Words to Live by in 2020

It's the end of a decade, the start of new year, the beginning of the end of my time in college, my last semester, the start of the rest of my life (need I go on?). I have been doing a lot of cleaning and sorting, both literally and metaphorically, throughout the last bit of 2019. My parents are moving houses, and I am trying to continue to live more simply - all of this means a never-ending wave of sentimentality and constant trips to Goodwill.

While I was cleaning my room a few weeks ago, I found this slip of paper:

I wrote this statement in 2018 (I think during my time abroad in Paris), and I spent all of 2019 unlearning this mentality. 

Unlearning is not an easy task. I knew that I dug myself into isolation, so I decided to build a ladder out. I forced myself to put away my beloved, but depressing, indie tunes and listen to some pop music for once. I set boundaries with people who violated my trust. I made a dance about the feeling of being happy (even when it was the last thing on earth I wanted to dance about). I went on a silent retreat and began to reconcile my long-estranged relationship with spirituality and my religion.

In the past year, I went to the beach more than ever before (and I did not count how many times because that was not the point). At first, I always tried to find someone to go with, but the past few times, I have gone by myself. There is something incredibly vulnerable about facing the vastness of the ocean on my own. I’m usually pretty comfortable on my own, but the beach overwhelms me. I learned how to embrace the feeling of being small.

At the beginning of the year, I vowed to practice radical self-love – particularly when it comes to my artistic creation. I started an Instagram to hold myself accountable by sharing my movement creation and my writing. I overhauled my wardrobe with some Parisian inspiration. I ran 8 miles for the first time because I listened to a song on repeat and just felt like running.

This year was not glorious or life-changing or monumental. In fact, most of it felt rather average. I cried a lot more (although I think many of those tears had been pent up from the wreck that was 2018). I started painting my nails again for the first time since my senior year of high school. I published some writing, performed on stage more than ever before, and participated in my first art show. I returned to musical theatre with an open heart (albeit ever so slight).

These little things add up, though. I was so determined to pull myself out of a rut that I built a wall and decided I could do everything by myself. However, the more I healed and celebrated myself, the more people reached out with kindness.

Even though I do depend on myself, I am so blessed to have a network of people who love and support me around the world. I came into this year terrified to share myself with the world, but every bumbling improv and typo-ridden poem has been met with so much appreciation. Every time I am about to step on stage or read a poem out loud or turn in a research paper, I grapple with this strange realm of terror and gratitude. But I am not an island. I am not alone (even if it does get lonely sometimes).

Between my impending graduation and the beginning of my school-free life, 2020 brings a whole lot of uncertainty. I know that I cannot do this alone.This year, I want to be brave. I want to be vulnerable. I want to lean on my community and respond with gratitude, and of course, more art.

For me, bravery and vulnerability take various forms. It is both brave and vulnerable to ask for help. To share emotional honesty. To be open to the possibility of failure and to the possibility for growth. To try new things just for the heck of it. To plan out detailed long-term goals, to scratch those goals, to make impulse decisions, to go with the flow, to fight for what I want. It’s all brave and vulnerable. But I have to do it.

2020 is a year for action.