Happy new year. It’s 2019.
Every year I make an attempt to reflect upon the previous. Writing about it is therapeutic. And I miss writing.
2018 was the year of baby steps on the path of self discovery. It’s also been one of the most difficult years.
I typed 3 versions of this post and deleted it each time. I wanted to write about 2018, but it ended up being a struggle because being honest about vulnerability is hard. I guess that’s why poets, painters, dancers and musicians prefer to express their pain through their work.
Part of it is because of fear of judgement. The other is because you come face to face with your suffering. Not numbing yourself to the pain with your smartphone, or a new drama series on Netflix.
I used to journal daily when I was much younger. I also had a blog where I would share photos of my daily life, random life events and be open about my emotions. Now that seems so difficult to do. When you become an adult, society teaches to hide your vulnerabilities, what to say, what to post, how to show the world you’re the having the time of your life even though you might be in a lot of pain.
Attending the School of Life conference in San Francisco was the most liberating experience. Seeing other strangers sharing about their sufferings, I felt human again.
I’m not perfect. And it’s ok. I’m suffering. It’s ok too.
Maybe I’ll tell you about it next time.