introspection, so be sure to make time for it. If you don’t understand yourself how can you expect others to understand you? Be one with yourself. Ensure that your mind, body, and soul are in sync. You need to discover who you are. It’s imperative. As I said, discovering who you are includes discovering who you are not. This encompasses but is not limited to the following: finding your strengths and weaknesses; discovering your interests, passions, likes/dislikes; figuring out how you think; making honest assessments about your good or bad habits; recognizing areas that need improvement. 

Of course, each person’s mind works differently, so I can only speak to what goes on in mine. That being said, for a long time, I had been conditioned towards passivity. It was in my nature. As you know, I was an extremely shy kid, which resulted in lack of confidence and eventual anxiety. I never really told anyone what I liked or what I wanted for fear of reprisal or rejection. I never really pursued what I wanted to pursue for fear of tipping the boat. From a young age, I was afraid to tell even my parents how I truly felt about certain things. I was afraid of liking things too much. Whether it was due to fear of it being taken away or being told that I couldn’t like it or have it, I don’t really know. I remember when I was 6 or 7 my mom had bought me a beautiful Philadelphia Eagles winter jacket. It was puffy, reversible, and oh so warm. I loved it. But I rarely wore it. I spent more time looking at it in my closet than I spent wearing it, but it was still my favorite thing that I owned up til that point. I never told my mom how I truly felt about it. I was too afraid. Of what you ask? I’m not even sure if I knew back then, I certainly don’t know now. Regardless, even as a young tyke, I just didn’t think I was allowed to have nice things. I don’t know where this misconception stemmed from, but it stuck with me far into my adult years. Sometimes it was overt, other times it remained suppressed.

Of course it became a hindrance for me as the years went by. It played a huge impact on my life, but at the time I was incapable of identifying it let alone quantifying its effect. I never would’ve known it. Reflection and introspection weren’t really a part of my vocabulary back then. I’ll admit, I was delusional in some things, and misguided in others. I just didn’t know myself all that well. My self-awareness was nearly non-existent. Which came in conflict with my self-image in an odd sort of way. I worried so much about my self-image when I was younger, but I likely did more harm to it than good. I certainly didn’t help it with some of my outlandish behavior as a teenager. In trying so hard to stand out, to be unique, to be memorable, I only brought attention to the less than desirable aspects of my persona. But I didn’t know that. I did what I wanted to do, I said what I wanted to say in the moment, without a second thought. I didn’t care about others. I didn’t even care about myself. But even so, I was still too self-absorbed. Focusing on what I was doing at the moment rather than looking ahead to my future; or looking within at who I was; or improving my image and reputation to who I wanted to be. 

So where would I be without introspection? Where would I be without therapy? That’s where we see the three phases of my life come into play. I had a fairly decent childhood. Like most, I had good times and I had bad. I went on playdates with friends, I hung out with kids at recess, I talked to kids at church. I was just a regular kid for all intents and purposes. But even so, I still spent a lot of my time alone. Being the only boy and the middle child will do that. I don’t know if I would call it a double triple life, but there were three versions of myself that I showed the world. There was who I was when I was at church, there was who I was with friends at school, and there was who I was when addressing adults and authority figures. There was also who I was at home, which was also somewhat different.

I was most comfortable at church. I was a goody-two-shoes. I always tried my best in Sunday School and during the youth programs. I read the Bible regularly and I was a pretty consistent participant. Oddly enough, the adults that helped out with these programs didn’t scare me all that much. If there were ever a shell-less version of me in elementary school this was it. But at the same time, this version of me may not have been the real me. Like many other church kids, I put up a facade. I was a holier than thou type so my church image was sacrosanct. It was cleaned up and immaculate. I cared a whole lot about my reputation before the word even became part of my vocabulary. Of course there were certain kids that I did “rebel stuff” with, like swearing or gossiping, but who hasn’t done that? I did that stuff in secret, only my compatriots knew about it. I didn’t do it in a way that allowed for the general public to see. I had always selfishly seen myself as the kid that parents brought up as an example to follow.

Who I was at school with classmates was quite similar but without the religious overtones. This was another relatively opened up version of me. I didn’t really try to hide who I was. I didn’t talk about my faith at school because I didn’t know how and because it never came up, so that aspect of my life remained separate. Due to the lack of a facade, this was likely the most genuine version of me. I didn’t try to clean up my image. I was who I was, and I had no issues with it. That is until 4th grade. That year I had started needing glasses. At the time, wearing glasses in public felt like a death sentence to me. I was embarrassed and scared. I decided I would rather squint and have trouble reading than wear them. Of course, that only made my vision worse, but the thought had never crossed my mind. I didn’t know it at the time, but that year was the start of a major downturn in my life. That was the first critical event that caused my self-confidence to steadily wane. And in my pre-therapy years it never fully recovered.

The face I showed adults and authority figures like teachers, store workers, or restaurant staff was completely closed and guarded. I was afraid. I couldn’t talk to them and I wouldn’t. I couldn’t even look them in the eye. I didn’t participate in school. I didn’t raise my hand. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t ask for help. At times it felt like it was physically impossible. There was too much pressure. I did my best to follow along with the lessons, but I was too shy to speak up. Talking to someone who was more than a few years older than me was too daunting a task. I couldn’t even order a cheeseburger at McDonald’s. It gave me too much anxiety. Getting up even the slightest sliver of courage to say a simple sentence was too demanding. My pint-sized brain couldn’t handle it. I didn’t like being this way, but I couldn’t exactly help it. Certain triggers shut off my communication skills. Unfortunately, over time it just got worse. Being a recluse went from being my alternate mode to my default mode.

