Growing Through It

Restlessness has me again. My mind feels like it’s spinning in a thousand different directions, untethered but determined to land somewhere meaningful. Normally, I’d reach for my notebook and write until I’m settled, but I can’t do that now. My main bag, the one that held the tools of my clarity was left behind, deemed too heavy to carry.

Too heavy. Isn’t that the story of life sometimes? But here I am, three weeks later, surviving without it. Proof that the weight I thought was essential wasn’t necessary after all.

Today, though today hit differently. Maybe it’s the dwindling funds before my first paycheck. Maybe it’s the raw nerves of not knowing what this next phase will bring. I’ve got a plan, a budget, and I’ll stick to it. But the uncertainty? It clings to me, whispering, “What if?”

Still, I’ve been learning something about myself: when you let go of something you’ve clung to for too long something that consumed 70% of your being you’re left with the uncomfortable task of filling that empty space. For me, that 70% was being a athlete, being competitive. It wasn’t just an activity; it was a relationship with everyone, with expectations, with a version of me I thought I had to be. When I finally said no to it, I felt lost, but I didn’t mourn. Running, competing it never fed me the way I needed. It wasn’t joy; it was survival.

And when I left it behind, I didn’t know who I was anymore. So I chased a dream I’d always told myself I wanted. I got into Emory and got right out. That still makes me laugh in a sad, ironic way. Then came the OR internship. It felt like progress, but the truth? I was sinking money just to stay afloat.

By the grace of God, eight months after graduation two months after the fallout with Emory I found myself on a plane to China to teach. The pay was better, the prospects brighter, and for the first time in a while, could I breathe?

Now, here I am, across the world, looking at my reflection in an unfamiliar mirror. I still feel the void of that 70%, but I’m learning to fill it with things that matter to me. What really matters to me? 

My Goals

• Learn Mandarin and Cantonese
  Language is a bridge, but not knowing it can feel like a wall. In the beginning, I thought every word, every look, carried judgment or irritation. That paranoia came from me, not them. Slowly, I’m learning to listen to their words, their tones, their kindness. I see my own arrogance more clearly now. Understanding starts with humility.

• Master Cooking
  Cooking has always intimidated me. Living with other people made it easy to avoid, and my limited recipes were a quiet embarrassment. But here, with time to experiment and fail, I’ve realized something: cooking isn’t just about food. It’s about creating, nurturing, and taking control. 
• Travel and Explore
  My spirit has always been restless, curious, ready to wander. China has already shown me beauty and order I’ve never seen before. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but while I am, I want to embrace this land, its people, and its lessons.

• Build Confidence in Teaching
  The first time I stood in front of my class, I was terrified. Tiny faces—just three and four years old—looked up at me, waiting for me to guide them. What if I said the wrong thing? What if I couldn’t reach them? But I know now that confidence isn’t magic; it’s a skill. One I’m determined to master.