A letter from Mar 17, 2025

Happy Birthday, you! Between you and me, the first three (okay, two point five) months of the year have not been stellar. There have been some wonderful moments - time with family and friends, time with S, and an inordinate amount of fun and relaxation. I’ve had amazing conversations, a lot of admittedly great parties, and been in my personal comfort bubble as much as I've needed and wanted. I’ve even read an embarrassingly large number of books that are probably a bit too immersive for me, and while it was fun, I could stand to tone it down a bit. All of it - the binge reading and the binge eating and the escapism. My current escapism has confounded me a little bit because I have an admittedly great life. I could understand it when I was thirteen and had no friends and felt like I had nothing to be proud of. I can empathise with my twenty-one year old self, desperately trying to distract myself from truths I did not want to face. But now? It's like a crutch I shouldn't need anymore, but have somehow gotten accustomed to. Not necessarily in order of importance - I have a husband whom I adore and who adores me; I have a job that allows me to invest and pay for whatever I need and (to a large extent) want, and currently isn’t insanely stressful like the last one; I have family who are amazing and delightful and supportive, and I’m so privileged that they’re independent and having fun and I have no obligations or responsibilities to them as of now; I have some friends whom I’m close to and a very active social life with a lot of people; I have my health (for the most part). And possibly most importantly, I do love myself and am proud of myself for so much - overcoming some really ****** things, applying myself and stepping out of my comfort zone so many times to make my dreams a reality, on expanding my identity beyond how pretty and thin and agreeable I am, and on the way to becoming who I want to be. I’m so, so grateful. And yet - I’m failing to keep promises to myself. Because this, as lovely as it is, isn’t all I want from life. And that means I need to get my **** together, now. The worst part is, I KNOW. I know the dopamine doesn’t last beyond the last bite of ice-cream, or the last page of whatever romantasy novel I’ve picked up. I know that S is right when he calls me out, even if every nerve in my body pushes me to be defensive and avoidant. I know that Samyang noodles aren’t a scarce commodity that I need to stuff down myself for no reason other than enjoying my comfort “me-time”, that the thrill of ordering food online sometimes even surpasses eating it, that the insta reels are brainrot that I’ll forget instantly. I know that I’ll regret not doing all the things I could have done instead, wistful for a parallel universe in which I did. I mean, the opportunity cost is huge. I have so many ideas I want to work on as passion projects (one in particular - you know the one), so many things I want to do and write and learn, so many places I want to go. This addiction is like a weird bug, resistant to logic and decisions and promises, I can’t seem to stop. Tomorrow is the easiest and worst excuse. It’ll take so much longer to fix things and feel good, too - the need for instant gratification is a hell of a *****. I need to have control over my mind and body, like, yesterday. So that you’re in a position to read this and feel happy and proud rather than dismayed. This is coming to you either way - might as well make it a happy message. Here are a few things that I feel (quite viscerally) would be amazing goals to work towards - 1. Curling up anywhere. Being able to fit with my feet up on my favourite sofa or the papasan or maybe even a decent sized chair 2. Having good posture. My shoulders and neck feel perpetually slumped, and it makes for a horrible profile. With strength training and yoga I can hold my head high, literally. 3. ***. So much ***. Not that it’s bad now, but I suspect there’s a lot of untapped creativity here. 4. Being able to experiment more freely with clothes and fashion and feeling like I can express myself with my personal style 5. Not being afraid of running into classmates or batchmates or colleagues or relatives or (god-forbid) exes I haven’t met in a while and fearing what they think because I am not, in fact, fully self-actualized 6. Actually working on a side project (hopefully, the side project) I am excited about - and not letting it become a forgotten memory like so many other projects I had thought of before my borderline ADHD brain side-tracked me and left me with nothing but way too much knowledge about imaginary universes and fictional characters and a niggling itch that can only be assuaged by obsessively reading subreddits where people think about it even more than I do 7. Having deeper, more connected relationships that are a result of me putting in effort rather than just luck and circumstances and marrying a supernaturally socially talented extrovert who came with fifty friends attached 8. Having a life beyond my regular circle - the classes and workshops I want to go to when I have enough time, meeting new people, becoming comfortable with being uncomfortable - like I did in 2023 9. Reading something good that stays with me for a long time, that I can discuss with people - rather than the same tropes repeated over and over. I mean a lot of the romantasy books are objectively good with great plots, meaningful themes and actual character development, but let’s not kid ourselves. I read them for the weird flare in my chest that accompanies the “who did this to you” and the agonizingly slow burn and the satisfying progress of the FMC that is often in lieu of my own growth. I don’t think I’ll give it up entirely - but yes. I can limit myself to a maximum of a book a month. And have the guilty pleasures sandwiched with a decent book that’s a little harder to read, is unpredictable, and actually expands my perspective in a meaningful way. 10. Being able to be the one who lectures and pushes S, for a change. I know he’ll give me reasons to. And I know he’ll be delighted. I’m not going to be in these strange, unusually lucky and stress-free circumstances forever. I should make the most of them. Hopefully by the time you’re reading this, I’ve made significant progress on all fronts. I’ll note my SMART goals down separately, and hopefully you have a six month long record of all the daily habits I’ve been stacking. And if I haven’t, well, it’s terribly embarrassing and disappointing but it’s not the end of the world. Do your best, figure it out. But I promise - I’m going to make you proud, even if we still have a way to go by the time you read this. Six months may not be enough to complete everything we want. Just pick up the baton and soldier on. Love ya A