As my confidence ebbed, I found it easier and easier to clam up. To build up walls. Puberty pushed me in that direction. Throughout my elementary school years there were a number of traumatic experiences that stuck with me and replayed in my head over and over. I won’t rehash all of them here. There are way too many for me to describe in detail (not all at once anyway). I never could get over them. Not for the next 10-15 years. I struggled immensely with letting things go. There were two monumental events in 6th grade that catalyzed the direction that my life was headed. Although not the most damaging experiences ever, they were the precursor to something dark. The first incident was maybe not a huge deal when it came down to it, but in the moment it was devastating. 

I don’t remember when exactly it had happened, it may have been in the spring. I had gotten a 75 on one of my math tests (the first of many sadly), mostly due to careless mistakes. And of course I freaked out. That had never happened to me before. I was a good student, a kid who had always thought that he was on the right track. Who took school somewhat seriously and enjoyed it. This result was the first time in my life I had started to doubt my abilities. Before this exam I had total faith in myself. I had never before felt any insecurity about my academic capability. Unfortunately this was only the start of a troubling trend. 

In 5th grade we had transferred schools within the district. From 2nd grade to midway through 5th I had attended what my siblings and I refer to as a “hippie” school. We called our teachers by their first names, our assignments weren’t graded (I’m not sure if they were even pass/fail), and we took sloyd instead of art class. Instead of learning drawing, painting, and sculpture we basically had a woodworking class. I remember making a rainstick, a güiro, and a mbira amongst other things. My parents hated it. They didn’t think that alternative education would prepare us well for junior high let alone high school. But we were new to the town, and the wait list for the “better” (read that as more traditional) schools was long. Victoria and I had been put on the wait list as soon as we had arrived in town. As you can see, it had taken three and a half years to get off of the wait list. 

Back then, there weren’t as many east Asians in our town. They didn’t start moving in en masse until I had gotten to 8th or 9th grade. All of my friends at my first school were white. At my second school, I was one of four Asians in my class, which unsurprisingly changed my school dynamic. My priorities shifted, as did my identity. This was when I first started coming to grips with my Asian-American heritage. Sure, the majority of people at my church were Asian, but that was different. I didn’t see those kids everyday, I only saw them on Fridays and Sundays. So for me to finally have classmates that looked like me, that was life-changing. But regrettably it was beneficial for me in some ways, but detrimental in many others. 

I became more focused on doing things that fit into Asian stereotypes. As a preteen I thought that it was the proper way to show pride in my culture. I didn’t know how to identify as Asian-American without being a cliche. Of course some traditions were rooted in my cultural upbringing—it’s hard for the offspring of immigrants to be completely whitewashed unless it was done so intentionally. It does happens, but it didn’t happen to me. My parents had tried their best to instill Chinese culture into our upbringing. We went to Chinese school, we took piano lessons, they preferred to speak to us in Cantonese and Mandarin, and we had homework to do outside of school (both Kumon and extracurricular workbooks from Costco). The things that they say about “tiger parenting” are true for the most part. All traditional Chinese parents use this technique to some extent. It’s just a matter of how much emphasis and how strict. That being said, I rejected this approach somewhat. It just didn’t work on me all that effectively. In any event, I grew up rather whitewashed—if I were to put a percentage on it I would put it at 70-75%. So it wasn’t for lack of effort on my parents’ part. That falls on me, not them.

In Cantonese they have a term for it: jook sing. It refers to a Chinese person who was born in a Western environment who identifies more with Western culture than they do Chinese culture. It is a somewhat derogatory term that our parents’ generation uses to refer to us. The opposite of this would be FOB (fresh off the boat). Ideally we want to be somewhere in the middle. Acknowledging your heritage from both angles. But while it may be easy to bond over things such as the cuisine, filial piety, and academic excellence, it doesn’t quite hold the same meaning if you’re unfamiliar with the language. And unfortunately Chinese is a difficult language to learn. It’s not intuitive. There are thousands of characters, and five or six different intonations. It doesn’t have a traditional alphabet. It’s easy to fall behind in class. Especially if you’re a Cantonese kid trying to learn Mandarin for the first time. I dreaded Chinese School. I had never really been interested in it to begin with, because I had been forced into it. But it was also easy to get discouraged by its difficulty.

Unlike English there are multiple aspects of the language that you need to learn. It’s possible to excel at one aspect but be mediocre in another. In English we have verbal and written forms. If you know how to speak English then you’ll have no problem understanding it and vice versa. If you know how to read it, then you’ll also have a basic understanding of writing it at a minimum. In Chinese it’s not the same thing. All four things are separate. Generally when speaking to your elders they’ll ask you if you know Chinese. And depending on what you know, you’ll tell them you can read, write, speak, and/or understand Chinese. I will usually say that I can understand a bit, but I can’t speak it. My vocabulary is poor and my accent is off. Due to the nature of the language, it’s imperative to be able to nail down the correct intonation, otherwise you risk saying the wrong thing and/or embarrassing yourself. My grasp of the written form is even more atrocious. The characters are hard to remember, and even if you do recognize a character it doesn’t mean you know what sound it makes. Not unless the pinyin or jyutpin is written above the character. Pinyin and jyutpin are romanizations of the sounds that each character makes. But just because you know what the character sounds like doesn’t mean that you know what it means necessarily. Are you thoroughly lost yet? So am I! So do you see why I had so little interest in learning Chinese? It was difficult, so I rejected it. And instead, embraced what I knew. I knew how to act white. It was easy for me because all of my friends were white. Up until 6th grade, I hadn’t necessarily adhered to traditional Chinese principles. But then things changed, simply because I had made some Asian friends.

