Feeling deeply loved and supported by the people I love.

Going through the ebbs and flows of a breakup.

Releasing my frustrations through exercise.

Exploring shame associated with my body.

Getting my first job offer within a month of job-searching.

Meditating every morning.

A rescinded job offer.

Morning cuddles with Gucci (my dog).

Feeling out of place in the suburbs of Virginia.

Feeling like I’m home every time I visit New York City.

Job interviews draining my emotional energy.

My sister getting her first big girl apartment in NYC.

Seeing my friends find activities that energize them: pole dancing, writing a cookbook, taking a ceramics class, trying standup comedy.

Daily calls with my best friends.

Meeting new people in D.C.

Learning something new every day: the psychology behind imposter syndrome, analyzing trends and data patterns, and learning how my past has shaped my best and worst qualities.

Completing this exercise made me realize the different shades of experiences that make up life. Some have caused me heartbreak and sorrow, while others have made me feel more belonged and understood. I’m deeply grateful for the things I have in my life today, which were missing before. Combating loneliness has been a recurring theme in my life. I now understand that a big reason for this is that I moved to a completely unfamiliar, unknown country at age 11. I struggled to believe that others would accept me for who I am. I realized that accepting all parts of myself, including the different, quirky ones, is the best thing I can do for myself. I am fortunate to have a handful of people in my life who have witnessed parts of me that I used to feel ashamed of, yet they still choose to love and accept me unconditionally.

One thing I’ve realized is how many life transitions I’ve experienced in my twenties. I moved to San Francisco alone, barely knowing anyone. I jumped from my big tech job to a fast-paced startup. I moved to NYC. I quit my job to travel for four months, without another job lined up. I’ve taken plenty of chances in life, some not by choice, but most by my own volition. Taking these risks has shown me my strengths: adaptability, courage, independence, and confidence. Most of these circumstances required an unwavering belief in myself, a belief that I will come out on the other side despite uncertainty and ambiguity. While I don’t always feel courageous or confident, I take comfort in knowing that my life experiences have equipped me with the skills and attitude to overcome any challenge.

Reflect back on transitions in your own life. What strengths did you bring to deal with these life transitions?

However, there is drudgy slowness I feel in the suburbs. A deafening wave of loneliness not seeing anyone around when I walk my dog and only hearing the sound of cars passing. I become restless within the walls of my home and escape to local coffee shops or a drive to nowhere.

But part of making it sweeter, than bitter, is accepting the realities of my environment and finding beauty in it. While the streets are not filled with the smell of mouthwatering halal guys, the calm nature of the suburbs forces me to slow down. Escaping to D.C. or local coffee shops provides me with the level of bustle and noise I desire. Going to family gatherings makes me feel more connected to my roots.

It’s easy to blame external factors like our environment or people for our unhappiness. However, humans are adaptable and we can find peace and contentment here and now. In order to do so, we must first accept the reality that is in front of us. Resisting reality exacerbates our suffering. Then, we must create habits and systems to do the things that energize us.

Being surrounded by people that inspire, challenge, and support me.

Feeling like I’m part of a team.

Achieving something together, as a team.

Creating a better life for my family so that I can make up for the struggles they endured to provide me with a better one.

Coffee shops and a blank piece of paper in my journal.

When my actions align with my values and principles.

Uplifting and supporting others to achieve their goals.

Sitting at a dining table full of strangers and knowing that by the end of the night, we will laugh, eat, and learn something new.

Especially on a Saturday night.

But every table tells its own tale.

A few tech yuppies keenly waiting to celebrate a friend’s birthday.

Two strangers on a first date, trying to cut through the bar chatter and learn about each other.

A group of friends finding warmth in each other’s company amidst the cold snowy winter and a week of being overworked.

The bartenders feeding off the energy of the crowd, waiting for a pint or two after hours.

The girl with a black turtle neck typing on her phone observing the chaos and the beauty unfold.

I wonder how people perceive me at this moment. About why I’m alone on a Saturday night and if I’m content, lonely, or sad.

