In my efforts to drastically downsize, I’m ‘digitalizing’ my journals. That’s millennial speak for “rereading 15 years worth of notebooks and manually typing notes and highlights into my laptop”. Here, I share some of the notes – to digest the arc that is my life, to share a giggle, and most importantly, to satisfy my sister’s general inclination to snoop after I’ve thrown the physical journals away.

August 2002
(Fifteen years ago to the month.  First week in New York as a student)

“You’ll never know. When you go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, he may be in the hallway waiting to pounce. Buy a portable toilet for your bedroom. Charge it to my account.”

– Mom, when she learned I had a boy as a flatmate

Creativity and imagination runs in my blood.  I am confident of, and comforted by, that thought.

I am having a slight issue with things. Getting rid of some of them, to be more specific. When I first started purging, I tossed and flung stuff away like it was nobody’s business. I donated 80% of my wardrobe, and boiled my stuff down to things I liked.  I was a vocal advocate for cleaning out. It was easy and liberating, I pontificated. Like skimming off unwanted fat.

But now, I’m scraping bone. And it hurts.

So apparently, there is this deep relationship between our possessions and ourselves. Part of being human is the ability to contemplate our identities – who we are, how we fit in, what makes us unique. We individuate ourselves through our provenance and our religion, and also through our relationships, our interests, our qualities, our social status. Having a sense of place in the world underpins our self-esteem and happiness.

Our belongings play an important role in the formation and reinforcement of these self-concepts. They are the tangible embodiment of our identity, defining and reminding ourselves and others of who we are. As adolescents finding our voice, for example, we placed so much emphasis on what we owned. The clothes we wore, the music we listened to, the stuff we carried signaled who we were to our peers. This does not change in adulthood. Our bookshelves, our wardrobes, our cars, our homes — they are the curated stories we want to tell: I am successful. I am an artist. I am a successful artist. I am a loving mother. I am an intellectual world-traveler. “I, a (fill-in-the-blank) individual, am here”.

Purging and Our Fluctuating Identities

Since our possessions are vessels of our selfness, purging can feel extremely liberating. When we go through identity upheavals — end of relationships, change in status, etc. — purging can symbolically (and maybe literally) shed a part of us that no longer serves. We then give ourselves the space to evolve into someone else.

In a limited way, once I threw out my martial arts trophies, my relationship with martial arts shifted from that of stress and needing-to-compete to that of the pure joy of practice. On a larger scale, it was no coincidence that my urge to do a deep purge coincided with my thoughts of changing career. I slowly started letting go of my corporate clothes, my high heels. The act of doing so manifested the internal change that was occurring, and at the same time, boosted my courage to finally effect the change.

In the same way, when we lose possessions that we consider materializations of our current selves, we feel gutted. Like when we are robbed, we feel violated — as if there was an actual intrusion into our deepest selves.

Right now, I am having difficulty letting go of a certain smattering of things that on the surface may seem ridiculous — my martial arts gear, a few pieces of art and pottery, a handful of letters from friends and family. To me, they embody my current “selfhood”: a martial artist, a budding (hopefully) creative, a decent friend and sister. To throw them away would be to pull the rug from under me. Too destabilizing. So for now, I keep.

Purging in the Age of Technology

Luckily, we no longer have to rely heavily on material objects to assert our identity. Technology has helped loosen this dependence. By giving us an alternative way to define and express ourselves, the minimalist lifestyle has become an entirely doable concept. Why buy Egyptian souvenirs when we can post photos in front of the pyramids? Why buy beautiful stuff when we can represent our aesthetics on Pinterest? Why purchase books when we can download them on an iPad and follow authors on Twitter? Why keep mementos of our relationships when we can honor the people (and share memories) on Facebook?

It’s not my place here to talk about the inflation or extreme curation of our online identities. My point is simply: to reveal who we are, we now have more options  available to us than previous generations. And if I may unabashedly admit, this is perhaps why I write on this blog — to honor and give voice to this current, temporary, yet very pivotal version of myself. Instead of accruing trinkets for my hypothetical grandchildren, I write as markings on the wall that this fearful, extremely uncertain, yet absolutely certain self was here.