I suppressed who I was on a personal level in exchange for emphasizing who I was on a socioeconomic level. Which in theory may sound great. Especially for Asian-Americans. As a culture we don’t like to rock the boat. We’d rather conform than show individuality. It’s safer that way. If you don’t draw attention to yourself there’s less of a chance for disappointment or failure. And boy, let me tell you, failure is the last word that Asian immigrant parents want to hear or say. If you fail, you bring dishonor to your people, to your family, and to yourself. I didn’t necessarily feel that much pressure from my parents. They were much less strict than many others. You know the mom from Turning Red? That wasn’t my parents, but I knew parents that were like that. It has a transcendent effect on their kids, and in turn on us—their classmates. I certainly felt a whole lot of pressure from church aunties, my parent’s friends, and most of all my peers. It’s draining. Mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. 

Greatness, Mental Health, Questions, Reflections, Small Talk

As Kids

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Adults are all basic to some extent. Have you noticed that they ask young kids all the same questions? What’s your name? How old are you? How’s school? What do you want to be when you grow up? What’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite animal? The first three are easy peasy. They don’t require much thought at all. The others are a little bit trickier. At least they were for me. They required more contemplation than I was capable of providing at the time. I usually ended up saying the first thing that came to mind. Which was likely true in the moment but wasn’t true as a generalization.

If I was already extremely shy when conversing with other children my age, you can only imagine what it was like for me talking to adults. I was even intimidated talking to my parents’ friends. Not all of them. Some of them I was rather comfortable with—the ones that they were closest to—but up until 5th or 6th grade I was scared out of my wits. I didn’t know why adults would choose to talk to me. I was secretly hoping that they wouldn’t. But my hopes were always in vain. You’d think I would’ve caught on though. You’d think I would’ve been prepared to answer the same questions over and over again. But kids really aren’t that observant. It doesn’t occur to you that the conversation is so predictable that it would behoove you to formulate a stock answer to give. But kids don’t think like this. Awkward, demure adults think like this.

As kids the explanation for the nervousness we feel is, “I’m shy, so in-depth conversation scares me.” We don’t know what social anxiety is. We don’t think to ourselves, “man I hate small talk,” or “stop asking me so many questions!” or “why am I so damn awkward?” If we’re too terrified to talk, then we stop talking. We don’t stand there trying to think of an unconvincing excuse to dip from the conversation. We’re not tactful (or antisocial, depending on how you see it) like that because we haven’t developed those tools yet. Instead, if we’re feeling particularly brave we try to come up with the quickest answer to the questions, hoping that the faster you give an answer the faster someone will leave you alone.

Unfortunately that’s not how it works either. Adults are always prepared to ask followup questions. The first questions that they ask may not always be the only questions that they ask. It may not seem that way, but adults aren’t intentionally trying to frighten kids. Curiosity gets the better of them same as you. They’re trying to make a young kid feel welcome. They’re trying to get to know someone early. It’s interesting to some—seeing a child evolve, seeing how they mature and how they handle the world. It makes some people feel accomplished, proud, or encouraged seeing where someone started and seeing where they end up. Even if they were not directly involved in that child’s development. Some people do it for selfish reasons. They do it for bragging rights, especially if said child becomes famous. They want to be able to say that they’ve known this individual since before they blew up. Others do it because they genuinely care about the child, and some do it because they care about the parents.

For me, I pick up random facts about people out of pure curiosity. I do ask people questions because I want to get to know them. But it isn’t entirely intentional. The thousand followup questions are a result of my mind needing to know the answers to certain questions. Sometimes it feels like a subconscious response; a need to find out the complete story. My mind works in a certain way, craving certain tidbits of information. Such as how many siblings someone has, the number of cousins, the birth order—just generally how people relate to one another. I’m not trying to pry or make people uncomfortable by asking so many questions. But I can’t really help it. I’ve always been a curious kid. I’ve always asked questions—they might not’ve been directed at teachers or adults, but I always at least asked them internally. My shyness prevented me from asking these questions out loud when I was younger, but inquisitive minds don’t really change. If you’re inquisitive when you’re young, you’ll most likely be equally as inquisitive when you’re an adult. 

That was definitely true for me. In college, given more stimuli than I had been used to, my brain developed even further. I was a business and sociology double major. At the time, it made sense for what I had wanted to do. Long story short, after shifting my focus slightly a few different times I eventually settled on market research. I was interested in numbers and people and demographic trends. Marketing and sociology fit hand in hand. Business/marketing was the front end stuff. The information that I needed to understand how market trends worked. Sociology was the backend stuff. The background that I needed in order to understand people. However, I never ended up pursing that career path for various reasons. Maybe I’ll get into that some other time. Either way, it’s not a choice that I regret. It wasn’t for me, simple as that. It wasn’t what I wanted. It was merely what I thought I wanted.

I won’t say that college was a complete waste of money, I did learn some valuable lessons after all. But I will say that it’s not the only avenue towards attaining financial success. It’s not the only way to make money—despite what they say. This is certainly not true of every high school in existence, but it was certainly true of mine. My high school promoted the misconception that college was the only path towards success. I get it. Higher education brings prestige. And in certain fields higher education is the best way to earn more money. But the key word is certain (read that as not all). 

My school was a blue ribbon school that was consistently ranked in the top 25 public schools in Massachusetts. As such, the pressure and expectation was excessively high. Too high in fact. It was certainly not a place that helped me to develop self-confidence in the slightest. I was not and am not a dumb kid. I scored an 1870 on my SATs. But that wasn’t good enough. In that school, in that environment, sometimes a 2100 wasn’t even good enough. That’s insane. My pretty good score landed somewhere in the 85th percentile in the country, but for whatever reason it was still lacking. That’s not a culture that I would want to raise a kid in. That’s too much pressure, and it’s unnecessary and uncalled for. The only way a student would be satisfied in that type of environment is if they became the best of the best. Striving for greatness is not the same thing as trying to be the best. Trying to be the best will always lead to disappointment. There will always be someone smarter than you, there will always be someone better than you, richer than you, what have you. From an early age we were taught the cutthroat nature of the rat race. It’s a cruel, crude world out there. Treachery abounds enough as is, do we really need to encourage teenagers to let their competitiveness spiral out of control in an un-constructive way? I know I’d rather not. True, pressure does create diamonds, but pressure also creates explosions.

