Leaving 2022 Behind but Carrying What I Learned Into 2023

By Leslie Quan

I can't say that the first half of 2022 was too bad for me, but the second half was definitely a train wreck. Ever since I returned from my study abroad trip in July, I feel like my whole life took a 180 and then nosedived into an abyss located in the third dimension. To put it simply, I lost myself. I think most people enter this era of an identity crisis at least once in their lifetime and, for me, this just so happened to be at the end of 2022.

If I may, I want to draw a comparison between "figuring out myself" and running a half marathon. Now, for those non-runners who are reading this, just sit tight, I promise this will all make sense, maybe.

When I first ran a half marathon, I did not look at my watch at all. It seems like an obvious thing to do—if you want to run a race, then you need to at least pace yourself so you actually make it across the finish line. My runner friends who are reading this will know that looking at your watch can be scary sometimes because what if you're going too fast? Or too slow? Either extremes will certainly compromise your performance. 

Before my second half marathon, I visited my local running store to buy new runnings shoes (Saucony's are my go-to, if you're curious) and ended up talking to an employee there, Mike. (Mike, if you ever see this, hi.) In my overzealous nature, I indulged this 60-year-old runner in a conversation about how I wanted to run X time in the half marathon. He asked me, "What pace is that?" To which I replied, "I don't know." He looked at me confused, "So you want to run X time but you don't know what pace to run at?" That's exactly right, Mike.

I wanted to run a fast time but I didn't know how to do it nor did I want to figure it out. However, Mike instilled some sense into me that day. I ended up searching up the pace I needed to run at as well as checking in on my watch throughout the race. And guess what? I ran my goal time. 

So for all the non-runners who are now thinking, "Leslie, you lost us the moment you introduced us to the running store. What does this have to do with 'figuring out yourself?'" Let me explain.

I started searching for myself in other people. In other words, I wanted everyone outside of myself to validate my existence through their own—not to be conflated with seeking out validation of my identity, I already feel very grounded in that. This was different because I truly lost my ability to feel alive. Imagine that you have an avocado and you remove the seed from its center, it's still an avocado but it's missing something. That's sort of how it felt, like I was missing my seed in order to feel whole.

In my discomfort, I reached for anything that would satisfy my desire to feel not just alive but to feel anything other than emptiness. I leaned on empty pleasures for temporary satisfaction and I suddenly found myself sinking deeper into the abyss. 

Once I realized I was walking myself to my own grave, I knew that I had to start putting myself and my mental health at the forefront of my priorities. Nothing else mattered. Even though I'm saying this now, I'm still very much in denial. In fact, I found it much easier to encourage other people to prioritize their mental health while I continued to rot on the inside.

I rationalized this in my brain because it was so easy to put other people, especially strangers, on a pedestal—nearly godlike status if we're being completely honest here. (I'll label it a cognitive distortion for all you psych majors out there.) It seemed like everyone else besides me deserved to be happy. I believed this so intently that I forgot how I'm just as human as everyone else and deserve to feel happiness in all its forms despite being an imperfect person. This all sort of clicked for me when I received a text from a friend who said, "Dont build me up in ur mind too much leslie, I am just another stupid human." (Thanks, Ethan. I hope you see this one day.)

For me, being happy starts with leaving my past behind, at least the parts that no longer serve me. In Baek Se-hee's memoir, I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki, she details a session in which her psychiatrist tells her that, "Forgetfulness can be liberating..." Even without providing too much context from the book (although I would highly recommend reading it), I think this sentiment serves a fruitful purpose. 

In an effort to make sense of my existence, I hoarded memories and people and objects like my life would fall apart without them. (If you're familiar with Marie Kondo, then I'd like to openly admit that I am the antithesis of her.) However, with time, I'm slowly unlearning these behaviors and acknowledging that I'm still myself even if I let some of these things go. I'm just becoming another, better version of myself, and that's okay. In fact, it's not just okay, it's growth.

I think, like my first half marathon, I tackled life in the most chaotic and oblivious way. I wanted to be happy but I wasn't making the effort to do so nor was I making the obvious choices to prioritize my own happiness. For so long I kept running away from myself, anxiously searching everywhere for any semblance of myself. Instead, I should have been running towards myself. (Christine, if you see this, thank you for sharing this insight with me.) Because, at the end of the day, I'm the only one who can and should control the pace and outcome of my own life.

At the top of the new year, I can't wait to start fresh in a new city and a new job with a new perspective on things. I can't say for certain that I have everything figured out or that I'm fully prepared for all these new changes, but I'm hopeful, and that's enough for me right now.

Thank you for reading.