What they don’t know is she comes here to find inspiration.

A silent observer escaping her own miseries by getting lost in the mysteries of the people around her.

In fact, the reason I took time off was to recover from burnout both emotionally and mentally, connect with myself, and spend time with family.

There are days when I feel lost and don’t know what I’m doing. But what keeps me motivated is knowing that I have something unique to offer to this world. I know the things that I’m good at, but I’m not sure if I enjoy it enough to dedicate my life to it. I also know that there are unexplored territories that I can be great at.

To solve this, I’m spending time reflecting on the activities that make me feel alive. I want to try and consistently pursue hobbies that I’ve enjoyed.

It’s unrealistic to see the results right away. It’s a mix of hard work, patience, and persistence. Hard work requires me to try my best everyday. Patience requires me to tolerate and accept delays in my results, without being frustrated or angry. Persistence requires me to do something consistently and be strong enough to overcome obstacles along the way.

I’ve found that having this extended time off has challenged me to think deeply about what motivates me outside of external factors. I don’t have people (i.e. manager, team) or lifestyle benefits of a job (401k, salary, etc) that motivate me. Everything that I do must come from my own intrinsic desires. It’s extremely frightening and freeing at the same time.

For the time being, I’m excited to learn. I’m tracking how I feel after every task I complete. Measuring my emotional energy helps me understand the things that make me come alive and the things that don’t. I believe that my emotional energy is the most important thing to conserve at this time.

I’m excited to see what’s next.

I’ve drawn my self-worth through labels at work.

Consultant at Accenture

Product Manager at Apple

The youngest person on the team

When we rely on a few labels to define our self-worth, we enter dangerous territory. Defining ourselves as one thing is a deception. The truth is, humans are multi-faceted beings. We can be multiple things at once.

So, what happens when the labels that help you understand yourself dissolve?

I quit my job four months ago and this very thing happened. In the beginning, I felt uncomfortable and ashamed saying that “I am unemployed.” I measured my value to this world by my performance at work.

It uncovered a deeper issue I needed to face myself: feeling enough without labels. Feeling like I am worthy by simply existing. This was the first time something clicked: being myself is the best way to contribute to society. There is only one of me in this entire universe. I can be helpful to others by using my perspective and experiences to do something meaningful that feels authentic to me.

Examining and letting go of my personal labels has instilled a new wave of faith and freedom within me. A kind of faith that relies on no external event, individual, or experience to feel worthy. The kind of faith that understands that everything is fluid and changing. The kind of freedom that has made me more open to a life of discovery, richness, and possibilities.

We are in a relationship, we say.

You guys look perfect together, they say.

I feel alone, I say.

Waiting for you to respond to my text.

Waiting for you to wish me goodnight.

Waiting for you to understand me, fully.

Waiting for you to tell me what I want to hear when I feel hopeless.

Waiting to feel wanted.

Wating to feel together again.

As I excitedly peeked through the window of the plane, I could see the snow-capped mountains that reminded me of home: Nepal.

A few years back, I remember trekking with my cousins in Poon Hill and being awestruck by the mountain’s magnificence and beauty. I felt completely present, neither thinking about the past nor the future. I distinctly remember sitting on a bench by the teahouse taking in the view while listening to the herd of sheep baa in the background.

I felt so small and insignificant in the world. Yet, I took comfort in feeling equanimous with my surroundings.

Fondly remembering this memory, I counted down the minutes until touchdown. 30 minutes later, I was deboarding the plane surrounded by beautiful mountains and a thick layer of smog (unsure if this was fog or dust). I was warmly greeted by my aunt, uncle, and little cousin. My face brimming with a big smile, feeling an overwhelming amount of gratitude and love.

After solo traveling for a few weeks, I was ready to be around my family. And boy did my wish come true.

It’s been a week since I’ve been in Nepal, and I’ve experienced joy in the most mundane of activities: brooming the kashi (terrace in Newari) with my grandma as we prepare for a family gathering, playing mahjong with my grandpa and aunts, and helping my little cousin memorize the elements in the periodic table.

