It was supposed to be a year of recovery. But then it wasn’t. But then it was. But then it wasn’t. But then it was. The cycle keeps going and going, but it returned where it began.
Community, I kept saying. Surprise, I thought, that I could return to the life that I wanted. Belonging, hope, future.
There were the years 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023, 2024.
Maybe I should do this one every five years!
In 2010, I wrote of clear idealism. In 2011, I wrote of ways to move on. In 2020, I wrote of ways to believe in myself.
Future Self. Imagine yourself five years from now. What advice would you give your current self for the year ahead? (Bonus: Write a note to yourself 10 years ago. What would you tell your younger self?)
Dear Jenn of 2030,
For some reason, so many people have been calling me wise this year. Each time it happens, I laugh it off, because I certainly could never describe myself like that when I was younger. I am now more jaded, more opinionated. But more confident, because I know what went wrong and am motivated to help others not make the same mistakes. I know that I told some people about what it meant to be diagnosed if they were going through some scares, about how to make sure that they’re not evicted, about how a personal injury lawsuit really is like. And of course, why I hate certain books.
For my future self, you might know all of this. You might even be wiser. But I guess, don’t lose that humility that you were once like me.
I also want to say: you got this. Because of all the horrible things that have happened that I couldn’t have anticipated a few years ago, it’s the fact that I keep going. I am keeping the dream. Keep your eye on the ball. I am not talking about the next medical appointment or the next big bill. I am talking about what you want your life to be.
You have always talked about being a writer. So keep doing it. Even if it means that you haven’t published a novel yet. Or got that memoir going. It’s because your voice deserves to be out in the world.
Or maybe in a parallel universe, you already are a parent. That very different world that I can’t imagine. Thinking of that from this standpoint, I would say without any experience whatsoever except on Instagram reels and the like, it doesn’t matter what people think. It only matters what you do and what you think.
Also why not write about it? And be that annoying person to skewer all those things.
By this point, you’re off the medication, I think? Fingers crossed for no recurrence. But whatever happens, know that you already have everything that you need to take care of it. You got this. As I did.
Dear Jenn of 2015,
Trumps wins. Twice. It’s as bad as it can be.
You don’t need to be a food writer. You can be the creative writer that you want to be.
What was the best moment that could serve as proof that everything is going to be alright? And how will you incorporate that discovery into the year ahead?
In 2024, it was the constant resilience skills that kicked in each time I spiraled. In 2023, it was when I figured out what Chris needed. In 2022, it was it was the moment that all my hopes for the year started happening. In 2021, it was all the small moments that validates that I’ll be fine even if it was a tiered rejection letter. In 2020, it was when a product leader called attention to the quality of my work. In 2019, it was when I left my job and when Chris comforted me that we are ok. In 2018, it was realizing my own qualities. In 2017, it was giving advice in hopes of inspiring others. In 2016, it was the moment that when immersed in the election aftermath that anything could change. In 2015, it was the moment when I realized that I could finish Ice Cream Travel Guide. In 2014, it was when I wrote a well-crafted piece (that I read to a live audience 11 months later). In 2013, it was when light shone in the face of despair. In 2012, it was when I stood up for myself. In 2011, it was a moment of clarity, sincere belief and friendship. In 2010, it was an action of commitment.
This year, it’s the several times when the results were sent to me that literally it was okay.
First for the cancer pathology, I had prepared myself for the worst, because why not? Why let myself believe that things could be the better and then be devstated when it’s not. I fully expected that it had spread, upgrading it to a later stage. I expected that I would need chemotherapy and any other treatments. But to my shock, none of that. It was done. I had chosen the minimal option for surgery so I was done. The doctor said that my oncotype was low so I could skip all the things.
Second when I started the medication, i fully expected to be tired all the time. So exhausted that I couldn’t function, couldn’t do much of anything, my brain less than it was. But again, I was shocked to find that my body, although there were some annoying effects, just felt normal overall. With the side effects, I took some advice and did acupuncture and although it took awhile, it felt magical. Again, all okay.