Higher education should challenge young adults to try and become a better version of themselves. That’s without question. That’s what we should all be striving for. To be great, to be incredible. To always be improving, to always be looking for better. We’re not looking to be mediocre and to stay mediocre. Being stagnant is detrimental to growth. As such we must have motivation, we must have drive to become better than what we are. Outside pressure is good. It builds us up and makes us stronger. But too much can break us. It can cause promising young students to lose confidence or to lose focus. We want our kids to grow, to progress, to make a positive impact on those around them. But we don’t want to push them too hard. Too much outside pressure can create lofty expectations, expectations that even the brightest minds cannot reach. Balance is necessary. Don’t push too hard or you may see bright minds extinguish. You may see apathy and disinterest. You may see burn out. You may see nihilism. Do not push so hard that you inadvertently smother the light. Once the light is extinguished it is much harder for it to reignite.

So although I believe higher education to be overpriced, I am still grateful for my experiences there. Some young adults are capable of being on their own after high school. Others aren’t ready until after college. And still others may need even more time to develop after that. I certainly did. Sure I built up tools along the way, but who I was as an 18-year-old was different from who I was as a 22-year-old, as a 26-year-old, and as a 30-year-old. The 18-year-old version of me could not have survived on his own. The 22-year-old could at least wipe his own ass without assistance, but needed roommates to bolster his financial situation. The 26-year-old thought that he had his shit together, but was ultimately miserable with his life trajectory. It was likely clear to everyone else, but unbeknownst to me, I had a lifetime of trauma to unpack. I had a lifetime’s worth of healing that I needed to seek. Without healing there was no hope or optimism for me. You can’t go through life running away from adversity, acting like your trauma doesn’t exist, or acting like everything is okay. Eventually all of that shit catches up to you. And I assure you, trying to sift through decades of pent-up despair is a hell of a lot harder than dealing with it one thing at a time. 

So until I sought out therapy, after I had turned 26, there was no upwards trajectory for me. Either I regressed or I moved laterally. Moving side to side instead of onwards and upwards. That my friends is not progress, that is stagnation. Stagnation is the worst thing that can happen to you at this stage in your life. In times of adversity the going may be tough, but there is better—you can see it clearly. You may not know how to get there, you may not know how to seek it, but you believe that things couldn’t possibly get worse. When you’re at your lowest, there’s nowhere to go but up. But when you stagnate, you trick yourself into believing that everything is fine. You believe that since things are fine, that what you have is good enough. You believe that there aren’t areas that need improvement. You’re comfortable with where you’re at, you’re good with the status quo. You get lazy, you get apathetic. You lose focus. You lose sight of your goals. Because you stalled out. You stopped moving. That dear reader, is the most dangerous outcome. You inadvertently locked yourself out of higher blessings. You capped your potential at what you thought was good enough. You saw that things could be worse, and you left it at that. But things could always be better! You can always be better. You can always be greater. You can always accomplish more. 

Understand that and believe it. You are always capable of more. You were beautifully and wonderfully created and given a certain set of tools. A set of tools unique to you. No one else has the same exact set as you. That means that there is a place in the world for you. There is a role set up specifically for you. You owe it to yourself to discover it, pursue it, and excel at it. Dream big! But also be realistic. Again, balance is key. You need balance in every area of your life. You can’t spend all your time having fun, but you also can’t spend all your time working. You can’t be emotional in every decision you make, sometimes you have to be logical. If you have too little drive you aren’t doing what is best for yourself, but if you have too much drive you oftentimes hurt those around you. Find a balance. Outside pressure can motivate you, but it can also overwhelm you. Take constructive criticism to heart if you think that it’s valid. If it’s not valid then don’t worry about it. You can’t please everybody. Some people will always be jealous, some people will always be haters. You can’t change them, but you can change yourself. 

That being said, none of us are finished products. We’re all still growing and learning. We’re all looking to become the best version of ourselves. The journey continues. The ending will come eventually. All living things must perish. But it’s up to you to write the middle. Live in the moment and live to the fullest. Make each hour, day, year, decade the greatest it can possibly be. Write your own legacy. Make a positive impact on yourself and those around you. Pursue greatness. You can do great things. You are incredible, you can be incredible, you can do incredible. Just keep dreaming, and striving for better. It is safe to say that the 30-year-old version of me is the best version of me (so far). But that’s not good enough—I won’t just sit on my laurels. I haven’t accomplished everything that I want to accomplish yet. And I never will. When I meet my goals, there will be new goals to come. That’s the only way to keep progressing: to get better at what you do and to continually set new goals. 2022 has shaped up to be a pretty good year so far, but 2023 will be even more breathtaking. I will always strive for better. Who I am today is not who I will be tomorrow. I can promise you that.

I’ve been working diligently at my craft, but above all things, I’ve been working on myself. That’s the biggest difference between who I am now and who I was ten years ago, fifteen years ago, twenty years ago. Previously, I did not have the mental fortitude to take constructive criticism and create a better me, nor did I have the awareness to work on myself preemptively. Ten years ago I was in a toxic relationship (this isn’t to say that I wasn’t at fault, so please don’t read it as such). I had been carrying around my baggage in a black trash bag for many years at that point. After twenty years of pent up trauma, the bag started to get heavy. I was no longer able to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, so I started dragging the bag behind me as I inched forward in life. But at some point, the bag ripped! Spewing my shit everywhere for all to see. Don’t be that person. Don’t drag your bullshit behind you, leaving a trail of brokenness and despair. 

