Author: Jimmy Chim

Once upon a time, there was a rich man. One year, his land produced a bountiful harvest. The yield was so abundant that he ran out of storage space.

Facing his tremendous success, he concluded: “I shall tear down my barns and build larger ones. There I shall store all my grain and other goods.”

He went on to tell himself: “Now as for you, you have so many good things stored up for many years, rest, eat, drink and be merry!”

But God then said to him, “You fool, this night your life will be demanded of you; and the things you have prepared, to whom will they belong?”⁽¹⁾

Each of us has a barn.

Every day we work hard to build it up. We store material resources: food, shelter, money, and other tangible things. We also accumulate psychological accolades: fulfillment, recognition, a sense of progress in life. More is better than less, we assume. Ultimately, we hope this barn brings us happiness.

As we age, it’s worthwhile to pause and ask: is this barn serving me, or am I serving the barn? Have we, along the way of life, turned the barn-building into an end itself in an attempt to fill the insatiable desire for happiness?

The danger is that our eyes become fully fixated on the barn itself, rather than living. Attachment to things—the desire to hold onto something forever — is guaranteed to bring dissatisfaction and suffering. Everything we gain merely becomes another source of loss. We then attempt to pacify this anxiety with even more, which leads to a vicious cycle: The more we have, the more we lose.

Perhaps this is why Jesus said, “Be on your guard against all kinds of greed. For one’s life does not consist of possession.” Underneath greed is insecurity, a sense that we are not good enough as we are. When we identify our worth through stuff, or the ephemeral pleasure that stuff brings us, it’s a slippery slope to emptiness, especially given our short life.

We come into the world empty-handed, and we will be the same when we depart.

How else can we view our relationship with the barn? One other option is view ourselves as a tenant, and the barn as a toolbox for peace and tranquility.

A new car, a bigger house, more money in the bank—none of these is necessarily a problem. In fact, they can be wonderful. Resources are important for our well-being. Having a barn can free us from emotional disturbances, so we don’t have to constantly worry about where the next meal comes from or whether we can afford the place we live.

When we are healthy and free of emotional burden, we can be physically and emotionally more available to others: our family, friends, and neighbors in need. We can have the mental space to be creative and do our best work with the gifts we have. We can thrive and feel alive by fulfilling our potential in service of others.

The key is to be detached from the barn. Enjoy it while you have access to it, and be okay even when that access goes away. Strive for equanimity — or what the Greek calls apatheia—so you have freedom from the disturbance of worldly things.

Notes:
⁽¹⁾ Story comes from Luke 6:12-20

If we observe closely, we often live anywhere but in the present moment.

Our mind dwells in the past, or projects into the future. We kick ourselves for the mistakes we have made, or salivate over a vision of happiness that never seems to come. When that happens, we miss this very second. We overlook what’s right in front of us — the people we love, the beauty in this world, or the opportunities that quietly presented themselves. We are too busy looking everywhere but here and now.

How can we live this second in a more fruitful way? Three ideas may help.

1. Recognize our ability to choose only lies in this second.

The past is gone, and the future has not yet arrived. Our freedom to choose resides only in this moment.

Think of it this way: every second we are given an opportunity to cast a new vote for who we choose to be. What qualities do I want to cultivate? What version of myself do I long to be? How can I be 1% better this second than the last?

If I care about my mother, I can call and tell her I love her now.

If I want to support my wife, I can listen to her with understanding now.

If I aspire to be a writer, I can grab a journal and get my hands moving now.

What are we called to do now? Pay attention, then choose. Do it. Be it.

2. Remember this second is a gift.

Every day we are unconditionally given brand new twenty-four hours, with the backdrop that our life on this earth will eventually come to an end.

Memento mori — “remember you will die” — is an old philosophical idea. Acknowledging death is not morbid, no more than recognizing gravity is at work. We see it, we know it, but we don’t think about it.

Reframe death this way: If we live forever, there is no point in doing anything today. If there is no death, there is no life. The powerful combo of life and death propels us to act.

Why not use this gift to its fullest, knowing that we are merely tenants in this world? This will give you a proper perspective to ignore the trivial things. Stop worrying about how others view you, or the possessions you have, or the gossip of the day. Is that how we want to use our precious gift?

3. Orient Your Life Around Love

The Catholic theologian and philosopher St. Thomas Aquinas defines love as “the choice to will the good of the other.”

When we truly love someone, we go beyond our own gains and benefits. Our genuine concern becomes others’ well-being.

What does the person in front of you — family, friend, neighbor, colleague or stranger — need? If you want to build a better world, don’t plan for great things in the future. Instead, start with the person right here.

Acting out of love this way may be unglamorous in the worldly sense. Sacrificial love goes beyond the warm and fuzzy feeling. Instead, it calls for patience, understanding, and compassion. As Mother Teresa once put it: “True love is love that causes us pain, that hurts, and yet brings us joy.”

Why would we base our choices on such love? Because it gives our life meaning and purpose. Sacrificial love is a sure way for lasting, life-giving joy.

Recall the love you have received in the past — perhaps from a parent, a mentor, or a dear friend — and how their kindness has transformed your life for the better. This love transcends time: their will for your good continues to live within you today. Isn’t that a beautiful thing?

You can choose to do the same for others.

How do you know which is the path of love? If you are not sure, go for a walk. Then quiet yourself, be still, and listen to your heart. Your heart always knows the path of love. Follow it, do your job, and then everything will fall into place.

Give to everyone who begs from you; if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask them again. Do to other as you would them to do to you.

Luke 6:30-31

Sometimes when I drive towards the highway around where I live, I encounter an ethical question. A red light at the freeway entrance forces me to stop. A person under the highway overpass is waving a sign “Hungry. Anything helps!” Sometimes the person approaches each vehicle to make sure he or she is seen.

What should I do? In my mind, there are three options.

1. Ignore the person.
2. Acknowledge the person but do not give anything.
3. Give.

For years, I opted for option 1. I would look ahead and pretend that person doesn’t exist. A few narratives run through my head and justify non-action. If I roll down the window, will that person attack me? Will I catch covid? What if the person spends the money on drugs and alcohol? If the adult is accompanied by a child, is giving going to enable the adult to exploit their child for money? And above all: What’s the point of helping one person, when there are thousands more?

I uncomfortably wished the green light would come sooner to rescue me from dread.

Recently, through, I started to give $5 or $10 if I carry the cash. I don’t know what inspired this change. It might have been to relieve my own guilt. It might have been the starfish story, where the woman chooses to throw a starfish back into the water one at at time even though there are many more. It might have been the quote from the bible: “Give to everyone who begs from you.”

The biggest motivation is perhaps to fight my own mind, and its tendency to create stories and project outcomes. It’s a fight for my freedom and not let the chatter in my mind dominate my choices. The possibility of me getting hurt or sick from interacting with the person is 0.0000001%. If that $10 can fill that person’s belly for the day, or get a drink of water desperately needed, that benefit outweighs the risk. The upside is far greater.

All I can do in this situation is to give that person a small option, let go of the outcome, and wish for the person find a better path forward. Once the money changes hand, it’s up to that person to choose what he does with it.

I would have preferred that option if I were in that person’s situation.

With every breath, the old moment is lost; a new moment arrives.

Lama Surya Das

One thing we haven’t stopped doing since we are born is to breathe. Every moment, our body performs a series of complicated motions to bring in air that gives us life. Unlike most things in our modern world, this gift is unconditional and available to everyone. We don’t need to force anything. Nature is ready to supply the air. All we need is to accept this gift by breathing. Our body knows what to do. Oxygen flows in, and keeps our heart going.

It’s a beautiful reminder that we — humans, animals, plants, and all beings — are interconnected through the same air we breathe. We are not on our own island. We need each other and nature to thrive. Together we are one body: you are the arms, and I am the legs.

Every breath is a reminder of our life and death. We can’t survive for a few moments without breathing. We die with every out-breath. We are born with every in-breath. The past moment is gone. The new one arrives.

Sometimes we get stressed. We forget to breathe. We get caught up by the problems and suffering of everyday life. This happens to all of us. We think about the past and the future. When that happens, pause for a second. Remember: all we have is this moment, this breath. Don’t forget the life in the now.

Peace and joy can only be found in this moment, not in some distant future. The past is nothing but a series of “nows”. You have this moment now. What are you going to choose to do?

“Time is free, but it’s priceless. You can’t own it, but you can use it. You can’t keep it, but you can spend it. Once you’ve lost it. You can never get it back.”

— Harvey Mackay

When we awake every morning, we get twenty four brand new hours. Everyone gets the same until they die. It doesn’t matter whether you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate, ethical or evil. It’s a free, unconditional gift that runs at 60 minutes per hour, regardless of who you are.

But we often forget that time is a gift. We live as though we have an unlimited store of time. We are busy chasing ephemeral things like pleasure, money, power, honor, or recognition by others. Or we are too consumed by what could have happened in the past or what will happen in the future.

No matter where you are, take a deep breath and remind yourself of the present moment. This very second is gift. The millions of decisions you made before this moment don’t matter nearly as much as what you choose to do now.

Each moment is a new opportunity. Even when external circumstances are beyond our control, no one can rob you of this moment. You have freedom to make a choice. No matter how terrible yesterday went, you can reset today.

Since you can’t deposit time into a bank account, you must also choose what to spend it on now.

So, will you be a channel of love, joy, and peace in this beautiful, chaotic world? Will you choose to be a slightly better person this second than the last? Will you say one kind thing to the person you love? Will you give more than you receive? Will you fully embrace this moment regardless of how sweet or bitter it tastes?

What do you do with this gift now?

“To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.” once wrote.

Mary Oliver

Losing someone you love is difficult. There’s no way around it. All your plans, hopes and dreams are now shattered. The deep joy you once experienced has turned into gut-wrenching sorrow you didn’t think was possible.

When that happens, don’t pretend everything is the same. It’s okay to admit that your world has been fundamentally disrupted and rearranged.

Grieve, fully. Let your tears stream down. Keep crying if your body calls for it. When you do, lean in to the feeling of deep sadness. Experience it fully with openness, tenderness, and compassion. The sensation will come and go like waves in the ocean — sometimes fierce, sometimes gentle.