Third, I was panicking rightly so as Chris was brought into the ER. But the doctors said that they were taking good care of him. I felt better. They were looking after him. Even though they yelled at me, I felt incredible relief because I knew that I did the best that I could and just drove. And as I parked, unbeknownst to me, he woke up. They did the brain scan and told me there was a brain bleed. I panicked of course and the ER attending told me that we didn’t know anything yet. I should wait and see. Then the attending got the results of the consult, saying that we could monitor instead. And the follow up scans showed that everything was okay. He was healing.
Fourth and fifth and sixth, I had additional scans to see if there was any other cancer. I was annoyed and terrified at the same time. Probably benign for the first scan. Come back in six months. Did another one. I panicked this time, of course because it was just about a year that I had the scan that led to the diagnosis. Then I had another one in a week. Negative. Negative. No sign. Benign benign.
It’s because literally the results that you’re okay, you’re fine, there’s nothing to worry about.
When it comes to aspirations, it’s not about ideas. It’s about making ideas happen. What’s your next step?
In 2010, it was about dream making. In 2011, it was about sticking to my boundaries. In 2012, it was about being true. In 2013, it was about embracing fear. In 2014, it was sitting my butt down and writing. In 2016, it was about leading. In 2017, it was about persistence. In 2018, it was about seeing the big picture. In 2019, it was about moving on (on my own terms). In 2020, it was about valuing the things (and people) I love. In 2021, it was about deciding the next thing. In 2022, it was about execution. In 2023, it was about building the life that I want. In 2024, it was THE surgery.
Well, despite the entire year of bad things, it’s the LA house. Not technically mine. At all, really. But it’s complicated. But in terms of its emotional presence in my mind, it’s huge.
There are so many things in it—the business of life, there’s damage in it, there’s Chris’ memories all in it, the feeling of what was and what it could be. I didn’t know any of it.
I would rather let it go than to spend the time to extract the value in whatever way possible.
I was asked whether I had the patience. Maybe initially. But now it’s like…I see the time that we had, the time not to actually have this lingering around. Can it just go?
But it’s complicated. It’s woven in the relationships and the words that aren’t spoke. It’s woven and deeply stuck in the worlds that we are. What will this be like next year? Hopefully progressing if not done.
Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2025 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2025.
2024 5 minutes, 2023 5 minutes, 2022 5 minutes, 2021 5 minutes, 2020 5 minutes, 2019 5 minutes, 2018 5 minutes, 2017 5 minutes, 2016 5 minutes, 2015 5 minutes, 2014 5 minutes, 2013 5 minutes, 2012 5 minutes, 2011 5 minutes, and 2010 5 minutes
Well, what…a year. Although technically not as pummeling as last year, but maybe it was.
What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?
In 2010, I made xmas photo. In 2011, I made metaphorical thingsthat were intentionally symbolic of relationships and history. In 2012, I made ice cream. In 2013, I made design. In 2014, I made “my room”. In 2015, I made the last line of Ice Cream Travel Guide, literally. In 2016, I made my annual holiday video. In 2017, I made another annual holiday video. In 2018, I made scones (from the Tartine cookbook)! In 2019, I made another holiday video! In 2020, I made some minor things (a chapter and writing prompts), but of course the biggest thing was the annual holiday video! In 2021, it was of course annual holiday video, which was built on little videos that I had made throughout the year. In 2022, it was again the holiday video. In 2023, it was the the holiday video though it was a hard year. In 2024, it was the FAQ about my diagnosis and treatment, which I am still so proud about.
This year? Okay, yes, the holiday video. Though part of it was made for the annual Thanksgiving gathering. But over the past week, I was doing small edits to make it better. To reduce the nausea of the Ken Burns effect. To swap in more clear photos. To make sure that there was an even spread among friends and family.
And the thing that was great at the end was a last minute add by Chris. All because during our drive, I was browsing Instagram as I do and came across a screen of a breaking news report with a chron that said “SHOTS FIRED AT NAKATOMI PLAZA”. Chris suddenly said that we should do our holiday message ending there. Our previous ones were so so…at a mall holiday decoration. Not great. And not quite incorporated as our others where we were just standing in the hallway with our gear.