Today, I spent three hours in the bookstore reading about painting. To most, this might seem like a productive way to spend the afternoon. I, however, was sorely disappointed at myself for having succeeded yet again at procrastination. You see, I had planned to start my creative journey the day I left my job. It’s been over 2 months hence, and I have nothing to show for. I have not picked up a brush to paint. I have not lifted a pencil to draw. And I have not logged on to start my coding course. Instead, I’ve used every delaying tactic in the book. I’ve even opted to organize my closet, file my amended tax returns, AND organize my photo library to put off having to draw!

I know I’m not alone here. I’ve had more than a handful of recent conversations with people facing the same battle — they have creative projects they long to do but are struggling to even begin. One wants to start song-writing but is waiting for inspiration to strike; another wants to sell hats (and has a store lined up to offer them) but is questioning her ability to meet the store’s standards; yet another wants to produce a documentary about his family history but doesn’t know where to begin; another wants to start a business but is nervous about the reception of her product; and still another wants to dance but worries she’ll be ridiculed. The list is long. The struggle to begin the creative path is real.

Elizabeth Gilbert says that all these different forms of paralysis all boil down to the same thing: fear. If I may distill it down further based on my conversations and my own experience, it is a fear of not succeeding, a fear of realizing that I may not be good at this thing I want so badly to do. For me, this fear has been so overwhelming that it has kept me from drawing a single line on the sketch pad I carried during my travels because I was afraid that the drawings may not be pretty!

This fear, Gilbert goes on to say, parades itself in fancy shoes as ‘perfectionism’. “Perfectionism . . . often stops people from beginning their work. Perfectionists often decide in advance that the end product is never going to be satisfactory, so they don’t even bother trying to be creative in the first place.”

To give up on a project before it even starts, to allow the spark of inspiration to fade inside of us, would be a monumental pity. So, I’m writing this (procrastinating much?) as a gentle nudge for myself and my friends who stand at the threshold of creating, still hesitating in fear:

Fear is our Compass

Let’s give fear its proper place in this struggle. Fear isn’t all bad. In fact, it is an important component in our creative growth. Fear is the compass which points out where we should be headed. Steven Pressfield in the War of Art says, “The more fear we feel about a specific enterprise, the more certain we can be that that enterprise is important to us and to the growth of our soul.” Think about it. The more we want a particular job, the more fear we would feel during the interview process. The more feelings we have towards someone, the more fear we would have in approaching him. If something didn’t really matter to us, we wouldn’t really care so deeply.

So, to walk away from something that is meaningful to us would be, first and foremost, harming ourselves. We would be robbing ourselves of the opportunity for growth. The creative seeds should be given the opportunity to bloom; to choose otherwise would be to mute ourselves.

It may be helpful to remember that fear does not discriminate. Every accomplished artist still faces fear. Pressfield assures us, “there is no dread-free artist.” The difference is that a true artist doesn’t allow fear to stop him. He forges on with his work.

Create Non-Epic Shit

As amateurs struggling to even begin, let’s ditch the idea that we must create epic shit. Who needs that additional pressure in our lives? We don’t need to be the next Uber, the next Lin Manuel Miranda, or the next JK Rowling. Heck, we don’t even need to be good! Our job right now is simply to explore this idea we have. To follow a curiosity. And to understand if this itch we are scratching is, indeed, something we want to be pursuing for the long-haul. That is all.

Allow me to draw on my limited blogging experience. For the first 5 months of its existence, I told NO ONE about this blog. I wrote for myself; to download and process thoughts that were wrestling to be released. I knew nobody was reading. I wasn’t able to validate if anything I was writing was resonating with anyone. But each time I published a post, I felt the relief and joy that would presumably come with coughing up a little gremlin growing in my throat. And for me, that was enough.

For those who want to do creative work that is necessarily commercial (like starting a business), accept at this point that we are not going to please everyone. So, trust your taste and make what pleases you. Don’t worry about what will sell. Your role now is to create. Focus on that.