Our grief is nothing but a sign of how much we loved. It is also an invitation to reexamine our priority and how we use our limited time on earth. Are we going to retreat, or are we going to move forward with courage?

The hard fact is: Life never guarantees to turn out as we expect. We want control, but we have little. Anyone’s physical body — including our own — can cease anytime. When the time comes, we must learn to let go. Not only the physical body, but also the “what-if” questions about what could have happened.

As time passes, don’t feel guilty to feel happy again. It’s not cheating on the dead if we laugh too much or become playful. Instead of dying with the dead, we can choose live for them.

Don’t be scared to choose love again.

Be comforted that our spiritual love persists. The people we love never leave us. They will remain in our heart forever.

Our whole life is ahead of us now. And our loved ones will want us to celebrate each moment and choose a full life.

There is an appointed time for everything,
and a time for every affair under the heavens.

A time to give birth, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant.

A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to tear down, and a time to build.

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

Some moments call us to let go. Limiting beliefs that were once useful. Bad habits born out of boredom, sadness, or anxiety. Untamed desires that disturb our peace. Once we see them, we can choose to tear down what no longer serves us. When we loosen our grip, we have a chance to be reborn.

Some moments call us to courage. When we face setbacks. When we wrestle with fear. When the future is unknown. Remember: We can always take a moment, steady ourselves, and return to our breath. We will find peace in God. From there, we can muster the bravery that we thought wasn’t there, and proceed amid uncertainties.

Some moments call us to experience our emotions. Fully lean into the experience without attachment. Rejoice in laughter. Grieve in tears. Dance with your body, mind, and soul. Live the moment with openness. Look at the rise and fall of emotions with curiosity like clouds in the sky. Eventually everything shall pass, and you will have lived.

When we stop fighting the calling of the present moment, we reduce our suffering and move into acceptance. If we listen carefully, our heart always knows the right thing to do. We can choose to respond to what’s asked of us, and find peace and joy in each appointed moment.

There is no such thing as ready. There is only now.

Huge Laurie

Your heart is racing. Your insides have turned into knots. You can’t tell whether you are breathing or not. Even with much preparation, you don’t feel fully confident.

If you’ve ever done any public speaking, you would be familiar with this sense of tightness right before standing up. There is a moment when you must let go of everything, muster all the courage within you, and step into the center stage with a leap of faith.

Every key, meaningful moment in our life works the same way. We are called to embrace the unknown, to venture into unchartered territories, and to risk looking like a fool. Raising your hand at school or work. Saying yes to a new project. Saying no to injustice. Starting a new career. Entering into a relationship. Marrying another person. Starting a family. Restarting a career after 20 years on the previous one.

No one truly knows what they are signing up for.

There’s always the temptation to wait. To do more preparation, to receive more schooling, or to observe what others do first. We may do that out of prudence (yes, sometimes we need that), but the truth is we don’t want to be exposed and hurt. Inaction seems much safer. That’s why we distract ourselves with many things — TV, social media, emails, or whatever feels familiar.

Attributing inaction to not being ready is an easy way out.

Feeling ready is an illusion. There is no such thing as certainty. You can’t possibly anticipate everything that life throws at you. But the cost of staying in the same place is incalculable: everything worthwhile in life requires you to be vulnerable without being ready. If you don’t ever move forward, you also miss out on growth, meaning, and fun in life.

As the actor Huge Laurie once said, “It’s a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you’re ready. I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There is almost no such thing as ready. There is only now. And you may as well do it now. Generally speaking, now is as good a time as any.”

Being ready is a practice of letting go. If your heart tells you that you must do something, start anyway. Once you move forward without feeling ready, magic happens.

Someone once asked the buddha, “Sir, what do you and your monks practice?” He replied, “We sit, we walk, and we eat.” The questioner continued, “But sir, everyone sits, walks, and eats.” Then the buddha said, “When we sit, we know we are sitting. When we walk, we know we are walking. When we eat, we know we are eating.”

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Have you had an experience when you finish a meal, and you ask yourself, “what did I just eat?”

When we eat, we are often not eating. We talk, watch TV, or think about work and life problems. We stuff food down our throat. We are too busy, so eating simply becomes a bodily need to be fulfilled.

If we pay attention to other aspects of our life, we realize we are absent in many waking moments. Our physical body is in a space, but our mind is somewhere else. When a family shares a difficult problem, our mind wanders and thinks about our own issues. When a group of friends meet, we play with our phones instead of engaging with each other. Even on a beach vacation, we salivate over the other people’s images on social media rather than admiring the beauty right in front of us.

No wonder we are stressed. Our body and mind are split between realities, never aligned. We are everywhere but nowhere.

There is a monumental cost living without awareness and mindfulness: We never live. We are either dwelling in the past, or worrying about the future. We say to ourselves: If I have this or that, then I will be okay. Except we won’t. Because we will yet desire something else.

If we don’t know how to engage with the present, we will never able to.

One morning I left my home for my usual walk before work. As I approached the corner of the block, I saw from afar a petite, elderly woman—perhaps in her seventies— in a black wheelchair alone. Her neck was turning left and right as she surveyed the sparse traffic in the neighborhood. I greeted her.

“Good morning, young man.” she said in reply.

I made a left at the interaction and did not think much of our exchange. As my back was about to turn against her, I heard her voice again.

“I wish I could do that… walking continuously.” she said.

She chuckled with a bitter smile on her face, as she rotated the wheelchair towards me. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. I nodded, smiled for a second, and walked on.

For the rest of my walk, I watched my own legs swing like pendulums. Left, right. And left, then right again. I have lived 11,000 days thus far, but I can’t think of another time I marveled at my legs’ biodynamics.

This reminds me of how much I often take my life for granted. When was the last time I put my palm on my chest? Do I recognize my own heart beat: its rhythm, its warmth, and its strength? Do I see how the blood moves through an extraordinary circulatory system that makes my life possible, even though I don’t pay remote attention to it every day? My functioning heart is a dream for a patient with heart failure. It may also be my dream at some point in the future.

The woman I met lost the ability to do something she was once able to. She remembers the days when she could explore, wander, and run. Maybe going for a morning jog, getting lost in a new city, or simply climbing into the bathtub on her own.

Someday we will be like her. Our physical abilities—walking, writing, and breathing—will eventually be fade. This limitation sounds poignant, but it can be a beautiful thing. It reminds us to do something with our lives today. If we live forever, there’s no point in doing anything now.

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.

Pablo Picasso

When we are children, play is an instinct.

Our mother plays peekaboo with us before we can utter a word. Anything stackable—books, coasters, toilet paper rolls—is a building block. A stick is a sword. Or it is a Quidditch broom.

We have no fear. We don’t care about whether we are good at something or not. What matters is that we have fun. When we play, joy overflows.

The world seems infinitely interesting.

As we age, the story changes. No one tells us that there is an invisible line somewhere between childhood and adulthood. Once we cross that line—always unknowingly—play is now officially trivial.

“It’s time to grow up,” say the people who once rejoiced in our pure joy.

“Stop being childish.”

While others judge us, the hardest critic is often ourselves. We go to great lengths to avoid feeling silly or incompetent. We censor what we say and what we do. We stop trying new things.

Bit by bit, we bury the inner child.

It gets worse when we enter into our 20s and 30s. Responsibilities begin to mount: jobs, bills, and family obligations.

But even when we have free time and energy, we rarely choose to play. Instead, we watch Netflix to live vicariously through someone else’s story. We scroll our feeds to observe others safely from a distance without exposing ourselves. We yell at professional players on TV instead of actually playing the sport.

Nothing wrong with these activities. But that’s consumption, not play.

The Cost of Not Playing

Think back on the moments when you feel most alive in your life.

When you laugh hysterically playing board games with your friends. When you play a piece of music from start to finish. When you explore the beauty of the world in a new place.

When you create your own recipe because you run out of ingredients at home. When you write your first poem. When you come up with that joke that you are so proud of.

When you make a free throw with a basketball. When you drive a golf ball 200 yards. When you fly a kite with your dad, your partner, or your child.

When you paint, embroider, or make a pottery bowl.

Whatever it maybe, it’s no wonder that our best, happiest, and the most vivid memories are often moments of play.

When we play, we open ourselves to possibilities. It calls us to be present, inquisitive, and creative. That’s when we feel flow—a state of complete bliss where we lose track of time —which is essential to happiness.

We broaden our perspectives, challenge old assumptions, and see old things in a new light.

Nothing can fire up the brain more than play.

Studies even show that play improves our health. It reduces our stress. Our blood pressure goes down. We are more creative and innovative. It boosts our quality of life and the quality of our work.

Play isn’t trivial. It is essential. And we play a dear price for not doing it.

“When we play, we are engaged in the purest expression of humanity, the truest expression of our individuality.” says Stuart Brown, a psychology researcher.

It’s literally the thing the makes us human.

So be a child again. Pick up a new hobby. Write a song. Pull out your crayons or paint brush. Bike through a new neighborhood without GPS. Make something.

Don’t worry about making it perfect. Don’t think about selling anything on Etsy. Don’t try to impress anyone. Just do it. Share it with your friends if you want, or keep you creation in a drawer forever.

Give it all you have without expecting anything in return. Do it for no one.

Your inner child is still there.

Now stop reading, find it, and go play.

The mind can go in a thousand directions, but on this beautiful path, I walk in peace. With each step, the wind blows. With each step, a flower blooms.

Thich Nhat Hanh

One morning a peaceful elderly man was walking along the beach. A big storm had just passed. The shore was littered with star fish, as far as the eye could see.

In a distance, the man noticed a woman picking the starfish up and throwing them back into the sea.

He approached her and asked, “Why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?”

The woman replied. “When the sun gets high, unless I throw them into the water, they will die.”

The man scanned the many miles of beach.

“But there must be tens of thousands of starfish. Sending a few into the water can’t possibly make much of a difference.”

The young woman knelt down, picked up another starfish, and threw it into the ocean.

And then she smiled and said, “It made a difference to that one.”

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The world can at times look like it is only with filled unsolvable problems.

When we feel helpless, we may develop a tendency to think: If there are so many big problems, what’s the point for me to solve only one small problem?

But when we reach that conclusion, we hurt.

Deep in our heart, we yearn to connect with the world. We want to help. We desire to serve. We want to find meaning in what we do.

