Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2016 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2016
2015 5 minutes, 2014 5 minutes, 2013 5 minutes, 2012 5 minutes, 2011 5 minutes, and 2010 5 minutes
…and not quite wanting to remember the election…
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 things—that 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.
This year, it could be a number of things—the creativity that comes in the burst in this year. Whether it was the youtube video for the Christmas greeting (see below). Or the directing people to make the cheesecake in the Instant Pot for at home Christmas Eve dinner. Or whether it was the creativity that I lent toward the Christmas gifts this year. It’s all of that, because it’s my way of expressing myself.
It’s the creativity of the holiday magic. I love creating things. The video is the second time that I have done it, coming up with the idea in the span of the day and executing it with as little overhead as possible. But what I have in my mind has been churning for a number of days—the vision was already set in my head with shots and poses. Or the gifts (aka #smallacts) had settled in my mind, because my desire to be less materialistic and shallow — I tested the water at a White Elephant exchange a few weeks ago where I offered an anonymous gift that was simply $20 in honor of the white elephant gift recipient. No gifts for anybody because you’re just going to get something donated to charity in your name! Or food, in an effort to demonstrate a gadget or food that people normally never eat. Thus CREATIVITY.
On the video above, it took about 30 minutes to shoot. Part setup in getting the stuffed animals and Game of Thrones video together. Just one walkthroughs, one dry rehearsal, one dress rehearsal, and two shoots. And getting my sister on board to shoot everything. It was awesome.
Then I had an egotistical moment once completed. I wondered aloud whose name would be present if I had credits rolling. Like for director, editor, writer, location scout, sound editor, director of photography, producer, production designer. “Oh wait, that’s me!” I shouted.
Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail.
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.
There are moments that will stay with me this year. The launch party for Ice Cream Travel Guide. The getting up on stage, not once, but twice, at huge conferences. The first day at a full-time job in four years. Watching my sister get married and giving a speech. And of course, the realization that the president wasn’t going to be who I thought it would be.
But the moment?
Perhaps it was in this moment:
I realized how much I had perfected the story of ice cream, starting with that moment in Bangkok. I know all the beats that I need to take. I know how to push the emotion to ride high and then ride low. Then twist the narrative to bring it back to the concrete. What people don’t know is all the sweat and tears that went into telling that 6 minute story. There are things that I cut out—the breakfast at the American hotel, the sliding along in flip flops. The fact that a friend was actually with me the entire time. There is also the mixed feelings I had that were actually more optimistic than the way I told the story.
What I learned through studying writing is that the narrator doesn’t have to be the true self. It can be somewhat fictionalized. Even better if it’s exaggerated. Who wants to hear about someone who isn’t quite there? We want to hear about someone whose emotions are clear and vivid, instead of complex. At least for the sake of this complex lovey-dovey melodramatic story.
So at Umpqua bank, I sat on the stool reading the excerpts from my book to an audience of 10. I realized how I had mastered so much more than that story. I had also overcome my fear of public speaking. I looked for the hints of how people were paying attention and adjusted accordingly. I remembered what people said and addressed them directly. Eye contact. And in all of this, I held their rapture, at least I thought that I did.
There were kids in the very back, enjoying the ice cream. I do remember that. But I kept going.
And telling my story about that singular ice cream in Bangkok. I don’t know the flavor. Perhaps it was vanilla, mango, peach? Whatever the case, it changed the direction of my life.
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.
This year, I let go expectations. Much like my one word, I realized that disappointment came with expectations.
I could only appreciate things as they are. As they truly are. And most of all, to accept them.
What had always surprised me the most about my book was the fact that most people don’t think like me. They don’t enjoy food the way I do. They don’t savor the stories of people who make the food. Nor do the stories elevate the food for them as it does for me.
Sometimes I find myself looking through my own writing—the struggle of finding an interpreter during the protests in Istanbul or the uneasy overnight in a dairy farm, I think in a dazed moment, “How did this writer really know what I like and love?”
Then I remember, “Oh it’s me.”
I wrote for myself, of course. Whether or not I have this streak of self-centeredness and narcissism, it surprised me that others don’t have the same mindset. And it’s disappointing to pitch my book to people at book festivals, at bookstores, at ice cream shops, and to find that the interest wavers.
And what’s more is that so many people suggest do this or do that, but have they stood with me in those precarious moments? When I was at a festival, pushing, but not pushing too hard my book? When I look at a passerby who loves the concept, but the comments are only “Wow, that’s so amazing!”
There’s a hesitation in all of that. Good enough, but not good enough. That’s the trouble of writing sometimes. To write for yourself, but realizing that you can’t. Not always. Not until you find that others will truly feel like you.
Will you enjoy this as much as I did?
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.
This year, it’s just sitting down and doing it. This year, I did nearly 3 rounds of forcing myself to complete writing. First, there was that ridiculous idea of #the100dayproject on the worst platform for my kind of self-expression: instagram, which I did 100 days of plotting. Then I did 30 days of Writing. Then for the third year in a row and the fourth year, I did nanowrimo, this time writing about multiple relationships to a dead woman. For the latter, I really thought that it was impossible to finish due all the significant events happening during November. But I always finish, so I finished.