It is advised that we shouldn’t be a creator and a critic at the same time. To be both is to tap into 2 different parts of the brain, and that pulls you out of your flow and makes the creative process much slower and much more arduous. So avoid immediately editing every sentence you write or judging every footage you film. Just keep creating. Let the designers, editors, and producers (all of which may also be you) worry about the commercial side later on.

No One is Judging, So Play

When my parents had parties at home, my mom would ask us to play the piano. Mind you, this wasn’t the type of parent showcasing where guests were forced to sit and listen to a 7-year old play Chopsticks. It was a lot less daunting than that. My mom simply wanted us to play while guests were going about their partying. And yet, I was too mortified to do so. Until, at one particular party, she said the magic words, “No one is judging you.” I looked around and noticed that, in fact, the grown-ups were busy chatting, drinking and eating to care about what I banged out on the piano. That knowledge gave me the boldness to play and play badly.

The same applies to our art. As amateurs, no one is really watching. There are barely any expectations for us to meet. The bar for us is so deliciously low. Why not take advantage of this, and give ourselves the license to explore, play, and make grand mistakes?

Just Begin

Sure, our creative endeavors may seem daunting. But taking our focus away from the immensity of the project, and concentrating on simply taking each next step helps transform the journey into a manageable one. Let us finally show up, and allow the experience to take us where it may. It might bring us to some sobering and enlightened realizations that the pleasure creating brings isn’t worth the pain. Or, it may lead to magic. We won’t know unless we begin.

“Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth that ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.” – Goethe

Are you facing the same struggle? Have you fought through the fear? Would love to hear your thoughts. Let me know in the comments section below.

Warning: we’re going a little woo woo hippy dippy today.

My parents invited me to join them on a 12-day pilgrimage around the UK and Ireland last month. I jumped at the chance thinking it would be a nice way to spend time with them. I had not focused on the fact that pilgrimages generally have a spiritual component to them.

Needless to say, I was not prepared for what was in store. I recited more prayers in one morning than I had in the past 5 years combined. While it was a joy to be with a group of generous and loving people led by Fr Jerry Orbos, I felt like a fish out of water. The religious practices were unfamiliar and strange to me now.

I found solace, however, in what Fr Jerry said at the very start of the retreat, “Pray with words if you wish. Or just pray with your heart. Each one of us has our own relationship with the Lord.”

My faith was largely formed in an ultra-conservative all-girls Catholic school. For 11 years, we were prescribed formulas on how to “know God”. We were forced to memorize a manual of Catholic principles, made to recite a litany of prayers at appointed times, pulled out of class each week to reflect on our sinfulness and confess our sins. We were lectured on how to dress appropriately so as not to tempt our fathers and brothers (?!!), herded into buses for mini-pilgrimages, taught how to properly genuflect in front of the altar. Not to mention the basic rules of attending mass on Sundays and holidays, fasting and abstaining on appointed days, getting ashed on Ash Wednesday, fasting at least an hour before communion, etc etc. As a type A student, religion became a mental exercise: follow the rules and your soul will be saved.

My relationship with God was that of a strict distant father high up in gold-gilded Heaven to whom I called out when I needed a favor. He, meanwhile, was playing and replaying videos of my life, tallying points based on my adherence to his rules. My relationship with humans was largely the same. I judged people based on their outward religious acts, and they, too, judged me (a priest once told me to be thankful I didn’t get hit by a bus before I was able to confess my sins).

I was a brooding child, bereft of lightness, joy or spontaneity. I grew up guilty about everything and fearful of everlasting repercussions (I regularly woke up in the middle of the night anxious about the thought of eternal damnation). Ironically, religion became the oppressor that kept me distanced from God.

I do wonder what would have become of me had I not attended a university run by the Jesuits (the order that the fabulous Pope Francis is from). The Jesuits are known to be the Catholic liberal thinkers. They are more inclusive and more in touch with the world, the “socialists”. Just a few years with the Jesuits chipped away the tyrannical constructs of my faith as I had formed it. I was their ready and willing victim, only too happy to shed off the righteous religious cloak as soon as someone so much as said “it’s okay”.