Look at the starfish around you. Maybe your dear friend who is stressed with life problems and have trouble resting. Or your family who needs comfort after a hard day at work. Or the lost, confused stranger on the street who can use directions.

Each moment is a unique call to make a simple yet meaningful contribution. When you respond to that call, you show the person who receives your gift that someone in the world cares. That, my friend, can mean the world.

What can be more beautiful than your choice to use your time, effort, and abilities for the sake of serving others?

You are not called to throw all the starfish back into the water. Just one — the one in front of you. Imagine the world when we all do the same.

Do not judge each day by the harvest you reap.
But by the seeds you plant.

Robert Louis Stevenson

When we visit a garden, we tend to judge it based on what’s growing: the shrubs, the trees, the flowers. And most visibly, the fruits. Very rarely do we focus on the soil: how fresh it is, how much water it gets, and what nutrients it receives. We also pay little attention to the seeds: what types of seeds are used, where they come from, and how you plant them.

We often apply the same lens to evaluate ourselves. What “fruits” do I see?

• How much money do I have?
• How many accolades have I received?
• What is my job title?
• How much influence do I have?
• How impactful is my work?

We get fixated on the fruits. We are disappointed when our garden doesn’t look as fruitful as we expected. We want to see fruits right now.

The worst is when we compare to our neighbor’s garden, which always looks splendid and delightful. We may even yell at the tiny little fruit we do have. “Why don’t you grow?” Quite comical if you think about it, isn’t it?

Fruits grow way after you plant good seeds in healthy soil. They are an outcome, which you can’t control. The only thing you can do is to focus on the input: the invisible stuff.

Cultivate the soil when no one is looking. Water it every day. Give it the best nutrients. Sow the seeds that will yield the fruits you want. If you want apples, don’t sow orange seeds. Plant as many good seeds as possible, for you don’t know which one will yield.

It takes patience. It will look like nothing is happening for days, weeks and months. But eventually something will sprout. No matter what, you keep going and repeating the same thing, day after day.

That’s only the way to grow fruits.

Over the last two years, I’ve felt a strong urge to get clarity with my life. What should I do with my limited time on earth? What’s my purpose? How can I find meaning in what I do?

I experimented with projects and hobbies. Along the way, I read, meditated, and tried new things.

Eventually I found my way to writing.

It started off with scribbling thoughts in a notebook when I went through a rough patch. Gradually, I realized I needed to first see what was going on in my life before I could untangle the knots.

Journaling provided that space.

As the journaling habit became more engrained, I felt a natural pull to start writing more every day. Though I met that call with skepticism. I started many blogs, journals, and projects over the last 15 years. None of them lasted more than a few months. Why would this time be different?

I have doubts. What am I supposed to write? Who am I to write? Who cares about what I have to say? English is not even my first language!

Why should I spend energy on this? What’s the reward?

Yet with all the hesitation, my heart yearns to respond to the call. It’s an invitation. It’s time to accept it. How about I go along with it and see happens?

Since the beginning of 2022, I have been writing 20+ minutes a day without breaking the chain. Every day I am learning something new. Writing teaches me to pay attention to my life in new ways. I appreciate other people’s writing in brand new ways. I see the the hard work it takes behind the scene to produce insightful writing.

When I approach writing as play, it can be light, fun, and enjoyable. I don’t have to grip my pen so hard. At the end of the day, I don’t choose the words. They choose me. All I have to do is be mindful when the words come, create space, and let them dwell.

When I write for no one, there is no disappointment.

Why build an expectation that everything I do must be profitable? Can’t I do something for its own sake?

I can just write.

A friend of mine once said, “I will be happy when I pay off this mortgage. I will be happy if I am rich. I will be happy if I retire now.”

“What will you do then?” I asked. She tilted her head and paused for a second. Then she said:

“I haven’t thought about that.”

If we add up the instances that we humans start a sentence with “I will be happy if…” that number will be as much as sand on the beach. I will be happy if I get an A on that test, if I get that promotion, if I can afford that shiny new electric car.

This line of thinking is known as conditional happiness. Underlying this thinking is a sense of lack. You are not whole. You are behind. Something is missing. For many of us, conditional happiness is our de facto operating system. We apply this to all aspects of our lives. If only my friends are more attentive. If only my partners are more considerate. If only I win the lottery.

The entire advertising industry—which spends tens of billions every year — revolves around this single idea. You are not thin, fit, healthy enough. You are not loved, admired or respected. But, relax, your problem goes away when you own this. You will then be happy.

What they don’t tell you is how fleeting that happiness is. It may last a day or two. Many people spend months, years and decades — if not their entire lives — pursuing conditional happiness. Along the way, they endure deep stress, thinking that is the price they must pay to attain happiness.

Even if one day they do become a valedictorian, a high-power CEO, or a billionaire, that happiness remains short-lived and elusive. There will always be more conditional happiness to chase after — it’s a bottomless well.

Is it worth the years of pain?

Conditional happiness is an archenemy to true joy. When we desire what we don’t have, or try to control what’s beyond our control, we suffer from anxiety.

The biggest problem with conditional happiness is that you miss out on the present. You forget about the many blessings you have already received. How about the simple fact that we live? How about the brand new 24 hours of possibilities we get every day? How about the unconditional beauty of the world offers us — the sun, the trees, the clouds? How about the people who are already there to support you?

“When you focus on what you lack, you lose what you have.” Author Greg McKeown once says.

There are two ways of seeing the world. One way is that everything can be a wonder that brings you joy now. Or you can deem nothing in the present moment wonderful, so you must keep running into a distant future.

So next time when you catch yourself dwelling in conditional happiness, you have a choice to make. Do you choose the present moment or some future happy scenario that your mind dreams up?

You can only pick one. The two are incompatible.

Whenever we feel anxious, we are always doing the same thing: to desire what is beyond our control.

When we are in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, we feel anxious. We want a positive assessment. We don’t want to be sick. We desire health.

The week after a job interview, our insides twist into knots. We want validation: that the money we spent on our education and hours we put into our career are worthwhile.

Before we speak to a crowd, we have butterflies in our stomach. We want to impress and earn respect. We fear that others will find us dumb, unworthy of love and respect.

The doctor’s diagnosis. The job offer. The reaction of your audience.

You have no control over any of these outcomes.

In all of these cases, paranoia doesn’t help. On the contrary, the strong emotions leave us exhausted with clouded judgement. That can make things worse.

So when you feel anxious next time, ask yourself: What is that I want that is outside of my control? Why do I want it? Is this anxiety helping me?

Most importantly: What’s actually within my control?

For the majority of my life, I had a fixation: write perfectly in my journal.

The obsession looked like this. I start a brand new notebook with excitement. In the first couple of pages, I write perfectly neat. All the words are orderly and consistently spaced, with no corrections. I slow myself to draw evenly rounded circles. I use a ruler to create sharp corners for a rectangle.

But I’m an impatient person. I also don’t have the most disciplined note-taking skills. By the time I hit the fourth page—perhaps I need to jot something down quickly when another person is speaking—my penmanship starts to get worse. The spacing between text is no longer uniform. More strikethroughs pop up. Some text is upright; some is slanted.

When that happens, a strong sense of disgust arises: it feels like I have ruined perfection.

Frustrated and unmotivated, my calligraphy keeps getting worse. If one page is already bad, what’s the point of being good again?

At the end—when my writing becomes almost illegible on the tenth page— I resort to one of the two coping following strategies: I either rip off the previous pages to start anew (which often results in the disintegration of the notebook itself), or start another journal as if this one has never happened.

I have done both many times. My drawer used to be filled with dozens of journals with only a few completed pages in each.

One Day It Hit Me

My journal doesn’t have to be perfect.

It’s okay to be unruly. Who cares?

It took me 30 years to realize how silly it is to hold so tightly onto the assumption that every I produce must be flawless, even with my own personal journal that no one will ever read. Why subject myself to unnecessary angst and unrealistic expectations? What’s the point of being perfect?

I started to ask new questions: what if I simply accept the past pages and chapters as they are? If this page is complete garbage, how about I simply skip and move on to the next page?

More economical yet, how about I draw a line half way through this page and start again underneath?

I’m happy to report that, since that realization, I have completed four journals cover-to-cover. Now I appreciate going through my full annotated notebooks to see how my life has evolved over time. I couldn’t have done that in the first three decades of my life.

Letting go of perfection has been freeing.

And good for the environment, too.

The world shook a little. At least that was how it felt initially at 2am.

“What the heck is it?”

It took me a while to gain consciousness and realize that it wasn’t an earthquake. It was the smoke detector in the living room. The smoke detector wasn’t beeping incessantly. But every 30 seconds, it gave a sharp chirp, loud enough to ensure it’s audible to all corners of the house.

Beep.

It was painful, but not enough for me to wake up in the middle of the night to figure out what was going on. I put on my earplugs and managed to doze off. When my eyes re-opened a few hours later, my sincere hope was that the beeping would have ceased.

Miraculously, no.

Beep.

I wasn’t going to let a malfunctioning device alter my morning routine, so I went on to do my push ups and meditation. But boy was I annoyed during my sit. I closed my eyes and was just about to get into the flow…

Beep.

“Ok, I should return to my breath. Focus on the rising and falling sensation of my torso, diaphragm…”

Beep.

Then I paused. Why am I so worked up by the beeping? Yes, it is annoying, but why? Is it because it affects my sleep? Or that I need to change my plans and actions to accommodate a surprising situation? Or that unless I give it immediate attention, it will continue to rob my sanity?

Am I giving it power to annoy me?

What does that say about all the things that can be happen in life that can be annoying? Many unpleasant problems can arise where there is no clear solution. How will I deal with it then?

Instead of resisting, can I lean into the beeping as it happens? Perhaps imagine it as a bell that rings every 30 seconds to remind me to focus on the task at hand. Perhaps I can think about how this device can save lives if a fire does happen…

Can I give it space now even though it’s annoying? Can I soften my heart?

(p.s. Make no mistake. I am definitely going to fix that freaking alarm after I’m done writing here. In the meantime, I will smile and learn to co-exist with it as if this whole episode is a comedy.)

The more I write, the more I realize it’s not about writing.

When I first started writing earlier this year, I’d choose a topic and develop the main ideas. I’d stick to these ideas and work on an essay for days.

