ryochiji (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ryochiji) wrote,@ 2008-12-16 23:30:00 |
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in which Ryo thinks of the year that was, and the year to come...
Looking back at the last year, two memories stand out in my mind...
The first is of going home to our apartment in Mountain View when Nikki and I lived together. As I approach the apartment, I pass the dining area window, slightly foggy from Nikki's cooking. I open the door, and I'm immersed in warmth and light. It smells of Christmas tree and garlic and basil. Oscar stretches out in front of me, demanding attention. I rub his tummy, and he gently kicks my hand with his back paw. Nikki interrupts her stirring, and smiles, practically glowing. I go to the kitchen and give her a hug. I am home, safe and warm.
The other memory is of me standing on a hill top, in a vacant lot of land in the high desert. The sun is beating down, and my arms are sweaty and scratched. I pant, recovering from the strenuous hike across a slippery gully on a faint deer trail and up a steep hillside. A bird of prey soars above my head. I hear a gust of wind rushing towards me from a valley to the west. I pull out my GPS and compare my coordinates to a topo map. I look across at another hill on the opposite corner of the lot. It's four, maybe five hundred yards away. I could build my own shooting range here. There isn't a soul in sight. I feel alive, free, and happy.
These two memories represent two conflicting desires and needs that I have, that I struggle to reconcile as I contemplate my future. On the one hand, I want a place I can return to everyday and call home. I want it to be a warm, full and happy place, instead of the cold, empty, and isolated apartment that I have now. I want people to share my life with, to ground myself and build a sustainably happy life. On the other hand, I often actively seek solitude and the freedom that comes with it. I want to go on more adventures, take risks, and be physically active in a way that I can't be in another decade or two. I want to spend time on hobbies and develop skills while my mind and body are more or less cooperative. I am deathly afraid of wasting away my youth, or what little of it I have left.
I'm sure this is a common problem men (and maybe women) face. But I think people don't deal with it well, and end up having half-life crises when they realize it's too late. I'm looking at my last year in my 20s, and feel lucky that I'm single and financially well off. I can still do things. I can still learn. I can still get in shape. I can still take risks. I can still shape my future and my life. I have options.
2008 was a year of change. I had new experiences, and learned a lot about myself, about life, about work, about love. But it was also a year of uncertainty. I don't know what's in store for me in 2009, but I hope I can live with conviction, and have faith in myself again. I hope I can follow my heart, take risks, overcome internal and external adversity and go places I didn't know I could go, both literally and figuratively.
Looking back at the last year, two memories stand out in my mind...
The first is of going home to our apartment in Mountain View when Nikki and I lived together. As I approach the apartment, I pass the dining area window, slightly foggy from Nikki's cooking. I open the door, and I'm immersed in warmth and light. It smells of Christmas tree and garlic and basil. Oscar stretches out in front of me, demanding attention. I rub his tummy, and he gently kicks my hand with his back paw. Nikki interrupts her stirring, and smiles, practically glowing. I go to the kitchen and give her a hug. I am home, safe and warm.
The other memory is of me standing on a hill top, in a vacant lot of land in the high desert. The sun is beating down, and my arms are sweaty and scratched. I pant, recovering from the strenuous hike across a slippery gully on a faint deer trail and up a steep hillside. A bird of prey soars above my head. I hear a gust of wind rushing towards me from a valley to the west. I pull out my GPS and compare my coordinates to a topo map. I look across at another hill on the opposite corner of the lot. It's four, maybe five hundred yards away. I could build my own shooting range here. There isn't a soul in sight. I feel alive, free, and happy.
These two memories represent two conflicting desires and needs that I have, that I struggle to reconcile as I contemplate my future. On the one hand, I want a place I can return to everyday and call home. I want it to be a warm, full and happy place, instead of the cold, empty, and isolated apartment that I have now. I want people to share my life with, to ground myself and build a sustainably happy life. On the other hand, I often actively seek solitude and the freedom that comes with it. I want to go on more adventures, take risks, and be physically active in a way that I can't be in another decade or two. I want to spend time on hobbies and develop skills while my mind and body are more or less cooperative. I am deathly afraid of wasting away my youth, or what little of it I have left.
I'm sure this is a common problem men (and maybe women) face. But I think people don't deal with it well, and end up having half-life crises when they realize it's too late. I'm looking at my last year in my 20s, and feel lucky that I'm single and financially well off. I can still do things. I can still learn. I can still get in shape. I can still take risks. I can still shape my future and my life. I have options.
2008 was a year of change. I had new experiences, and learned a lot about myself, about life, about work, about love. But it was also a year of uncertainty. I don't know what's in store for me in 2009, but I hope I can live with conviction, and have faith in myself again. I hope I can follow my heart, take risks, overcome internal and external adversity and go places I didn't know I could go, both literally and figuratively.