So the following morning we drove and did quick shoot, resulting in our usual happy holiday message. We did about six takes. Maybe with the millennial pause. And I pulled it together. Added a bit more polish and sent it within 3 hours.
Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail.
In 2024, it was when I read my piece fretting about motherhood with a pregnancy loss. In 2023, it was reading at the Racket. In 2022, it was the moment on Cathedral Rock where I passed other cowardly people, thinking that it wasn’t that bad! In 2021, it was all moments after I finished creating something like after the initial Weddin video. In 2020, it was the moment(s) when I was creating. In 2019, it was the moment that I realized that he was actually…alive and whole. In 2018, it was the moment that we realized that the car would start. In 2017, it was the moment (or moments) that I deeply connected with a group I had just met at a conference where I thought I would have been antisocial (or just horribly socially anxious). In 2016, it was the moment that I felt in the flow in telling the story of Ice Cream Travel Guide. In 2015, it was the moments after my hat was “stolen” in Rio. In 2014, it was a moment in a writing workshop that I had achieved greatness. In 2013, it was talking to Yasar Usta in Istanbul. In 2012, it was using the ocean as a “big toilet” while floating outside Palawan. In 2011, it was my birthday moment. In 2010, it was the success in Journey to the End to the Night.
At first, when I first read this question, I immediately thought about driving Chris to the ER. About how I thought we would just walk in and hope for a short wait. About how it would be like last time, where he laid on a gurney. About how I was mad at first that he couldn’t buckle his seatbelt on his own. About how I tried to buckle him in as I was driving. About how after the seatbelt alarm stopped going, he suddenly became unresponsive. About how I panicked, yelling, opening the window, trying to tickle him. About how I didn’t even think to go to a nearer ER. About how all I knew was that we had to get to Kaiser and it would take too long to pull over and I was almost there. About how I took the wrong turns, obeyed the green light, arrived at the ER, not knowing what to do.
But did I feel alive? I could say that it was the moment that I did a slideshow about everything (well, before the assault), but I was pissed off by some responses that I felt less alive with the results.
But I think it must have been when at a meeting, we went around to share our milestones. I was feeling unhappy lately so I didn’t want to share any optimism. At least not with my coworkers. Several coworkers described how their kids were growing and their achievements. One described their dog and new tricks. One about their recent engagement. Another about their pregnancy. Then it was my turn. Plants, anything, I was told. It had been just a month since the assault, nearly a year since my diagnosis, over a year since Chris’ mom died.
I had always hated the conference room. It was in the middle of the building, so it lacked windows. It is awkwardly placed in an outer hallway and inner hallway, so some people pass through it. And all the chairs had weird crumbs on it. And this meeting. I was supportive of it initially, but soured on it. And I was feeling resentful just generally. I was quiet throughout—what else could I do but politely nod? Of course, I am happy for my coworkers, but then when it came to my turn, I remember when during the pandemic, someone asked everyone if they had anything exciting to share and one said nothing. How do you help someone who isn’t feeling great?
Well, I obviously could have demurred or said pass. But instead, I decided to double down. Because I typically like icebreakers and talking about myself. I wanted to share the thing on top of my head, although it was completely not as devastating as it sounded. “Every September for the last three years, I was pregnant. But soon after I realized that I wasn’t. So this year is the first time, that I am not, because of various reasons. So I guess that’s a milestone for me whether it’s good or bad.”
Silence descended in the room. I wasn’t embarrassed exactly. I felt almost angry that I was asked the question. So I told the truth even if it was painful.
“Thank you for sharing,” someone eventually said. Even some coworkers privately DMed me later about it.
And there was an awkward closing. I felt a bit self-righteous about it. I couldn’t square why I felt a bit uncomfortable about it, partly because I felt somewhat guilty about making people feel bad for something that I didn’t need to receive pity for. Which is definitely involved with my mixed feelings of being a parent. But I felt so alive.
Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?
In 2010, it was a person. In 2011, it was an idea. In 2012, it was a symbol represented by a person. In 2013, I let go fear. In 2014, I let go of humility (or the desire to appear humble). In 2015, I let go of perfection. In 2016, I let go of expectations. In 2017, I let go of things and people I don’t need. In 2018, I let go of constant discovery. In 2019, I let go of expectations. In 2020, I let go of uncomfortable pants. In 2021, I let go of rejection. In 2022, I let go about feeling bad about rejection. 2023, I let go about being upset when others are upset. In 2024, I let go of not planning.