Despite multiple revisions, the writing didn’t flow. It didn’t feel right. After looking at same file over and over again, I was confused: what the heck am I even saying?

I was frustrated. I had worked diligently but still had nothing to show.

What was the problem?

Trying too hard.

Trying too hard to execute on the preconceived ideas. To produce something. To control the outcome. To demonstrate progress. To prove I can do it.

The other day I went on a walk and saw a little girl play catch with her father in the neighborhood. She was immersed in the moment. Was the next throw going to a fast or a curve ball? It didn’t matter. Would she be able to catch the ball? She didn’t seem concerned, either. The joy simply comes from accepting what is next with curiosity.

Then it struck me. If the problem is trying too hard, then isn’t the answer not trying too hard — in other words, play?

So I start to relax. I let go of the idea that I’m the master of my writing. I start to ask my pen to be my travel guide as if I am in a new city.

“I am visiting and don’t know anything. Take me somewhere interesting — and maybe eat something delicious along the way.”

Then the magic happens. Words in new combinations reveal in front of my eyes. As I finish this very sentence, I don’t know what’s coming next. But now I’m okay with it. Because I learned that all I need is to accept the journey that my pen — or my fingers on the keyboard — will take me on. One step at a time.

To play. To discover. To embrace the unknown and the unknowable.

What a tremendous relief to know that the more fun and effortless path is also the better way to go.

You wake. Your eyes open. It’s a new day.

What will you see today?

When you get changed, you see the clothes that bring you comfort and keep you warm. You see how beautiful the colors in your wardrobe are. Maybe it’s time to wear that red shirt today.

When you take a shower, you see how water cleanses your body and awakens your senses. You realize how refreshing it feels to be renewed.

When you have breakfast, you see how wonderful it is to have food in the belly. The cup of a tea is a pleasurable bonus.

When you are stuck in traffic, you see all the drivers on the road. Everyone has dreams, loves ones they want to care for, and demons that they need to deal with.

When you work, you see how you can help solve some problems in the world with your skills, knowledge, and compassion. That gives you a sense of purpose and meaning.

When you create art with your heart, you see the physical world and the imaginary world in your head. You translate your vision into writing, drawings, and paintings. That brings you fulfillment.

When you listen to another person, you see her joy and suffering. You understand where she comes from. You know you presence is more important than any word you can utter with your mouth.

When you hear music, you see the emotions of the musicians, their gifts to the world. It uplifts you.

When you watch a child play, you see the sheer bliss of discovery without an agenda. It gives you hope.

When you meditate, you see how each breath gives you life. You experience the delight to dwell in the present moment. You see even when your eyes are closed.

When you pray, you see God in your life. How you are loved unconditionally even though the rest of the world tells you that you need to be a certain way or buy certain things to fix your brokenness. You don’t need to.

When you share what you have, you see that we are brothers and sisters. That the world is a common home. That we are all connected.

When you love, you see the call to offer yourself. Despite pain and discomfort, you see the joy that only suffering and sacrifice can bring.

What do you choose to see?

Every now and then, you stand at a cross road. You face a consequential choice. You feel the weight on your shoulder. You think this decision matters. You imagine how this turning point may alter your life’s trajectory forever.

Should you continue what you are doing or charter into completely unfamiliar territory? Should you stay in this city or relocate to a new country? Should you keep working or return to school? Should you go further in your current relationship or move on?

These choices always come down to this: Do you choose the pain and certainty that you are familiar with, or do you go with risks and ambiguity that brings a new future with unknown rewards?

The answer is not clear cut. You can assess various aspects of the decision, weigh the pros and cons of various area, or even assign ratings to each. But at the end, decision making is not baed on math alone. Three more pros do not automatically make an option a clear choice.

If you are agonizing over a decision, here are a few questions that may help you gain new perspectives.

• If you start fresh, what will you choose? Forget about where you are and where you have come from. Start with a blank slate, unencumbered. If you were to start over, which way would you go?
• If your friend comes to you with this exact situation, what will your advice be? You know your friend’s concerns and preferences. What counsel will you offer?
• What will yourself 30 years from now say about this situation? Would your future self suggest you to stay put or go on a new journey? Does this choice matter as much as you thought?
• What choice speaks to your heart? Which option offers a rarer opportunity? Does one call to you more? What does your gut say?
• What choice requires more courage? Fortune favors the bold. Is this a time to take a leap of faith? Are you ready for it even though it may look scary? Can your life support the risks now?
• What is the worst case scenario? What do you have to lose if it doesn’t work out? Write down the potential outcomes. Can you accept them?

The truth is we don’t know what will happen. No one does. The choice you make will likely turn out in ways you didn’t expect. That’s just how life is: it’s an adventure full of unknowns. Ultimately you will make a decision, and that decision is what you choose. Either way, you will turn out okay.

As Easter is celebrated around the world — with chocolate, egg hunts and an annual visit to a local church by many — I wonder what Jesus’s story of death and resurrection means for me this year.

If I am to put it in one line, it’s a call for renewal: We must die in order be born again.

Dying goes beyond physical death. It’s about letting go the old way of living. Perhaps a self-centered life to seek only satisfaction for our own desires. Perhaps a life gripped with anger, fear, and jealousy. Perhaps that deep sense of despair that nothing has meaning, purpose, or hope.

Renewal requires a change of heart. So what are we called to convert to?

Jesus’s life offers some clues.

While many might expect the manifestation of God to be bathed in glory, Jesus was born in a measly manger. He lived a humble life with his father, a carpenter, doing ordinary things. Imagine him like a kid in your neighborhood.

When he began his public ministry at the age of 30, he attended to the sick, the blind, and the deaf. He walked with the marginalized — the tax collector, the prostitute, and the divorced woman — despite the social taboo. He shed tears when people suffered.

Jesus denounced those in power — the high priests, the scribes and the Pharisees — for their hypocrisy, self-righteousness, and wickedness. His challenge of the authority and the status quo eventually led him to his crucifixion. People didn’t like what he had to say.

The story of his suffering — the Passion — was gruesome. As he took up his own cross, he was spat at and mocked by the crowd. He was nailed to a wood beam, stripped almost naked. A soldier “pierced His side with a spear, and immediately there came out blood and water.”

Can you think of a more ghastly and dehumanizing death? All in public?

Yet, Jesus accepted his life and death with courage. He understood his calling of sacrifice, and answered it fully with conviction. Why did he do all of this?

He set an example that we need not be overcome by physical and spiritual death. That life is worth living even though it’s hard. That we must recognize that we are connected as brothers and sisters. That we must love another, even when others do not reciprocate that love. Because we are all called to.

The concept of death and resurrection can feel foreign. But we experience it every day. Every night when we sleep, we die — just a little. None of us has any actual idea what happens when we are asleep. We have no control or consciousness.

Yet in the morning, we are unconditionally gifted with a brand new day without asking for it. It doesn’t matter what happened in the thousands of days before this one. Today is another renewed beginning.

How will I choose to live today? Will I love more than I did yesterday?

Deep in your heart, you yearn for a revolution. This voice never shouts, but you know it’s there.

If you listen closely, a little voice within you is constantly calling you for a change: not to add anything new, but to shed the layers that have been put on you over the years.

What are those layers?

Perhaps a lifestyle that was once fun and thrilling but you realize it does not align with your values. Perhaps a goal that seemed vital to your happiness but it now feels trivial at best. Perhaps old assumptions about the world that you held onto so dearly for survival but now they serve you no longer.

You hear a call to transform, to do what was once unthinkable, and to rediscover who you truly are.

What’s this work you must do? What’s this life you must live?

But before we take even the very first step towards any change, a question from the devil paralyzes us: What will other people think?

• I want to try this new project. But what if no one cares?
• I want to produce what matters. But what if everyone laughs at me and thinks it’s a complete waste of time?
• I want to stop doing the things I used to do. But how will people judge me?

All great questions. But how about this one?

What if you do it for no one?

What if you pursue this change simply because you are who you are? What if, for this once, you choose to accept this invitation from above with courage? What if you put aside people’s expectations for one second?

It doesn’t mean you have to go all in on something drastic without discerning what’s right for you. There are smart ways to approach a change. When you take a leap of faith, you can start small. Take a tiny step when no one is looking. Walk another step tomorrow, and then another the day after. Explore. Play. Create. But do something about it.

Leave behind a burden that you don’t need to take on. When you have no expectations, no effort can be a failure. When you free yourself from others’ judgement, disappointment is impossible.

The world doesn’t need another person preoccupied with pleasing others. The world needs you to be you—alive, engaged, and committed.

There are a millions reasons for you to not do something, but you only need one reason to do it.

Do it because you choose to accept the invite. Do it because you are ready to embrace this new path. Do it because you want to see what’s possible.

It’s okay to be scared, but be not afraid. It’s never as bad as you think.

Do it for no one.

An unusual scene emerged at my local church. Stations were set up with jars of water, large bowls, and piles of towels. In the middle of the service, the priest knelt to wash, dry and kiss a woman’s feet. The woman gently did the same for the next person in line. The congregation followed, doing this in pairs.

This symbolic act was clearly awkward at first for most people, but many giggled with anticipation as water was poured onto their feet. Who would have their feet touched by another person on a normal day?

Each ceremony usually began with a moment of uncertainty as both parties tried to figure out what to do, but it always ended with an exchange of appreciation and an expression of joy. Many hugged with a big smile.

On this Thursday before Easter, churches around the world commemorated the washing of the feet, as Jesus did to his disciples 2,000 years ago.

In the Jewish tradition, body parts followed a hierarchy of respect. It was unthinkable at the time for an honored person to use his hands — a venerable part of his body — to touch another person’s feet, a lowly body part (probably dirty as people wore sandals).

But that was exactly what Jesus — a revered teacher — voluntarily did to the twelve apostles. He showed a clear, humble example that whoever leads must be of service to others. “For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” (Lk 14:11)

What a powerful reminder to the world today that can be so caught up in acquiring possessions, status and power over others. In a world where suffering are abound, shouldn’t we be stepping out into the world and be an agent of change, a source of light?

On this same day, the Pope visited a prison in Italy. He celebrated the same ceremony with twelve inmates. It was a moving scene to watch.

“Jesus teaches us this, simply, that you must wash each other’s feet … we serve one another, without expecting a return: how beautiful it would be if it were possible to do this every day and to all people.” the Pope said.

