Surrounded by two large monitors and the screen of my laptop, I find myself typing away on the keyboard, battling the post-lunch drowsiness while standing.
Today is my last day at work this year.
As the world celebrates the New Year, the entrance to this office building is closed, and the entire space has fallen into a quiet hush. Inside, only a few desks in the back quarter of the office are occupied, and the aisles for the commercial team are completely empty. The sound of my keyboard typing echoes, standing out in the silence.
In this calm, I take a moment to reflect on the past two weeks as I wrap up 2024. Here’s a look back at my week 1,509 & 1,510.
1. In My Mother’s Tears
When I returned home for the first time in a month, the sound of music from the living room engulfed me. My mother’s usual cheerful “Welcome home!” was nearly drowned out as it reached the doorway where my father and I stood.
It was uncharacteristically loud — a volume that my mother, known for her sensitive ears, would typically be apprehensive about, fearing it might disturb the neighbors. The source was an album by her longtime favorite artist, Miyuki Nakajima, one she’d bought the previous year as part of a special anniversary collection.
As I stepped into the living room, I saw her folding a pile of laundry on the dining table. Normally, my mother would meet me at the door whenever I came home, but this time, she didn’t stop what she was doing. She barely glanced my way, offering only a half-turned smile. The unusually loud music had already unsettled me, and her behavior confirmed something was wrong.
She was carrying a heavy emotional weight.
My mother, a psychiatrist, had recently received a call from the family of a young girl she had been treating for over a decade. It had been years since their last session, but they contacted her to deliver devastating news: the girl had taken her own life.
Tears welled up in my mother’s eyes as she recounted this. With a sharp intake of breath, she began sobbing uncontrollably, collapsing onto the floor. Her shoulders trembled as she cried openly, her usual composure completely shattered.
She explained that she had attended the girl’s funeral weeks ago but hadn’t allowed herself to cry until that moment. The mix of emotions on her face was unmistakable:
- sorrow for the young girl who was no longer in this world
- relief that her suffering had finally ended
- deep regret, as a doctor, for not being able to instill a sense of hope in her life
A passage I had read recently surfaced in my mind:“I live. But if life is simply an irreversible process leading to death, how is that different from saying, ‘I will die’? If living is merely the act of slowly dying, why do we even need the word ‘live’?”
The words resonated powerfully as I watched my mother grapple with her grief. To me, they underscored the profound need for hope in living — hope that is fragile yet essential.
I couldn’t help but feel connected to the young girl, despite never having met her.
Her story wasn’t just someone else’s tragedy — it was a poignant reminder of how vital it is to find meaning and light, even in the most difficult moments.
2. From Lingering in Bed
Mornings when I can’t bring myself to leave the warmth of my bed have become more frequent, defeated by the cold and the late sunrise. Though I usually try to fit in my daily run in the morning, I’ve found myself postponing it until after work in the evenings more often than not. I’ve spent so much time lying down lately that I sometimes feel as though my stomach might fuse with my back.
It’s clear — I’m not built for the cold.
My skin dries out, my body stiffens, and I’m constantly battling shoulder tension. Walking through dimly lit streets feels isolating, leaving me with a sense of unease and reluctance.
I can’t help but reflect on how, not long ago, I had plans to move to Chicago after graduating from university. Chicago winters, notorious for freezing breath into icicles, were supposed to be my reality. Looking back, I wonder how I ever thought I’d survive such harsh conditions. (Those plans fell through due to the pandemic, and I’ve yet to experience the legendary winters of Chicago.)
This train of thought reminds me of the many times I’ve been surprised by my own past decisions. In fact, my life feels like a series of such moments — doubting the logic of my younger self while adapting to the outcomes.
I think I’ve realized something about myself:
I’m adaptable.
Whatever circumstances I find myself in, I manage to make things work. I don’t rely on meticulous preparation so much as I trust my ability to assess situations in the moment and find workable solutions.
It seems I’ve come to understand myself just a little better.
3. From Designing New Year Cards
In our family, it’s an annual tradition each December for me to take charge of designing the New Year’s greeting cards. While I no longer send these cards myself, my parents still do, and they rely on me to create the design.
This year, having spent more quality time with my family than usual, I wanted to reflect that sentiment in the design. A few hours later, at my favorite coffee shop, the design was complete.
What I relearned through this process is the importance of imagination and mental rehearsal.
When creating something, the clarity and specificity of the envisioned outcome directly influence the final result. Nearly 70% of the time I spent on the design was dedicated to forming a detailed mental image. Once I picked up the pen, it didn’t take long to bring the vision to life.
This experience reminded me that imagination isn’t just the starting point — it’s the cornerstone of creativity.
4. In Balancing Structure and Spontaneity
Every Sunday, I have a habit of reviewing my schedule for the upcoming week. Recently, I noticed a shift in how my evenings look compared to a few weeks ago: a stretch of blank space has appeared between dinner and bedtime.
I’ve started calling this my “playtime.”
It’s a period where I allow myself the freedom to do anything — or nothing at all. What’s key is that I don’t pre-plan how to spend this time.
In a way, I’ve made the conscious decision not to decide.
I’ve always been someone who thrives on routine. I enjoy the structure it provides and pride myself on sticking to it. In fact, I’ve experienced stretches of life where nearly every waking moment was filled with routine tasks.
But here’s what I learned:
too much routine can drain the color from life.
Over time, it turns into a monotonous grind, where each day feels mechanical, restrictive, and lifeless.
After some trial and error, I found a balance that works for me. Once I’m home from work, I dedicate that time to “play.” By leaving it unstructured, I’ve discovered the importance of balancing freedom with routine.
This simple adjustment has made my days feel more spacious, flexible, and alive.
5. In Finding Fulfillment Beyond Goals
As 2024 draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on the goals I set 12 months ago.
These goals were meant to be achieved by the year’s end, but my focus throughout the year wasn’t solely on reaching them.
Instead, I dedicated myself to making each day meaningful and fulfilling.
This year taught me the importance of investing wisely in the journey toward a goal. By focusing on the process rather than the outcome, I experienced personal growth and a deeper sense of accomplishment.
Now, as I look at the boxes ticked off on my list, I feel a genuine sense of achievement — not just because the goals were met, but because I embraced and enjoyed the steps it took to get there.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that a journey with no room for play or flexibility is bound to falter.
Success isn’t about rushing to the finish line but about savoring the process along the way.
I hope that this year has been a positive one for all of you.
Wishing you all a wonderful New Year ahead.