This year, because of all the things last year, I let go of feeling ashamed for asking help. To be okay with saying, “Yes, I need help.” And accept it.
The cancer treatments had begun in earnest in January. And I had spent the previous month of last December thinking so much about what I need. Keeping in mind that people want to help. Even the ones who were obnoxiously self-centered when they found out about my diagnosis (sometimes it was too much to include them). So I created ways to help, defining the specific ways. But the primary most visible one was the mealtrain. Throughout it, I didn’t realize how much it helped me. To just let people feed me. I had always been so self-sufficient in feeding myself once I graduated high school, although I didn’t know how to cook healthily so many years. I eventually found joy in cooking. And to have someone else decide for me. For us, made a difference. A friend noted, sometimes, it’s not just for you, it’s for Chris too.
And I was worried about what chemo and radiation would mean. I heard about the exhaustion. I heard about nausea. I heard about weakness. What if? What if?
But feeling nourished in the many ways helped so much.
So when Chris was seriously injured in the assault, it was yet another blow. And a friend offered a mealtrain. I didn’t do a whole survey this time. I felt guilty. But it helped so much. Especially when I went abroad. When meals are just a little thing to do. Everyone just wanted to find a time to bring food, the thing that they enjoyed every day. It’s not a big deal, some would say, just will make a little more for dinner.
I am so grateful for all of it. For the generosity. And it all started with accepting the gift.
Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing and can you eliminate it?
In 2010, I said everything. In 2015, I said fear. In 2016, I said that it’s sitting down and doing it.
In 2017, I said that it was work. In 2018, I said that it was lack of support. In 2019, it really was the lack of accountability. In 2020, I said that it was about losing my creative space to WFH, but it really was about setting time for it. In 2021, I said that it was work. In 2022, I said that it was the way I used my free time. In 2023, I said that it was frugality. In 2024, I said that it was distraction.
So as my coworker likes to say…to be honest, what’s up with this each day. There’s no such thing! Although if I really have to think about it, it’s about creating the space. Like actual comfortable space. The irony is that I am literally at Writing Club. A space I found through a writer that I met (at Litquake!), but I am realizing that it might not work for me. It’s like full…of guys. Which I don’t mind. Usually. But there’s something about the writing that is done here…it’s just writing? Like technical writing? It’s writing about self-promotion? I am mostly interested in actual creative writing in telling stories and the like. So I can’t help but be antagonistic and bristle at everything I don’t like. I can tell that some people who are just writing for the sake of writing. But I want to…be a creative writer.
In some ways, sure, I probably can reframe this. Any writing is worthwhile. But obviously, I am snobby. I don’t like that kind of writing. Because I also do it for work. I mean, clear out the judgement? Would that help my writing?
The thing that I can say about each day…is just about creating the space. There are many choices that I can make throughout the day. Is it going to be cooking or baking? Is it going to be watching TV? Is it going to be reading? Or just writing? And what is writing? What can writing be? And maybe the intentions are just enough.
One Word. Encapsulate the year in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2024 for you?
From years past: 2024, 2023, 2022, 2021, 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015, 2014, 2013, 2012, 2011 and 2010
Last year, I had hoped this year would be Change. And it was, kind of? But not exactly. I thought that with everything that had happened last year and then this year, I would grow as they always say in face of adversity. But surprisingly, just the way that I did it…just the way that we did it, the better word that captures my surprise that we could live the life that we generally wanted to live, the way that we asked for help, and the way that we connected with people in a deeper way than before…is I guess authenticity.
I tell the truth, maybe in a Debbie Downer way. I have met people who for some reason think that I am wise. But I have said that I don’t know anything, I just have so many opinions and I don’t want to apologize for any of it. Although of course sometimes, I am tempted to correct others and rant about all the things that might be wrong. Because I can’t stand to hear any misconceptions or misinformation.
For next year: maybe it will be more of that and the word would be something that I always have truly valued: Integrity.