The question for me: How can I be of service to others? Whose feet will I wash? And will I make myself vulnerable and allow others to wash mine?

Last Updated: Nov 14, 2022

In 2022, I committed to writing at least 20 minutes a day. Since then, I’ve been reading, researching, and experimenting how gather ideas, write better, and write more consistently.

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How to Gather Ideas

Pay attention. Good ideas are never far from you. Books. Youtube videos. A friend’s comment. Nature. Thoughts in your shower. Practice observing.

Collect stories. Nothing captures our brain like interesting stories. The best ones are counterintuitive, full of conflicts, and filled with surprises.

Write down ideas right away. If you come across something interesting, jot it down. Carry a pocket-size notebook, or use the Notes app on your phone. Think you will remember it later? You won’t.

Build a database. Consolidate all your ideas into a system. You can use a journal, a note app, or index cards (my favorite). The idea is to have all your notes in one central location, so you can refer to them later when you need to.

Read broadly. Be curious about a variety of topics. Explore fields you are not familiar with. The best insights often come from connecting great ideas from fields that seem unrelated.

Read deeply. It’s never about the number of books you read (speed reading is BS). Instead, read to absorb and understand. If you come across a great book, read it again, again, and again. You will realize how much you missed the first time around. Underlines great lines. Use the margin to have a conversation with the author. Transfer the best lines into your database.

Chase down the footnotes. I used to ignore references and bibliography. Now they are gold mines to me. Wonder how your favorite author wrote the book in your hand? She read the materials as listed in the back of her book. If you keep digging, you will get closer to the source. Along the way, you will discover new gems you never expected.

Do non-writing activities. The best ideas worth writing about never come from writing itself. Writing is about non-writing. Go do interesting things. Draw, dance, play. Try something new. Exert yourself physically: run, hike, and play sports. Challenge yourself to something you’re uncomfortable with. These are great sources of inspiration.

Don’t be afraid to steal (but give credit.) All good writing references work done by other writers. No one comes up with brand new, nor is that necessary. Copy your favorites quotes and stories. When the time comes, insert into your work but add your own twist. Always give credit.

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How to Write Better

Write simply. Stick to short sentences. Don’t be afraid to use periods. If one word is enough, eliminate everything else. Brevity is a gift.

Remove, remove, remove. If 1,000 words can be reduced to 100, use 100. If 100 words can be reduced to 10, use 10. If 10 words can be reduced to 0, use 0.

Use powerful words. Don’t use general words like good or bad. Does good mean rewarding, fruitful, or inspiring? Does bad mean punishing, lackluster, or dreadful?

Use active voice. It’s easier to read and more powerful.

Show, not tell (when possible). Instead of saying “he is nervous,” describe what’s visually happening. “His hands are trembling” conveys the same idea but is far more interesting.

Rewrite stories in your own words. You’ve read a book and other materials about an interesting story. Now rewrite it in different lengths: a 30-second version for a cocktail party, a 2-minute version for a short article, and a 2000-word version for an essay. You will see the story in new lights afterwards.

Separate writing and editing: Dedicate a session to either writing or editing. If it’s a writing session, just write. Do a “word vomit.” Let all the words out without revising. Come back the next day for editing. Mixing writing and editing wastes a lot of time.

Create a rough outline first: Instead of starting to type right away, take a few minutes to write down the key ideas (I use my physical journal). Creating a simple “map” shows where you are heading. You can then assess whether that’s the direction you want to go.

Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite: Writing is rewriting. Don’t be afraid to reset and start over. Your version two, three and four will be far more refined than version one.

Let Go of Perfection. Perfection is an illusion. When you seek perfection, you fear failure. But writing is not about success. It’s about you and your ideas. Accept it will never be perfect anyway.

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How to Write Consistently

Write everyday: It’s easiest to commit 100% than to commit 80%. When every day is writing day, you don’t have to wonder if you need to write today.

Keep a few things the same: If possible, write at the same time, at the same place, and on the same device. When you are familiar with the environment, more energy goes into the creative process, instead of finding the tools that you need.

Dedicate a device for writing: I have an older laptop where it can’t do much other than word processing. That’s perfect.

Stop if you are stuck. The moment you feel stuck, you should stop. There’s nothing worse than forcing yourself to sit when you are running dry. Go for a walk, do something else, and come back the next day. There’s always tomorrow.

Eliminate all distractions: Put all electronic devices in another room or lock them in a drawer. Turn off wifi. Use a distraction free writing software (I use iAWriter on a Mac) or simply use a text editor.

I used to struggle with emails. I’d read the same email multiple times, miss an important message, or respond too late.

Over the last 10 years, I have refined my own version of “inbox zero” — a methodical practice to clear out the entire inbox. I do this on most days with my work email, and once every couple weeks with my personal email (I use Gmail for both).

The biggest benefit of this practice is the clarity on what else needs be processed and what action items remain. This gives me peace of mind.

A central part of this practice is archive. When a message is archived, it is removed from the inbox but it remains in your email system. You can always search and access any archive messages later on. If you use Gmail, the archive shortcut is to press “e” on your keyboard (if the shortcut doesn’t work, you need to first keyboard shortcut in your Gmail settings).

For every message in my inbox, I do one of the following:

• Archive informational messages that require no action. This applies to 90% of my emails: alerts, announcements, receipts, confirmations, updates from subscribed email lists, and group emails.
  
• Reply to messages that require a response, such as event invitations and information requests. If a response requires less than 2 minutes, I respond right away. Archive immediately after response.
  
• Snooze messages where a delayed response makes sense. This applies to non-urgent email where pieces of information are still pending or you don’t want to think on it today. Snoozing temporarily removes the message from the inbox until a specified time in the future. An example is someone requests information that won’t be available until next week. In that case, I click on the snooze button (the “clock” icon in Gmail) and select next Monday. I can forget about this message until it emerges again on Monday when I can finally act on it.
  
• Unsubscribe from all ads and email lists that no longer provide any value. Use the unsubscribe link at the bottom of an email or the unsubscribe button at the top in Gmail. While unsubscribing is an extra step, this reduces hundreds of messages in the future.
  
• Set filters to automatically archive messages that you cannot subscribe. This works well bank notifications, payment confirmations, or other recurring messages that you want to retain in your email system for future reference. I filter based on a combination of sender name/email address (e.g. “Bank of America”) and/or certain subject lines (e.g. “Your payment is received”).

After the above process, a few important messages usually remain. These are messages that need further thinking and actions. What I need to do next is then clear.

As the pandemic subsides, I can’t help but to ponder what I have learned from the last two extraordinary years.

The biggest lesson: Nothing is permanent.

When covid became serious in March 2020, I naively thought the virus would wind down by summer time. I religiously tracked daily cases, with the misplaced hope that the virus would simply disappear one day.

I gave up after a few months.

Having lived three decades, I had never seen people so fraught with fear and uncertainties. Hospitals and morgues were overrun. Gun sales in the US exploded. Lockdowns were implemented.

When I went to the stores for masks and toilet paper — my house was down to two rolls at one point — I came home empty handed.

The busy world ground to a halt. The outlook was so bleak as if the situation would never improve again.

But it did. We learned more about the virus. We adapted how we live to keep ourselves and others safe. We rolled out vaccines, which saved many lives.

The journey has been chaotic, but step by step we slowly figure out a way forward.

Everything — both the good and the bad — passes. We never know how long a situation will last. All we can do is to accept what’s happening and try our personal best to face it. The dust eventually settles.

Accepting this is easier said than done. We don’t want changes. It’s natural, for example, to desire a return to a “normal” pre-pandemic world without the virus. We hold tightly onto certain ideas of how things are supposed to be, as if we are permanently entitled to a certain way of living.

This way of thinking, however, is an illusion. The world is constantly evolving. There’s no normal: it only lives in our head. When we refuse to accept impermanence, we experience pain. We suffer.

The virus is here to stay. The question is how we will co-exist with it. Once we accept this new reality, we can get creative and craft a new path. This is how we grow.

We will have to continue to do the same in the future. Covid is not the last crisis we will have to deal with.

The better we understand the impermanent nature of everything, the less suffering we will have.

At the beginning of 2022, I committed to writing at least 20 minutes every day. Three months into the year, I am pleased to report that I have not missed a day of writing, which has been a delightful surprise.

Plenty of my writing attempts in the past have been abandoned within a week’s time. What’s different this time?

Focus on the input, not the output.

In the past, I would set a target on the output, say, a polished essay a day. While finishing a piece is possible on a good day, but it is simply unsustainable. Some topics take longer to think, write, and revise. How long it takes is beyond my control. When I fail to meet the daily goal, I am demoralized, which makes writing the next day more challenging.

A better approach is to aim at how much time to put in instead. I have control over the number of minutes I dedicate to every sitting. As long as I put in the time, the output naturally falls into place.

Start small.

I used to “go big” when I made a new resolution. Once I set my eyes on a new thing, I’d work non-stop for hours for a couple days and became completely exhausted. Then I’d lose steam as other things in life demanded my time and attention.

It’s better to start with the absolute minimum. I started with writing three bullets in my journal, which took a couple of minutes. When I feel encouraged, I keep going.

Do a little bit every day.

It’s easier to commit to a habit 100% of the time, instead of 90% of the time. I tried writing only on certain days or weekends only, but I had trouble keeping track which day it was.

My conclusion: I must write every day, but only a very manageable amount.

As I experimented further, my writing practice evolved from a page in my journal to writing 20+ minutes on my laptop. It’s a meaningful amount of time to create. Most importantly, I am able to sustain it, even on an off day where I don’t feel too good for whatever reason.

Twenty minutes usually pass in the blink of an eye, and I always want to write more. That means it is the right amount.

Do it first thing in the morning.

I have the most creative energy in the morning. At night, I’m too mentally tapped out to be useful.

So I have reconfigured my morning routine to support my writing. I now start my day with a 3-minute workout, a 10-minute meditation, and a 3-minute daily reflection. This pre-writing routine helps to awake my body and get the creative juice going.

To avoid distractions, I don’t do anything else before I’m done with writing. I don’t eat breakfast. I don’t check my phone. I don’t get changed.

Stop when time is up.

