Beginnings are hard. I should start somewhere.
Earlier this year, I realized I was (maybe) depressed. By then, I had been constantly fighting with myself and my own mind. I felt paralyzed by endless loops of thoughts — circling in a nonlinear, chaotic, jumbled motion. Sometimes they broke through into clarity, forming a straight line, but most of the time, they stayed tangled and wiggly.
One day, my friends and I went to Monterey, a beautiful town by the ocean. It's truly a magical, quaint place — the kind of place meant for peace and self-reflection. And yet, I was riddled with anxiety, stuck in endless scenario-planning scripts, and drowning in unproductive imaginings and tears.
I couldn't quite figure out why I felt the way I did. I lost my appetite. I felt nauseous. I was overwhelmed by waves of sadness, envy, regret, and doubt. On that sunny, blue-sky day, under generous rays of sunshine, I felt utterly lonely on the Monterey boardwalk. I wasn't sure I had the strength to stand up again. I didn't feel like I had control over anything — and that scared me. I didn't feel worthy of respect. I didn't even respect myself. I didn't like the person I had become; this version of me felt foreign. I had no idea how I was going to deal with her.
Upon returning to the city, I knew I had to do something different. That day was six months ago. And for six months, I couldn't bring myself to start. But well, today is the day. Today, we start something, somewhere. This is my attempt. I'm not entirely sure what this space will become, but here I am — and I'll try to make the most of this community.
Why now?
Life is too short to sit idle, longing for the "good old days." I know this much: I want to keep track of my thoughts. I want to share them. I know that if I want to share an idea and truly believe in it, I have to accept the risk of ridicule — of putting myself out there, publicly. If I believe in something strongly enough, I should be ready to defend it with evidence and reasoning.
I also know there's power in sharing emotions and vulnerabilities. Sometimes they can help someone else feel less lonely, less scared, and less anxious. Because, for all I know, they might feel just as alone as I did — and maybe my words can remind them they aren't.
So, why this? There are three main reasons:
- I want my work and thoughts to outlast me.
- I want to pull myself out of this hole — and even the simple act of writing, of filling the screen with words and organizing my thoughts, brings me joy.
- I want others to know they don't have to feel so alone.
What have I learned in the last couple of months?
I've learned a lot.
Ideas Matter
I've learned that ideas matter — and that I can't keep working on projects I don't believe in. I've learned that I can't just "date" any idea. I need to give myself time between idea-dates to reset, recharge, and move forward. Before I commit to something new, this is the time for me to reflect, learn, and sharpen my skills. It's like finding time to rest and digest before eating again. Or like taking time to reset before dating again. Or simply like sleeping — the pause that makes everything else possible.
People Matter
One big (high-key obvious) realization: people matter. It's not easy to orchestrate synergy and compatibility, but people chemistry is the real magic. And ultimately, that's the winning ticket. It's worth spending time figuring out if someone is the right match — whether in work, friendship, or life.
Don't Lie to Yourself
Another lesson: stop lying to myself. And I don't just mean outright lies — I mean the subtle exaggerations, the self-doubt, the failure to appreciate who I am. I've learned how critical it is to see things as they are, nothing more, nothing less. To have the courage to say, "This is it."
N of 1
The last lesson: no one really knows the answers to anything. People say they do, but they don't. So if anyone claims with 100% certainty that they know the answer, they're probably wrong. Instead of pretending to have it all figured out, we should share our stories, our learnings, and encourage each other to piece together our own conclusions.
At the end of the day, it's always and forever an 'n of 1'. There's one version of you and one version of your path. Only you hold the answers to your own questions — no one else can truly give them to you. That's the hard part, and honestly, it sucks. Sometimes it feels easier to have someone tell us what to do. But life rarely works like that.