Take care of yourself! Resolve your issues early before they become bigger problems. Don’t let them snowball. Your mental and emotional health are vital to your well-being. If you get your mind right first, everything will follow. Be the best version of yourself that you can possibly be. You owe it to your loved ones; your friends; those who look up to you; but most importantly you owe it to yourself. Be proud of who you are, be proud of what you’ve become. You’ve come a long way. Who you are now is not who you were as a toddler. If you still have the same mindset now as when you were a child you have plenty of growing up to do. As we get older, we’re given more responsibility because people trust in our ability, they believe in us. But more importantly, they’ve started to rely on us. We don’t think about it much—we often take it for granted—but someone putting their trust and belief in us is a leap of faith. Who’s to say that you won’t renege on your agreement or not follow through? They don’t actually know that, but they inherently accept that you will come through for them. They believe that you are fully capable of doing what they expect you to do. That’s not nothing, although we often overlook the significance of it. 

This added pressure is good for our growth. We have an obligation to do the right thing. To do the thing that’s expected of us. Oftentimes we’re more afraid of our parents’ disappointment than we are of their anger. Why is that? It’s because in letting them down, we also let ourselves down. We never verbalized it, we never really attributed that feeling to anything, but that’s what it comes down to. We knew what we were capable of, and we knew what we were supposed to do, but we didn’t do it. In not doing it, we failed to live up to our parents’ expectations of us, but they only placed those expectations on us because they thought that we could handle it. They didn’t just assume that we were capable, they knew that we were, because of how they raised us. As we grow older, we start to suppress the selfishness that we exhibited when we were younger. It comes with the territory of being an adult. The things that didn’t make sense to us before, have started to make sense to us now, because of what we’ve seen in life.

We started to look at things from an outside perspective. We realized how tough it was for our parents. It finally hit us that they were just learning on the job. They didn’t have all the answers. They didn’t know everything but they certainly knew more than we did. Now we know what it’s like to walk in their shoes. That’s a part of growing up. We were on the receiving end, but now we’re slowly approaching the giving end. It will be tough. We know that and we understand it. But life goes on. The cycle begins anew. 

We’re no longer kids answering adult questions. We’re the adults now. Everyone expects us to act like it. But at age 30 we’re likely not who we expected to be when we were looking ahead at age 5. I know I certainly am not. I never expected to be a writer, an artist, an aspiring author, a world builder. None of this was in the cards for me when I was that young. My answer to the question, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” had always been “I dunno,” or something that I thought people would like and respect. Something like an astronaut, or a scientist, or a doctor. Those were never honest answers. The fact was I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I knew that I wanted to be myself. That never wavered. That never changed. Sure I hit some rough patches. Sure I was deluded at times. Sure I was led astray at others. But eventually I found my way to where I needed to be, and I stayed true to myself. 

I’ve always walked to the beat of my own drum. That has never changed and it never will. At times in the past, I had tried to suppress certain aspects of my personality, hide certain interests. But that never worked out. It always found a way to rear its head. It always found a way to peek out and say, “this is me. I am a vital part of Justin’s psyche.” And that is really the only real way to live. Be who you want to be. Like what you like. Do what you want to do. Live the life you want. Live the life you think you deserve. Don’t be ashamed of something just because it’s not in the mainstream. You don’t have to like what other people like. You don’t have to do what other people do. There isn’t only one particular career path that you need to pursue. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” as the idiom goes. 

As a kid, I was more worried about what other people thought than I was about what I wanted or what I liked. I chose to give basic answers because my brain hadn’t developed to the level that it needed to be at, in certain aspects. My curiosity ran rampant, but my intuition and discernment were not advanced enough to follow the convoluted nature of my mind. It was easier to give a simple answer. It was easier to say the first thing that came to mind. It spared me the discomfort of telling an adult to, “let me think about it.” But if they had let me think, they likely wouldn’t have gotten a simple answer without a lot of back and forth. 

Sometimes my favorite color was red. Other times it was blue. For a while it was green. All of these answers proved to be accurate at certain times in my life. But these were all shallow answers. Not digging particularly deep. If we had dug deeper we would’ve come up with this: I like earth tones. An answer that nobody else has given. An odd answer coming from an odd person. But it’s true. It’s the root of it all. Yes, I like browns, beiges and greys. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t also like color. I just like colors that are deeper and richer. I prefer cooler colors. I like reds, blues, greens, purples, yellows, but I’m particular about the shade. Bright or pastel shades don’t do it for me. There couldn’t be many things worse than baby blue or cerulean! But something like a midnight green or an Egyptian blue? I can dig that! I’m somewhat OCD, we know this. It’s not debilitating but it’s there regardless. But we never would’ve known any of this early on. I just didn’t think as hard as a kid. Not for lack of trying, but rather for lack of capability.

Likewise, I was incapable of verbalizing my favorite animal. To be honest, it’s kind of a shitty question. In biology class they teach us basic taxonomy. We have that little rhyme that teaches us different classifications such as kingdom, phylum, class, order. What do adults actually mean when they ask you what your favorite animal is? Do they mean domesticated animals specifically? Do they mean mammals? Reptiles? Birds? Fish? Do insects count? How about single-celled organisms? What do you mean? That was the question I always asked myself. What do you mean? What can I choose? Sometimes my answer was dog, sometimes it was cat, horse, or snake. I honestly didn’t know, because it’s not exactly the best question. But I was thinking too far in depth. This wasn’t the purpose of the question whatsoever.

But as kids we didn’t know that. We weren’t able to process to that extent. And that’s perfectly fine. Our brains were still developing, as were our people skills and our ability to discern and cogitate. It’s a part of growing up. Our brain capacity slowly catches up to the level of our inquisitiveness. As kids we always asked a thousand questions. What’s this mean? Who is that? How does this work? But there were some things that we just weren’t able to verbalize. I always wanted to know what was meant when people asked me about my favorite things. Give me a list to choose from! There are too many options! 