As my strategy is to sustain a habit every day, it’s critical that I don’t overextend on any given day at the expense of the next day. When I am in the flow, it seems counterintuitive to walk away. But in the long run, knowing when to stop is as important as anything else.

Before I write, I set a 20-minute timer (I love the Time-Timer, which gives me a clear visual how much time is left). On weekdays, I allow a 10-minute extension. On weekends, I cap my writing at one hour.

Make it an enjoyable experience.

When I write, I always have my favorite oolong tea, which I love deeply. I put on my noise-cancellation headphone and listen to same playlist, featuring piano pieces by Ludovico Einaudi. I only write about topics that are meaningful to me. I use a distraction-free writing application call iAWriter. I turn off my wifi.

Every day, I look forward to enjoying this quiet time with myself, my tea, and my mind. In that moment, there is nothing else, but freedom.

If you are gifted with extra 15 days off this year, what will you do with it?

Many of us spend 2-3 hours on our phones a day*. A portion of that time is essential: we connect with family and friends, get map directions, and manage our finances. But let’s be real — much of that time goes to staring at random cat videos and salivating over beautifully filtered pictures.

If we repurpose only an hour of phone time each day, we gain back a whopping 15 full days a year for other things, such as exercise, relaxation, and sleep. Have an important personal project in mind? Redirecting your screen time is a promising way to start.

A critical strategy in reducing phone time is to remove the triggers. No time can be spent on the phone if you don’t pick it up in the first place.

Here are a number of things you can try:

• Place your phone in a separate room (my phone stays in my study)
• Put your phone out of sight when working (I hide mine behind a printer)
• Turn off 95% of your notifications (I only allow text messages)
• Turn off all sounds (vibration is good enough)
• Use single purpose devices (I use a separate timer to track time, a physical journal for note taking, a Kindle to read articles and books without distraction)
• Delete all social media apps you don’t need
• Make your bedroom a phone-free zone
• Respond to text messages in batches
• Cut off work email and instant messaging access
• Avoid making same-day plans (since that requires you to constantly check messages)

Remember, the intent is to redirect your attention and invest the time in other things that matter to you. It’s critical to plan ahead on what to do with your newfound time. The best way to achieve this is to decide on a specific activity when you go without the phone. For example:

• Instead of checking my phone first thing in the morning, I will do a 5 minute workout.
• Instead of reaching my phone when I’m bored mid-day, I will read an inspiring book for 5 minutes.
• Instead of meditating with an app, I will simply meditate with nothing more than my breath.
• Instead of trading text messages with a friend to check in, I will call a friend or propose a fun activity to do this weekend.
• I will go on a 10-minute walk without my phone since the chance of an emergency is extremely low.

Let’s get 2 weeks of your time back this year!

* To check your screen time: If you are on an Android: Go to Settings > Digital Wellbeing and parental controls > Dashboard > Screen time. For iOS: Go to Settings > Screen Time.

“I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

My hands were trembling as they reached for the notecard in my breast pocket. I had, of course, rehearsed these lines in all three languages — Chinese, English, and Spanish — many times before the wedding. Yet an avalanche of emotions flooded my throat. I didn’t expect to be overwhelmed.

I paused for a second, took a deep breath, and steadied myself before uttering another word. Breaking down was not part of the plan. I wasn’t conscious of getting choked up in front of our one hundred guests — for the first time in my public speaking career, the crowd didn’t matter at all. Rather, it was important for me to pronounce the most momentous vow of my life with utmost clarity and conviction.

Four years later, it is now obvious to me that, while I understood the literal meaning of every word in my vow, I didn’t have a firm grasp of what it really means. Even today, do I know whether I have the strength to weather the “bad times” with another person? What does it mean “to love and honor someone all the days of my life”? Can I truly live up to this vow?

The biggest lesson I have learned from four years of marriage is the importance of acceptance. When I look back at the last few years of my marital relationship, one pattern is clear: the darkest, most doubtful times come in the moments when I wish things were different. 

As another person becomes an integral part of our life, we have expectations. How can we not? We aspire both individuals in the union to grow. It’s only natural to desire the other person to be more loving, more driven, and more understanding.

“More,” however, can be dangerous. It implies a sense of lack, which can spiral into unrealistic desires for the other person to be different in endless ways. Do you love this person, or the elusive version of the person that you construct in you head? Left untamed, “more” robs our ability to appreciate. It overshadows the many blessings that we already have. 

The way to avoid this trap — in fact, the only way to love — is to accept. The brightest, most joyous times in relationships occur when we fully receive each other as is, no more and no less. It’s the moment when we choose to simply be with the other person. It requires us to create space for the other person to grow in his or her own time. It takes patience, but the reward is worthwhile.

The skill of acceptance doesn’t come naturally to me. But I’m committed to practicing it.

The world mourns this week.

As Russian tanks and troops surround major cities in Ukraine, the peace that endured in Europe in the last 80 years has officially come to an end.

It’s heartbreaking to watch the non-discriminatory attacks on civilians and neighborhoods where people live and work. Under no circumstances should they be military targets.

The Russian invasion is quickly turning into a major humanitarian crisis. Infrastructure is collapsing. Families are separated. Deaths and wounds are mounting. The future is highly uncertain.

What pains me the most is that this is not even Russia’s war. This is the making of one disillusioned man who has lost touch with reality. A bully with a distorted view of glory. A deeply disturbed dictator who puts everyone’s life at risk but his own for the sake of power.

Let’s not forget that the Russian people are also hurting. Russian soldiers are dying. Russian mothers are wailing. Despite the silencing by the Kremlin, ordinary Russian citizens are protesting the war on the streets, even at the risk of arrest and prison time.

While we may feel helpless, let’s be comforted by the love and compassion around the world. Polish, Moldovan and Romanian people have received millions of Ukrainians and provided the now refugees with critical support including food and shelter. Thousands of NGOs are hard at work to bring relief. Even typically pro-Russia countries have joined the rest of the world in condemning this invasion and imposing sanctions.

If you can, please consider donating to NGOs who will provide support to the Ukrainian people.

Two reputable options I have used are:

• Sunflower of Peace: A highly respected organization that provides medical and humanitarian aid to people affected by the perpetual Russian aggression in Ukraine
• International Committee of the Red Cross: The ICRC has been working in Ukraine since 2014 with with a team of over 600 staff members. This will bring emergency assistance such as food, water, and other essential items; support hospitals and primary healthcare facilities with medical equipment and emergency preparedness.

Let’s keep our brothers and sisters in our mind and in our prayer. We don’t know how long the war will last, but we must stay in solidarity with the people.

For when one of us is hurting, all of us is hurting.

Many of us feel overwhelmed by work.

Your job is stressful. Your hours are long. You have challenging colleagues, managers, and clients. Your days are filled with surprises out of your direct control. Too much work, too little time.

Excessive work stress affects your well-being. It impacts sleep quality, impairs thinking, and clouds judgment. When we feel anxious, it’s hard to be fully present with the people that matter to us. This robs us of the joy we desperately need.

Left unchecked, stress can be a soul-crushing vicious cycle.

Create Space

When you feel anxious, you first need some headspace. Here are a few things you can do to relax your body and mind.

• Take a deep breath: Inhale as deeply as you can, hold for a few seconds, and slowly release the breath until you can no longer. Repeat for a few minutes until your breath naturally slows down. Focus on the rising and falling sensation of the breath around your nostril, your lung, and your diaphragm. Give the breath a few minutes of full focus. See how that feels after.
• Take a shower or bath: A hot shower will bring your comfort. If you need an extra dose of clarity, take a cold shower for at least 10 seconds, or for as long as you can endure. You will appreciate how fortunate it is when we have access to hot water. That will change your perspective. If you have a tub and need a special boost today, take a bath. It’s a treat.
• Get exercise: Go for a light walk around the neighborhood or at your favorite park. If you can, play a sport that requires your full attention for at least 20 minutes. Run, bike, or play a racket sport. Sign up for a class in your community. Exercise is not a waste of your time, even if you are busy. It strengthens your body, boosts your mood, and resets your brain. You need it.

Find a Path Forward

Once you are in a better state of mind, here are three things you can try to identify the path forward.

• List what makes you anxious: Grab a pen. Write down everything that troubles you on a piece of paper or in your journal. Be thorough. Include challenges at work and at home. This exercise helps you externalize the sources of anxiety. Once you can see the problems with more clarity, they become less scary. You know what you are working with.
• Observe the list with curiosity: Review your list and ask yourself some questions. Which issues matter the most? Which ones are time-sensitive? Which concerns give you the most pain? On those issues, what is one small action you can try immediately? Does it make sense to ask someone for help? If your friend has this same concern, what advice would you give?
• Identify three small actions: Once you take some time to reflect on your list, select three actions that you can take today to tomorrow. Maybe you need to message a co-worker for assistance, clarify priority with your manager, or set up a one-on-one meeting to align on expectations. Maybe it makes sense to request a day off to take care of yourself, counsel with a friend on a tricky situation, or find a book that will give you a new perspective.

By creating space, you may be able to see the source of your stress more clearly. By exploring a path forward, my hope is that you will identify one or two things you can reduce the tension in your life.

You have a dream.

But you are not so sure. You don’t know whether this dream is truly yours. The outcomes are uncertain. The price seems high. The path looks intimating. Is this dream right? How can we tell?

If that’s you, here’s question that will shed new insights: Are you willing to accept the pain?

All Pursuits Have Pain

If you dream of starting a company, you will face great uncertainties. You may not have a regular paycheck. The divide between home and work will be blurry. You will have to be the CEO and the janitor at the same time on some days. You don’t know whether your work will be a success or a bust. Does that sound acceptable?

If your dream is to be a company executive, you will put in long hours. You will have to answer to a community of people. Your decisions will be scrutinized. The company’s performance will hinge on serendipity out of your control. Do you accept it all?

If you dream of being a professional musician, you will practice thousands of hours when no one is looking. You may not know when the next gig is. A big break may never come. Still on?

If your dream is to be a writer, you will have to write whether you feel like it or not. Some days will flow. Other days will suck. You will hit a wall. Your wrist will hurt. All the while no one seems to care. Still game?

If you dream of having children, you will worry about a million things. You will no longer have the same flexibility you once had. There will be sacrifices. Despite all that, you won’t know whether your children will be healthy, happy, or fulfilled. How does that sound?