I was pleased with the results by pushing myself through it. This year, I spent 160 days writing. And there probably was more when I was editing my work. Although much of the writing produced probably didn’t result in greatness I still felt that some really did.
If I hadn’t: I couldn’t have touched the nuances of a CEO in Silicon Valley. Nor would I have instantly explored the toughness of a woman on the brink of stepping off a cliff. Or encapsulating the fragile relationship of a divorced, bitter mother with a young curious son.
And so what can I do with the other 205 days? My hired developmental editor suggested setting an award for completion. But maybe it’s letting the inspiration come all the time. And most importantly, letting the horrible first draft arrive. Then I write the better draft.
Sit my butt down and write.
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 2017 for you?
From years past: 2015, 2014, 2013, 2012, 2011 and 2010
The one word that captures this year:
Unexpected
Last year, the word was Goal and I hoped that 2016 would be about Confidence. Interestingly, it wasn’t. I published my book, but didn’t expect that the marketing would be difficult. I applied to jobs, but didn’t expect that the job I wanted would turn out the way it did. I achieved the goal of giving talks at conferences, but didn’t expect that the intended goals from giving those talks would be less than I wanted. And most of all, I certainly didn’t expect the election to end up the way it resulted.
Everything is not what I expected.
I was able to achieve my short-term goals, but the long-term goal wasn’t achieved. So what’s left is disappointing. Or in a different perspective, it’s simply unexpected. There’s an opportunity for change and improvement, so it’s not wholly negative.
Next year, the word should be Improvement. I want things to change. So this time, instead of looking for a goal that I hope would lead into my goal, let’s make sure that both of those goals are actually aligned. The first step should always lead to the second step that I actually want.
It wasn’t supposed to be this hard, but it was.
I recounted the most impactful entertainment pieces for me in 2014. Then I did it for all of 2015. Now 2016.
Movies I Saw
TV Shows I Watched
Books I Read
Ways to Pass the Time
Technology
I don’t like that. That’s make me feel uncomfortable. You did really well. You really made a different. I think that we can do it a different way. What if we tried ABC?
But naturally, humans don’t want to feel bad about themselves. They are motivated to tell others what they think, but are they ready to receive feedback themselves? Or do we bite our lips and accept the feedback, no matter how biting and painful it is? Can we keep calm?
Or is our skin always so thin that any pin prick pulls our soul into depression?
A friend tagged me in a Facebook post today. The post linked to a news article about a former counselor member in Australia passed away. In the comments, a link to an obituary was posted.
“So sad” nearly all the comments read.
But I was puzzled. I felt guilty that I didn’t know who this person was. I knew the circle of friends from an online message board from the early 2000s, but more than 10 years later, I only kept in touch with a select few. Our screennames, at the time, are now long forgotten traded for our real names. But for those from then, I only knew them by their screennames. We were nearly all in our early 20s, forming our identity and trying to understand ourselves. We filled our lives with blogs like this, telling the world our own truth and forming relationships with others. That message board was one of the many triggers for starting this own blog.
“Who is he?” I texted my friend, located on the opposite coast.
She tried to add color. He was someone active in the message board. I didn’t recognize his photo. He dated someone. Then there was drama. And then stuff. Then years passed. My friend was Facebook friends with him, but as for me, I never made the connection.
But isn’t that the same with any friend that I might have met in a group once more than 10 years ago, like the many student groups that cycled through my life then. Perhaps we had good rapport then. But we never made an impression or impact on each other. So we didn’t choose to keep in touch. And so we slid into our lives, forgetting each other, because our minds could only hold so many people at a time. As our social networks matured so did the people we choose to stay in contact with. And so life would have continued on without remembering each person’s existence.
This is where I would like to say: he touched my life. He made a difference for anybody he met. He made their lives better in an instance.
I wish that I could say that, but I can’t recall a moment of interaction with him.
All I can think is how sad to have passed away at the age of 30. To have all the friends and family grieve for who he was, gone from their lives. To have had such promise in the future, clamped down within a day.
Rest in peace.
Once a long time ago, I awkwardly answered the question of what I wanted to do in my life to a coworker as we walked across the street in San Francisco.
I felt embarrassed sharing it, because it felt so unrefined and unachievable. Worst of it all, it sounded so egotistical, because I don’t know if I had the ability to even do it.
What I said was some version of the following:
To change the world. To get people to think, “You know, I thought about that before.” Not to be in the spotlight of that. It can’t just be product design, but to create something that changes someone’s perspective of the world. Maybe it’s through stories or essays. Maybe it’s visual arts. Something like that. But I don’t want my name attached. I want to be behind the scenes, noticing the change. The grand change.
And I often followed up with how the work of user experience won’t be able to quite achieve that. Because people will never notice that their lives have changed with user experience. It’s just simply better and folds into all the consumer technology. There’s no gratitude. There’s just this slow burn across years of convenience.
So now days after the election, what do I do now? Have I made the right choice? Have I?