But questions like these weren’t meant to be thought about in so much depth. As a five-year-old, that’s not what’s expected of you. These questions are icebreakers. Ways of getting to know you. Nothing more, nothing less. The answer you give is not as important as the conversation that you have. It didn’t matter that it made me uncomfortable. I had to learn to socialize and talk to my elders somehow. It didn’t matter what answer I gave. What mattered was that it got me thinking. And that was a better lesson than I could’ve learned anywhere else. Your brain is a tool, a weapon, a defense. Those who think deeply thrive in high pressure situations. Those who think deeply are able to problem solve. As kids we may not have the words to verbalize our concerns. But we have the semblance of profundity building. It’s our duty to keep feeding it and nurturing it. Encircling it in an environment that allows it to flourish. Keep thinking. Keep asking questions, but in doing so don’t lose sight of yourself. Be authentic.

Greatness, Hope, Mental Health

We Didn’t Talk About It

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So my mom called me out of the blue the other day. It was a bit of an odd call. It was on 4:27 pm on a Monday, and she sounded somewhat frantic. It was quite strange. Maybe this was my fault. I had promised her recently that I would call her more often, but I had not been doing so. I’ve found in the past that if I did not call her often enough, that she would end up calling me at the randomest times. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it always seemed to be at a time when I wasn’t able to talk. This time I was able to, but I realized too late that I had picked up too quick. I had picked up after the first ring…

The way she started the call was a bit weird. She didn’t ask me how I was doing or if I was busy. It was none of that. Instead she asked, “so you’re done now officially?” Straight to the point I see. I thought about playing coy at first, but I realized pretty quickly that the jig was up. I couldn’t feign ignorance, pretend that I didn’t know what she was talking about. I couldn’t lie my way out of it, I had picked up the call before 5 pm on a weekday after all. All this time that I’ve spent talking and writing about being honest with yourself, and I’m going to lie to my mom’s face? Nah, that wasn’t going to happen. So I confirmed it for her, “yes, I quit my job.” As we all know, I’ve spent the last three and a half years healing, growing, and learning about myself. Becoming more confident. Not being held back by my fear. Progressing in my levels of self-care. Forming real relationships. Being honest. But I still can’t get myself to talk to my mom about certain things.

We still haven’t talked about the number of tattoos that I have. We had a brief conversation about it years ago, the time she caught a glimpse of my chest piece after my first session. This was in the summer of 2014 and she had told me to, “do something about the tattoo.” So what did I do? I got the tattoo finished, then I proceeded to get many more, and began scheduling sessions on the regular. When I go home I always wear long sleeves and I try to wear tighter sweatshirts so that you can’t see down them. But I’m not always careful. My sleeve rides up, my collar sags down. I don’t flaunt them as a courtesy to her. But we don’t talk about it. She has to know that I have a number of tattoos, there’s no way she doesn’t. So I know that she knows. But no, we don’t talk about it. I have not verbally confirmed or denied the existence of my tattoos, and she has not asked. It’s a tenuous secret, but a secret nonetheless. 

Another thing that we didn’t talk about for a long time was my loss of faith. The fact that I had stopped attending church for five and a half years. The news didn’t come out until around year four of this intermission. Every time I went home to visit I either went to my friend’s church and didn’t pay attention; or lied and said I was going to church but didn’t; or made up an excuse to drive home early on Sundays. But we didn’t talk about it. I don’t remember how it came out or when, but I do know that it was during a time when I was having a mental breakdown. Par for the course in those times. I was not mentally healthy or emotionally stable back then. 

Nothing new here, but I used to numb myself with whatever I could find. Cigarettes, weed, alcohol, it didn’t really matter. I needed a vice to get me through the day. We didn’t talk about it. Neither of us acknowledged its existence. But she had to know about the cigarettes. My car stunk. Flat out. No matter how many air fresheners I used. I thought the cigarette stench was quite obvious; the smell was stuck in the seats. But maybe I was just too close to it. I knew that funky smell for what it was, so my nose set off alarms. But then again an ashtray smells like ash no matter what you burn. Either way, nobody ever said anything. We didn’t talk about it. That’s how it was. That’s how it’s always been. There are certain things that we don’t talk about. Ignorance is feigned on both sides. We don’t acknowledge its existence so we pretend like it doesn’t exist. Not healthy, I know. But all bad habits are hard to break. Some more difficult than others.

Growing up, I was always a mama’s boy. My dad had always been aloof, in his own world. He came home from work, ate dinner in silence, watched TV, and went on his computer. He never really talked much. That was just how he was. But I had misjudged and mischaracterized him for much of my life. I used to think he didn’t talk because his English wasn’t very good. But that wasn’t it at all. He has a slight accent, but his command of English is superb, especially in written form. I only realized a few years ago that the reason why he doesn’t talk much is because he processes things differently. Instead of jumping from subject to subject, my dad is much more analytical. He doesn’t conduct conversations like us millennials do, as well he shouldn’t—he’s in his 70s! He doesn’t say anything unless it’s profound. Unless it brings meaning to a conversation. He’s not one for small talk, and he’s not one for superficiality. There’s good and bad to be had from this. The good being that I don’t get caught in meaningless conversation with him (I’m not really a fan of small talk either after all). The bad being that sometimes I don’t know what to say to him or how to approach.

And that was the crux of it. For sure one of the reasons why my mom had called. I had told her previously that I was planning on quitting my job, but never confirmed with her when I had. I had gone home to visit for Christmas. At the end of the week, before I was about to return to New York, she pulled me over, and we had a quiet conversation, just the two of us. She hadn’t wanted to blow up my spot, so she wanted to talk privately. Something she told me during this conversation was, “think about how you’re going to tell your dad.” At first, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to tell him. I didn’t know how he was going to react. It’s very hard to read him sometimes. But not saying anything would be unnecessary dishonesty. I thought about what I was going to say, I really spent some time doing so. But the words just wouldn’t come to me. Five weeks after my last day of work, and I still didn’t know what to say. So the words were left unsaid.