The Cost You Pay

Dream is cheap. Pain? Not as much. Whatever your dream is, pain is the cost you pay every day. Pain doesn’t go away. At best, you are trading one type of pain for another.

But once we know that pain exists in every path, we no longer need to look for one without pain. We can be liberated. We simply need to choose the path we can accept.

Along the way, it won’t be all misery. It is always going to be a mixed cocktail of pain and joy. Back-to-back meetings are painful, but management can be a noble pursuit that provides great value to the community. Practicing scale on an instrument is dry, but playing your favorite piece of music will give you life. Changing diapers is tedious, but nothing will beat holding a newborn in your arms.

If you derive a deep sense of joy along with the pain, that’s a sign you may just be on the right track.

Managing money is simpler when we stick to a few principles.

Given that life can throw anything at us, it’s impossible to anticipate exactly what to do in every scenario. Principles serve as helpful guideposts. They allows us to stay true to what matters. They help us recognize the noise so we don’t get distracted.

Simple isn’t the same as easy. It’s like exercising. The benefits of exercising are clear. It improves every aspect of my lives. I should move our body every day. It’s simple, but it takes work. Even though it is simple, I don’t do it enough.

Simple does mean doing less. It involves doing a few things right. In return, it offers us clarity and peace.

The four following principles came together as I learned more about myself and my relationship with money over the years.

These principles are designed to spend the least amount of time on money matters over the long term so that I can redirect my energy to other aspects of my life.

Principle #1: Save With Conscious Spending

Saving involves two components: income and spend. It’s about managing the relationship between the two.

To save means to spend less than your income. If your income is $10k and you spend $9k, you save $1k (a savings rate of 10%).

When you have savings, you build your wealth. Wealth gives you options. It helps you weather the uncertainties in life.

When your savings rate is negative, you withdraw from your wealth. Sometimes that is unavoidable with accidents or major life events. But dipping into your savings due to recklessness is unsustainable over the long run.

How much you have left at the end of the the day matters more than how much you make. You can make $100k, but spend $200k. When that happens, you are enslaved by your own spending.

In Practice

In the short term, you have more control over your spend than you income.

You first need to see your spend. Download your bank or credit card statements. Separate your spend by category: housing, food, shopping, etc.

Pay attention to the discretionary spend. Do you really need that fancy phone, a daily coffee run, and those new clothes? Do you need to eat out four times a week (I’m speaking to my past self on this one)?

Pay attention to the recurring spend. Do you really need five entertainment subscription services on top of your TV + Internet package? Do you even use them? Do they add value to your life or take away your life?

The question to ask is, “Does this spend align with my values?”

Saving is not penny-pinching. It’s about being mindful of what you are spending on, and why.

You may conclude that your grocery bill is a bit high but reasonable, since you get fresh food that nourishes your body. It aligns with your values to stay healthy, use less plastic, and consume sustainably. It can be a wonderful, conscious choice.

Can you increase your savings rate by 1 point this month by making more deliberate choices?

Principle #2: Invest Now/Early

The most powerful force in investing is the amount of time it has to grow.

If you invested $100 in the S&P 500 in 1990, your investment would have grown to $2,500 as of February 2022, with an annual return of 11%. If you invested the same $100 in 2010 instead, your investment would now have a value of $500, even though the annual return would have been higher at 15%.

Why Time Is Important

First, time allows for compounding.

Compounding means the gains from an investment are reinvested for further gains. Say an investment of $100 in 1990 becomes $108 in 1991. If the return on investment is 8% in 1992, it applies to not only to the original $100 you invested, but the entire balance of $108.

The difference is not obvious in the first couple of years. But the math snowballs. The difference over the years add up to a staggering amount.

Second, time smoothes out fluctuations. The world is unpredictable. Every few years we see major events: economics crises, pandemics, and geopolitical conflicts. But if your time horizon is long because you started early, then these blips don’t matter as much.

Despite many recessions, wars, and inflation concerns, the S&P 500 grew an average of 9% annually since 1930, even though there were many years with negative return in between. Over the long term, the economy recovers. Innovation happens. Confidence returns.

What To Invest In

If you are convinced by the benefit of investing early, the next question is what to invest in.

What you invest in is a deeply personal choice.

My choice is simple. My investments are mostly S&P 500 index funds (I use Vanguard and Fidelity), which means that I am investing in 500 companies through one investment.

The long term trend of the American economy in the last 80 years has proved to be persistent. This gives me confidence to hold these investments indefinitely, and let time do the work.

I also like that I can contribute as little as $200, or as much as I want. These funds are also highly liquid, which means they can be converted to cash easily.

I have little interest in spending time on researching the stock market. I tried, but I didn’t enjoy it. I’d rather spend the time elsewhere. That is just me.

While I say start early, don’t feel beat up and look at what you have missed in the past (speaking to myself again on this). What matters is what you choose to do now. Today is nothing but yesterday’s tomorrow.

Whatever you decide, start small to test the water, and go from there.

Principle #3: Evaluate the Trade-offs

Money decisions come with two trade-offs: risks and time.

The Risk Trade-off

You can pour every dollar into Bitcoin. You can borrow money you don’t have (known as a margin loan) to buy stocks. You can play with financial derivatives to speculate the market. Your return can be spectacular if you get it right. But you can also be ruined.

Nothing is free. Higher returns mean higher risks. Risks mean that someone gets lucky and others don’t. The only thing that matters is whether you can accept it.

It doesn’t mean to always go with the lowest risk decision. If you park 100% of your money in cash, the risk is the lowest, but the money loses value due to inflation. Your money is worth less every year.

A rule of thumb is to take risks that will allow you sleep at night. Money decisions shouldn’t come at the expense of your peace of mind. You should know what the risks are. You should ensure that you won’t lose your mind even if the outcome goes wrong.

The Time Trade-off

Contrary to the common saying, time is not money. Time is your life. It’s a non-renewable resource. Every second that passes is a second you don’t get back.

At multiple points in you life, you will face an opportunity to trade more time for more money. A classic example is a new job opportunity or a promotion. You will get paid more, but you need to put more time in. Should you take it?

Sometimes you should. Sometimes you shouldn’t.

If you find the new work fulfilling, it may make sense to trade the extra time with better pay as a bonus. If you already don’t have enough time for your family, spending more time on the job will make everyone more miserable. If the job is going to be demanding but only for a defined amount of time, maybe it is still acceptable because it allows for more freedom and independence down the road.

These decisions are not clear cut. No one can answer for you whether a choice is right or wrong. There is only the choice that makes sense to you after you consider the trade-offs at this point in time.

Principle #4: Create Joy With Money

If you manage to build up a bit of savings or investment, congratulations! Here comes another important aspect of money: spend it to create joy. After all, we are human beings, not human savings.

If I ask what matters to you in your life, you will likely say some combination of work, family, friends, community, growth, well-being, spirituality, or impact to the world. Even if you say money is important, what you really mean is what money enables you to do in these important areas of your life.

Money is not the end goal. That would be silly. Money itself has no intrinsic value. It’s a piece of paper, a number on a screen. The value resides in what it can be exchanged for.

Joy is the simplest, most readily available indicator of what matters to you. It’s in your heart. You can feel it.

Let me give you more examples.

If family is important: Hire a babysitter so you can go on a date with your spouse. Pay for a gardener so you have time to take your kids to a local museum. Take a family trip so you can spend quality time together.

If friends are important: Treat your friends to a nice dinner. Take them to a concert they will enjoy. Buy a fun game so you can play together.

If community is important: Donate to your local church or favorite charity. Sponsor a child’s education in a less advantaged area. Give money to someone truly in need. Expect no repayment.

You get the idea.

These examples involve other people. That’s the point. Joy comes about when we spend money (and energy) on other people.

Focus on creating opportunities for time and experience together. Buy time with money. Stuff doesn’t give us lasting joy. Memories and presence with each other do.

All of the above can also be done with little money. A “trip” can be a local park or museum. Your donation can be $10. A dinner may cost $50. Your intent matters more. Do what you can.

Unlike money, the scorecard of the areas that matter to you don’t show up in a bank statement. They show up in the face of your friends and family members. They show up in the result of your physical check-up. They show up in how you feel when you wake up in the morning and when you go to bed at night.

The ROI of creating joy is infinite. Isn’t that what matters the most at the end of the day?

If I ask you what you want in life, you may say more money, a better job, or a bigger house. Or you may say happiness, purpose, or independence.

But if we look deeply, freedom is all we want. That’s it.

A Fleeting Experience of Freedom

The day I left my first corporate job 7 years after college, an inexplicable sense of freedom overwhelmed me.

When I walked out of that building for the last time, my heart was filled with joy. My feet were light. My grin was uncontrollable.

It was a glorious day. The sun was beaming. I marched on Second Street in San Francisco. I didn’t know where I was going, but it didn’t matter.

I was free. It felt like the world was mine, and I was the world. I was ready to move on. I could go anywhere.

The experience, however, was rather short lived. It lasted for a few days.

This made me wonder, “What Is freedom?”

“Can I find more of it?”

What Freedom Is Not

Once, I was playing basketball with a group. In between every single game, one guy on my team had to take a cigarette break.

When I observed that, I wondered if having the ability to do whatever you want — to smoke whenever the body calls for — is a form of freedom. I didn’t think so.

When we cling to a material solution to avoid our pain or discomfort, we are not free. While the solution may numb us and bring temporary relief, we know this hurts us in the long run. We are imprisoned by the very thing that we thought might bring us freedom.

So What is Freedom Then?

Freedom is the moment we accept. We see the true nature of things. We don’t fabricate a distorted view of the world. We provide space for what’s good and agreeable. We provide space for what’s bad and unpleasant. We accept who we are.

Freedom is the moment we think we have enough. There is no need for more. We don’t need to be wealthier, more beautiful, or more influential. We are fine as we are.

Freedom is the moment we recognize there is abundance. There is more than enough in the world when we share. There is enough sunlight for everyone. We don’t need to keep the sun to ourselves. We don’t have to hoard.

Freedom is the moment we let go of stuff. We are born without material possessions. We will die the same way. There is no need to hold our fists tight. We can open our palms.

Freedom is the moment we let go of outdated ideas. We question whether these ideas are serving us, or we are serving the ideas. We leave behind the baggage from our trauma. We remove assumptions that no longer make sense.