I realized that the simplest tasks can be enjoyable if you’re doing them with a present mind and the right people.

It’s been four years since I visited Nepal, and this year especially, I’ve realized that our time together is finite. Many of my cousins are not here with us anymore. Like many other families, my family was also impacted by disease and old age. I’ve accepted the reality that some of my family members may not be here the next time I visit. So I want to relish every moment with them. They mean the world to me.

“You sound so American, I thought you were born here.”

This is usually the response I get when I tell people I’m from Nepal.

I remember in college when people told me this, I was flattered with the response. The naive and confused 11-year-old who tried so hard to assimilate herself to American culture, it felt like this is the outcome I was longing for.

But now, that I am older this response feels unsettling. I’ve lived in America for 14 years of my life now and 11 in Nepal. I feel often times stuck in between two different cultures, languages, and societal expectations.

On one hand, I have close friends and family who moved to America after college and experience the struggles of being an immigrant, such as securing a visa and not getting to see family members. On the other hand, I find myself in a place of privilege with my American citizenship and more flexibility to find a job and go home to see family and enjoy home-cooked meals.

The way I identify myself now looks very different from how I identified myself a few years back. I’ve grown to embrace and appreciate my culture and heritage, instead of being embarrassed by it. I’m fascinated by the history of our people, and how the economy and geography influenced the Sino-Tibetan language, food, and culture. Instead of avoiding speaking Newari, I try my best to practice it when I can. This shift in mindset also shows up in small ways, where I love accessorizing my outfits with jewelry that my grandfather made or aunts sent from Nepal to remind me of home.

When I first moved to America, I used every ounce of my energy erasing my identity as a Nepali and Newar. I changed my name, suppressed my accent, and wore everything Abercrombie and Hollister.

However, now that I’m older (and a bit wiser, I hope), I’ve realized that the amalgamation of cultures, languages, and people is what makes America America. While we have a long ways to go to achieve equity and justice for minorities that make up the majority, I’ve grown a deeper appreciation and pride to be a Nepali and Newar.

When I was in 9th grade, I remember locking myself in my room and profusely crying, dreading to turn 25. I don’t exactly remember why I was so terrified and emotional about it, but it probably had something to do with my parents growing old and the pressure to succeed and make something of myself.

I reflect on this now, from the dining room of my Brooklyn apartment, as I eat a salad and sip on coconut water (basic, I know). I’ve arrived at the age that I dreaded. Turns out, it’s not that bad after all.

I’m almost 26 now, and I’ve found the process of growing older to be quite fascinating. I look back at my 19-year-old self, living in Manhattan, all bright-eyed and excited to soak up the bustle of the city and make plans every weekend. I also remember being equally anxious and nervous. Will I find community here? How will I make friends? Will people like me?
7 years later, it’s interesting to compare who I was then to who I am now. The essence of who I am (I think) remains the same. I still enjoy the company of other people and get energy from socializing with others. But I prefer a slower-paced environment and take pleasure in taking a stroll around the park and journaling in the morning.

I’ve also realized that while I like meeting new people, I take comfort in having few, but solid friends that I can call up if I have an emergency or run errands with. I put less pressure on myself to make back-to-back plans and enjoy the freedom of waking up in the morning, reading at my local coffee shop, and making random, spontaneous plans. I’ve also noticed I’m much more present when I make fewer plans because I’m not hopping from one thing to the next. I do things because I want to, and not because I have to. I’ve also become less critical and kinder to myself. For example, deciding to write again is something I’ve committed to doing while I’m in New York. I’m definitely rusty around the edges, but less judgmental of my work and strive less towards perfection, and more towards authenticity.

It’s amazing to see how our lives unfold in front of us day by day, week by week, year by year. I still have so much to learn about the world and myself. But what I know for sure is that time will not stop for us. Every moment and every day is an opportunity for change and reflection. I can’t wait to see who I will become in the next year and beyond. I hope I will become a stronger, kinder, and funnier person.