So my mom called. She had waited long enough. She wanted to confirm. Wanted to be able to share the news with my dad. On the one hand I’m relieved that I no longer have to try thinking of the words, but on the other it feels like a missed opportunity. A missed opportunity to get to know him a little bit better. All because I was trying to avoid an awkward conversation. We didn’t talk about it, because that’s how it’s been. I never really talked much with my dad in general, and I never broached difficult subjects with my mom. Why would it be any different now? Again, it’s hard to break a habit when you’ve been doing things the same way for so long. But I’m working on it.

There are certain things that we’ve started to talk about that we didn’t used to talk about before, and there are certain things we used to talk about that we don’t talk about anymore. You’re inevitably going to come across both cases, you just have to find the balance. There are certain things that your parents need to know about, and there are certain things that you know you’ll never see eye to eye on. It’s up to you to determine which subjects require a discussion, and which ones you skirt around. My parents needed to know about my depression, my anxiety, my mental health. We talk about that now, because I’ve found my healing. I no longer keep my emotions locked up. They needed to know, others needed to know. I needed to find a release. It’s a parent’s duty to worry about their kid, it’s part of the job description. They can’t help themselves. A child’s duty is to minimize the amount of worrying their parent does over him/her. 

And I guess that was my main concern. I didn’t want my dad worrying over me excessively due to my lack of income. I didn’t want him being scared for me. I had already torn him up a few years ago when “The Incident” precipitated my need for therapy and counseling. I’ve alluded to my darkest day many a time, but we won’t get into that here (you’re going to have to look through past posts to find that story). I know it’s a lot of words to sift through, but where’s the fun in giving you the answer? I digress… I didn’t want to worry my dad, so I said nothing. But if you don’t tell your parents how you’re feeling or how you’re doing, how will they really know? Your emotions and attitudes are not nearly as evident as you think they are. Your parents, your loved ones, your friends aren’t mind-readers. Unless you wear your heart on your sleeve at all times, sometimes you’ll have to tell people, as showing them is not enough. Even then it’s probably not enough. What we think is obvious, may not actually be obvious to other people.

My parents didn’t really know there was something wrong with me. For 27 years. They had no idea because I never really told them. I remember I had a handful of arguments with my mom in high school where I sort of hinted at the fact that I had issues, but I never laid the cards on the table. I never voiced my impediments fully. I never said what was bothering me. I shelled up and pretended like everything was okay. I hurt inside but I couldn’t let the world know. I wouldn’t let them know. No one really wants to admit that they’re broken. Most people would much rather act like nothing’s wrong, than deal with their issues. Cause dealing with your issues is hard work. It’s grueling, it’s heart-breaking, it’s tedious. But it’s worth it.

Life is easier when you’ve found your healing. Finding your healing is the first step to having a great life. The tough days aren’t as tough when you take it one day at a time. Whenever you’re feeling down, whenever you have a bad day, just remind yourself that, “you’re just having a bad day in an otherwise great month, great year, great life.” Everyone has their ups and downs. Everyone has their bad days. But you have to find your balance. Don’t get too high, don’t get too low. If you do that, you avoid disappointment. You don’t let the outside influences affect you too much. The circumstance doesn’t determine your outlook. Finding yourself gives you more control over your life, but it also requires ceding control.

Contradictory, I know. But hear me out. The road to self-discovery requires doing things that are outside of your comfort zone. Thinking outside of the box. Seeing how you do things, and realizing that there’s always a different way. Whether or not it’s better is something you have to think about and determine on your own. With that comes an understanding between who you are, and how the world works. To find yourself, you need to find out what your role is in the world. Find out how you fit into society. What you can contribute. Without that understanding, you won’t be able to progress very far on your journey. Once you recognize where you could potentiallyfit in, you can start to find out who you are, and know what you can give to the world. Given this knowledge, you can work on finding out what you want from life. You can’t go wrong if you have these things in place. But if you don’t, you’re just giving to the world and getting nothing back in return. That’s when life starts to feel meaningless. “Why should I contribute to society if I get nothing back?” “Why should I be generous?” “Why should I care?” These are questions you may start asking yourself, because you don’t understand your role. You don’t know where you fit into the bigger picture. 

You’re lost. Floating around aimlessly as I was. I didn’t know how talented I was. I understated my self-worth. I didn’t know that I was important. I didn’t know that people valued my opinion. I didn’t know that I was loved. I wasn’t aware of who I was and I didn’t know where I fit in. I was lost at sea without an anchor, with nothing to stabilize me. I was without a compass to guide me. I was directionless and adrift. Feeling the effects of wind & wave, drifting farther and farther from the shore. I was easily influenced, my opinions could be swayed. My career trajectory was not looking good. Because I wasn’t honest with myself. I hadn’t explicated the relationship between Justin and the world. I hadn’t highlighted the potential position(s) for me in the community. What I thought I wanted was not what God had in mind for me. What I thought I wanted turned up empty. Because that’s not where my talents lay, that’s not what I was passionate about, that’s not what was meaningful in my life. That’s not where I belonged.

Each day was the same as the next, with not much to look forward to. I hadn’t set goals for my life. I didn’t know what I was looking for. But more importantly, I didn’t know what I could give. I didn’t know what I was capable of, because I didn’t believe in myself. I didn’t love myself. I didn’t think myself worthy of… Well anything. My life felt like it was out of my control. I felt like I was being railroaded into something. But what? I didn’t really know, but it wouldn’t be anything good, I was sure of that. Turns out I ended up at a dead end job. With no prospects in life, no hope. Because I hadn’t worked out the relationship between me and the world. I hadn’t found a niche. I didn’t know where the opening was. 