Freedom is the moment we savor. We slow down. We stop running. We eat a piece of fruit, and we taste the goodness of the earth. We sit in a park, and we listen to the wonderful sounds of nature. We spend time with each other, and fully enjoy each other’s presence.

Freedom is the moment we listen to the good desires in our hearts. We pay attention to the soft but firm voices that call us to be better. We grow. We change. We do what we are called to do.

Freedom is the moment we discover what’s already in us. We recognize our gifts. We use our talents. We learn from our missteps. We transform our mistakes into wisdom. We use our weakness to its full potential. We find meaning and purpose inside ourselves.

Freedom is the moment we share. We give what we love. We spread what we learn. We multiply happiness. We recognize we are a community of brothers and sisters.

Freedom is the moment we are present. We know joy and happiness is not somewhere remote, or sometime in the future. The past is gone, and the future is too far away. There is only now.

Freedom is the moment we open ourselves to the world. We are available to possibilities. We embrace change with open arms. We have courage to go down an unfamiliar path.

Freedom is the moment we love. We act in the best interest of another person. We put others above ourselves. We care. We tell each other, “Don’t worry. I am here for you.”

Freedom is the moment we recognize meaning in our suffering. We see growth amid discomfort. We see joy amid pain. We see love amid sacrifices.

Freedom is the moment we become alive. Our body, mind and spirit is in the same place. We are engaged, focused, and enlightened. We know our place in the world.

Freedom is the moment we experience transcendence. We know we are part of something bigger. There are no boundaries. There is no left or right. There is no blue or red. There is no in or out. Everything is interconnected. Everything is in inseparable.

Freedom is in the mind. Freedom is a choice. Freedom is a commitment. Freedom is in every moment. Freedom is right here.

“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning

A vivid bad dream wakes me up. I find myself wide awake in the middle of the night, unable to go back to sleep.

Work problems and life worries surface in my head. I can’t help but to think about them. There is nothing constructive I can do at 2am in the morning. Still, my mind can’t resist.

The clock is ticking. The sense of dread builds up. Another hour has passed, but I am more restless than ever. I toss and turn. I am anxious about work the next day. I’m upset at the situation. I am also angry at myself.

“Why am I not asleep already?”

Eventually, I manage to fall asleep for a short while. It feels like I have lost consciousness for hours. Unfortunately, my bedside clock says it’s been only 45 minutes. I force myself to close my eyes again. The cycle repeats.

Finally, it’s 7am. I should be getting up now. But my body doesn’t move. I am already exhausted before the day has even started.

What Happens When We Can’t Fall Asleep?

This used to happen to me quite a lot, especially in my twenties.

Sleeping disorders are very common. In the US, up to 70 million people are affected every year. That’s almost 1 out of every 4 people.

In the moment of sleeplessness, most things are out of our control. We can’t change whether we get a bad dream or not. We don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night. We can’t control the thoughts that come to mind. They all just happen.

But what wakes us up is not what keeps us awake. Rather, what truly keeps us awake are ideas.

What Ideas?

When we look more deeply, a series of ideas keep us awake. These ideas include:

• “I should solve this problem in my head right now.”
• “I have to follow this thought.”
• “I can analyze my way out of this.”
• “I need energy for the next day.”
• “I should be sound asleep at this point.”
• “I am so tired.”
• “I will feel so groggy when I wake up.”
• “Tomorrow is going to suck!”

The possibilities are endless. We try to solve problems. We make projections. We hold ourselves to an expectation (should be sleeping) that we are by definition not meeting (being awake). We resist what’s happening. We are hard on ourselves.

When we tightly cling to these ideas, we enter into a self-perpetuating cycle of dread. This in turn makes it even harder to fall asleep.

How Do We Usually Sleep?

Think back on how you normally asleep. What do you do?

If you draw a blank or have a hard time answering, that’s because you don’t really do anything. You don’t analyze. You don’t judge yourself. You don’t think about tomorrow.

You close your eyes. You relax. You let the body do its natural thing. All you do is non-doing. That, my friend, is an insight that may help us through the next time we experience insomnia.

What Can We Do Instead?

So, here are a few things to try the next time you face sleeplessness.

1. Accept the reality: You are awake now. Nothing can change what has happened. It is what it is.
2. Focus on the breath: Take a few deep breaths. When you breathe in, you can say, “Breathe in, I know I am breathing in.” When you breath out, you can say, “Breathe out, I know I’m breathing out.” This mantra can help you stay focused on the rising and falling sensations of the breath.
3. Acknowledge the ideas that arise: Ideas will start to creep in. They want to lure you down some rabbit hole. Instead of resisting these thoughts, gently acknowledge them. You can say “Ah, the idea that I should be asleep by now. I see you. I understand you.”
4. Let go of the ideas: Once you create some space for the idea, you can then let it go. Release it as you breathe out. You can say “Idea, thanks for coming by. I’m going to let you go.” As you do it, bring your attention back to the breath.
5. Stay still: If you can, pick a peaceful position and stay with it. Sleeping on your back may give you a greater balance, but do what’s most comfortable for you. After a while, it may be tempting to change sleeping positions. It’s really just another idea. You can say, “Idea, thank you for the suggestion to change my sleeping position. I am also going to let you go now.”

I hope you will be able to find more peace in your sleep. Happy sleeping!

Since the beginning of the pandemic in 2020, most of us have had to stay home a lot more than we used to. Travel, while possible now, remains restrictive.

Many of us, including myself, miss the days where we had more mobility to go further, visit new places, and explore the world. Personally, I wish I could visit my parents, who live thousands of miles away.

The travel limitations, however, have also opened up a new world for me: the nearby.

What’s Right At Home

Over the last year, I started to go on more walks, to ride my bike, and to explore streets that I had previously zoomed by in my car. I discovered a pickleball court five minutes from my house. I started playing with my wife and my friends. It’s been fun.

Many squirrels scamper around where I live. I have come to enjoy observing them. Sometimes I look at them, and they look at me, while feverishly biting at a bit of food they have found. Sometimes they come in pairs, chase each other, and get lost in playing.

I drive within an hour or two to discover new towns, hiking trails, and vista points. I begin to see the variety of architecture, restaurants, and natural beauty all around.

All these things, while new to me over the past year, have always been here. This makes me wonder: why have I never paid attention to what’s right here at home? Where was I?

Anywhere But Here

Before, I used to take one or two trips with my wife every year to another state or country. While planning for these trips, I often eyed somewhere far away. I tried to “check off” places on my “bucket list.” I worked hard for 48 weeks out of the year, so I could finally have some fun. “The further I go, the happier I will be,” I thought.

When I look deeply, this mindset assumes two things.

First, that happiness is external, likely somewhere far away. I have to escape, travel long distances, and I only get to experience it for a few days once or twice a year.

Second, that there is nothing special with my immediate surroundings. What’s close by is not worthy of my attention. When given a chance, I should be somewhere else. Why stick around?

It’s one thing if I had lived somewhere I disliked, but I am blessed to live in Northern California, surrounded by the ocean, redwood trees, and awe-inspiring mountains. I am bathed in the warm sun, breathing clear air under a beautiful blue sky. People travel to California to experience these things.

Yet, for the majority of the year, my mind would be anywhere but here.

Why Somewhere Else?

The constant wish to be somewhere else is, I believe, a main source of our suffering.

For millions of years, our ancestors had to pay attention to what they lacked in order to survive: food, shelter, and safety.

While our material world has dramatically improved, our mind hasn’t evolved. What we lack always commands our attention.

Our brain perpetually scans for what’s available out there. Maybe something better is not far away, because it can’t be here, can it?

This is why even when we are with our loved ones, sometimes we still can’t help but to scroll our phone. Implied in that action, conscious or not, is that we want to escape, even for a few seconds, to a different world that promises to be better, more fun, and more interesting. The brain wants to be somewhere else.

When we chase after that something, that’s the moment when we lose what is right in front of us.

This is why we are never satisfied, even when we make more money, drive a new car, or have more possessions. What we have almost doesn’t matter. The moment we think we own something, we normalize it. We take it for granted. It becomes the new default. The brain goes searching again.

Perhaps this is why humans have long searched for the meaning of life, but often get stuck by this ultimate question. We might have thought the meaning of life was a destination somewhere far away.

But what if the meaning of life is not to arrive at a destination? Instead, what if it’s an invitation, extended to us every moment, to recommit to living fully right here in the present moment, to be with ourselves and our loved ones, in body, mind, and spirit?

What if the meaning of life is not a trick question, but a loving reminder that we can accept where we are, that we don’t have to be constantly running? What if the meaning of life is right in front of us, but we are simply too busy looking somewhere else?

What Does It Mean to Me?

Does this mean I won’t take trips far away anymore? I absolutely will, when I can do it again. I still love traveling. My desire to explore and appreciate the world remains. I also believe the world calls us to enjoy its beauty in a sustainable way.

It does mean that where I go doesn’t matter nearly as much as where my mind is. There is beauty to be discovered in somewhere remote, and right where I am. Where I direct my attention is a choice. It’s up to me.

For now, I choose to be at peace at home.

Morning is an important time of the day. It sets the tone for how the rest of your day goes.

I used to think that I am not a morning person. For most of my life, I slept until the very last minute before rushing out the door to school or office. Some days were memorably bad: I stayed in bed for too long, skipped breakfast, couldn’t find my keys, ran late, and drove like a mad man.

Morning used to be a struggle.   

How I View My Morning Now

Now, I wake up a couple of hours early to enjoy peace and quiet. When I wake up early, I get to experience the transition from darkness to light. It gives me a sense of serenity, hope, and peace. My mind is present. My thinking is clear. My focus is sharp.

The first couple of hours of the day is a sacred time that I protect dearly for my most important activities. I have a morning routine. I do a light workout, meditate/pray, and write. These three things are the most important things to me right now.

By deciding a set routine ahead of time, it frees me from having to decide what to do first thing in the morning. That makes it easy to automatically choose to do what matters most to my body, mind, and soul every morning.

While my routine has evolved over time and will continue to change, the underlying commitment is the same: create time in the morning to do what matters most.

Every morning is an opportunity. When we sleep, we die a little. When we wake, we resurrect with a fresh start. Everything that happened is in the past. Now we receive a gift of a new beginning. What are we going to do with it?