The Jesuits cracked the door open for the further exploration of my spirituality. Over the next two decades, I threw myself into books of self-help writers and spiritual thinkers (both Catholic and non-Catholic) including the Dalai Lama, Thich Nhat Hahn, Pema Chodron, Michael Singer, Dror Ashua, Eckhart Tolle, Rumi and the like. I wasn’t quite sure I knew what I was looking, but I knew I’d know it when I found it.

Today, my spiritual practice looks nothing like the religion of my childhood. I don’t think I can even articulate the principles of my beliefs (if there even are any), but I thought I’d share them for anyone who might also be in the search.

MEDITATION. My spirituality is rooted in meditation. It all started with a book my Dad gave me in 2005 called “Sadhana: A Way to God”. It was written by Anthony de Melo, a Jesuit (gotta love those Jesuits!), who attempted to combine Christian prayer with Eastern meditation. I tried some of his suggested practices simply out of curiosity. I quickly noticed, however, that the effect of this kind of “wordless” prayer was more profound than any prayer I had been reciting.

I started off using de Melo’s book as a guide for my meditation practice, following his awareness and visualization techniques. I, then, branched out to other forms of meditation drawing from Buddhism, mindfulness meditation, pranayama, etc. I also followed guided meditations for forgiveness, healing, love, or any other emotional shifts I needed at those particular moments. Today, I practice any one of these depending on how I feel.

I meditate daily. It is the first thing I do when I get up, sitting for at least 15 minutes. I add on a few minutes here and there whenever and however I can (in the subway, waiting for a friend, on a park bench). Not all my meditations are sitting with eyes closed. Sometimes, I meditate while walking, or stretching. Meditation is simply being silent and mindful, being aware of what is around you, what is within you. This simple practice has resulted in deep shifts in my nature.

RELAXATION. At the very base, meditation has helped me relax at the physical level. From a highly assertive personality (read: stressed and tensed), relaxed has now become my default state. This relaxation feels like the stillness and peace you would feel if you were sitting at the bottom of the ocean, where the ripples or the crashing waves on the surface of the water don’t disturb you. I am much more aware when I am pulled out of this state — say if I find myself getting angry or stressed — and breathe into the tension that occurs in my body to get back to relaxation.

MINDFULNESS. At the next level, meditation has helped me gain control of what Buddhists call the “monkey mind” — the constant chatter in our heads. Like a monkey jumping from branch to branch, my mind used to run non-stop about anything and everything: my to-do lists, judgement of a colleague, a boy who hasn’t called, the heat, on and on and on.

Chatter happens when we don’t agree with what is happening around us — when we don’t like what a colleague is saying, when we prefer to be somewhere cooler, when we can’t accept that the boy hasn’t called. Chatter is our way of resisting life, of trying to force life to go the way we want it to. In reality, this chatter only results in pain to ourselves. Because in reality, we can’t do much about what is outside us and beyond our control. What we can control is our resistance to life; instead, we can learn to accept it. Meditation has helped me quiet down this inner voice of resistance and allow life to flow as it wants to, and embrace whatever is in front of me.

NON-JUDGEMENT. Meditation has helped me release judgement of others. People are neither “bad” nor “good”; they are all teachers. They come into our lives to reveal a part of ourselves that needs work or attention. For example, if we are jealous of someone, that person is showing us where we feel a lack and where we can develop. Be grateful for the people that come into our lives, even briefly. And be okay with letting go of those who no longer serve our emotional and spiritual growth.

TRUST. Meditation has helped me learn to trust that life unfolds as it should. I try to remain unattached to my desired outcomes and be okay with everything that comes. And know that the lesson in everything will eventually reveal itself.

Through meditation, the practice of my faith has shifted from a head exercise to a movement to spirit. When there are no worries, no grasping, or no clinging, life becomes simple, peaceful and joyful! Pope Francis said, “Being happy is not a fatality of destiny, but an achievement for those who can travel within themselves.”

“One searches for God in books. One finds him in meditation.” – St. Pio