But I wasn’t looking hard enough. The answer to my questions was right there all along, but I looked everywhere but right at it. First I thought my answer was in music. Then I thought it would be found in marketing or sociology. I went to business school cause I thought it would make my parents happy. I chose sociology because I was interested in people. But neither of those were it either. They interested me, but they didn’t light a fire. When I graduated from college I didn’t choose my first job. I took it because it was the easy option. I had an internship, and I decided the best thing for me was to see if there was a full-time position. I was told that sales was where the money was at, but I never saw any of that money. I was great at customer service but I didn’t love it. I was left with broken promises and jilted into limbo. Stuck between customer service and sales, and given the worst of both. I felt okay, I felt content for a time. But eventually the pressure began to wear on me. The toxicity of the workplace slowly began to creep up.

I didn’t heed the warning signs, and I suffered immensely as a result. If something tells you that what you’re doing currently isn’t what’s best for you, you should listen to it. If what you’re doing doesn’t make you happy, it doesn’t make you feel satisfied or fulfilled, then it’s not for you. It’s not what you’re meant to do with your time and your effort. When we’re younger they like to tell us all the time, “do what makes you happy.” But they don’t actually mean that, not exactly. It usually comes with the caveat of, “as long as it makes you money.” If money is what makes you happy, then by all means pursue it. Otherwise that type of thinking holds us back from pursuing our highest calling; from making the best use of our skillset; from finding our purpose. It puts an invisible cap on our pursuits; sometimes we don’t see it and are left scratching our heads, wondering what it is that’s holding us back. Do whatever it takes to avoid that kind of disappointment. Do what makes you feel happy and fulfilled, and don’t let anything get in the way. Pursue your passion and give no fucks along the way. Don’t let anyone fuck with your purpose. Don’t let anyone or anything get in the way of your happiness. Not even yourself. Don’t bog down your own path with excuses or feelings of inadequacy. You have talent, you just need to find it. But you have to know yourself first. 

Discover who you are. Find out what you’re capable of. Unearth what it is you can contribute. I’m not going to lie. I had a hard time, for a while, recognizing any of this. I was perpetually lost but I didn’t know it at the time. The way I was living my life was not conducive to finding my way. It was highly improbable if not impossible that I would find what I was looking for. But I didn’t want to believe it. Looking back now, I’m not even sure how I was content with leading such a dark existence. I didn’t do anything for myself because I didn’t love myself. Everything I did was for other people. I wanted to be a people pleaser, but I don’t think I was doing a very good job of it. I was a hard worker, but my apathy was showing through. Because I didn’t care about what I did. I wasn’t making an impact on those around me because I wasn’t doing what made me happy. I was doing something that I was good at, but one without a clear path to growth. Onwards and upwards is something that I say a lot now, but it was not one of my mantras back then. I had allowed myself to stagnate. I had allowed myself to lose any momentum that I had had coming out of college. Being good at customer service would lead me nowhere because it made me feel empty inside. It was worthless toil.

I was not in control of my life, or at least it didn’t feel that way. And there was a very obvious reason why. I didn’t do things for myself or try to help myself. Everything I did was cause I was trying to maintain an image. Show to the world what I thought it wanted to see. I let the world dictate to me how my life would go. No wonder I was depressed; no wonder I felt like life was meaningless; no wonder I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know how I fit in. I didn’t know what I wanted. And I didn’t know what I was capable of. I won’t tell anybody how to live their life ever, but take it from me. This mindset will only lead to darkness and emptiness. Stop giving a fuck about what other people think. Stop listening to what people tell you to do with your life. Figure it out for yourself. Do what’s best for you. You’ll live a more fruitful life that way.

Sometimes you just have to take control. Take command of your life. Do whatever you can with what you’re given. It means controlling what you can control. Taking the reins, and not letting fate decide. Your attitude, your behavior, your mindset. What you do, what you say, what you make. Those are all under your jurisdiction. Those are all things you can change, or things you can keep the same. But regardless, all of that is up to you to decide. How you act, what you do is your decision. Nobody can take that away from you. You have free will. Your life is just that, your life. If you’re letting outside influences dictate the decisions you make and your career trajectory you’re no longer living your life, but rather one manufactured in a certain likeness. A likeness that doesn’t resemble the way that you should be shaping it. Your life is a clay ball, moldable and loose. Shaped in the way that you make it. When you’re younger you need a guiding hand to show you the basics of what you’re trying to build. But as you get older, you no longer need a chaperone to tell you what to do. Take control, and make this life your own.

But know that taking control of your life doesn’t mean that everything will go according to plan. More often than not, things won’t go the way that you anticipate. That’s just how life goes. Each person is responsible for their own actions, and their actions alone. Things will happen. People will act differently than you expect them to. Obstacles may impede your path. All you can really do is work on yourself and work on your craft. You may be able to overcome the obstacles, you may be able to avoid them. Just know that life will throw things at you. The growth and maturity that you show at the end will speak to your character. This is where you cede control. Life will happen, fate has certain things in store for everyone. Let them happen. You are stronger than anything that comes in your way. Control the controllables, and let the chips fall where they may. True, life may feel like a story sometimes, but I assure you it’s not. There are many things in your life within your control, but unlike a story spun by the storyteller, the story of life will not play out entirely according to the script.

Case in point, this post. This post went a bit off the rails. Truth be told, I did not end up saying what I intended to say. But that’s just how it goes. Unfortunately it’s getting a bit long. I’m not going to add a couple thousand more words just to alter the message or dilute it. I will save my words for another day. So stay tuned. Just know that you are incredible. You are capable of great things. You just need to find who you are, find what you’re capable of, and find what you can contribute to others. My mom and I didn’t talk about certain things when I was growing up, but maybe we should’ve. I would’ve had a better understanding of who I was and how I fit in. Don’t let certain words be left unsaid. Talk to your parents, talk to your family. Let them know how you’re doing. You’ll all be better off for it.