Trying

As it would turn out, unemployment leaves you with a whole lot of free time.

So if you happened upon my ragged, underslept, slightly unwell, rrrat-like visage gleefully acquiring home-style South Indian takeout from Fremont’s most fabulous establishment, Idly Express...

And if you just so happened to ask what I’ve been up to...

I’d be more than delighted to inform you that I’ve been on a most marvelous journey of rewatching my childhood, 15 hours of it, on freshly-digitized cassette tapes.

A particular favorite is the day I had decided in my little baby mind that hell or high water, I was going to start walking, dammit!

It was a lengthy and comical affair (if Tom and Jerry flattening each other behind doors is your sort of thing). I would push up to a stand, wobble precariously, and crumple into a heap over and over and over and over again (over two dozen times)…

…before I finally managed to stagger forward, and take my first steps!

I was that baby! That baby was me! And in all her chaotic and numerous and colorful failed attempts she did the damn thing she set out to do.

I hope that my story, if anything, can be the story of someone who is undeniably, trying.

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A few months ago, in late March, I decided to step away from Figment - the endeavor I’ve poured almost two years of my heart and life into.

I keep trying to write about the story of my time with Figment and why I’ve stepped away, but it has been eluding me. I trust it’ll come to paper in its own time.

Each time I’ve made the decision to change my situation, it’s been a painful unravelling. It’s hard to trust myself again - to dig myself out of the pit, learn my lesson, commit to a new shape of a person, and give it another go.

I started my journey in April, slowly rearranging my life while recovering from the insomnia and burnout that had come to define my days. Despite my best attempts, my environment and state of mind continued to reinforce my sickness and by May, I’d pared down to the most emptied out version of myself.

In June, I came back to life amidst the endlessly inspiring streets of New York City. I spent the month at ITP Camp, a nights-and-weekends-creative-tech-maker-camp run by NYU every summer. It thrust me into a multifaceted community with strong shared core values of curiosity, kindness, and love of learning + creating across mediums. We joked that we’re all wildly different expressions of basically the same person. It felt like I’d found my tribe.

Once my environment clicked into place, everything about me started to change. It’s like I was a teenager again, driven by the urge to try on new ways of being. I had the idea of putting up a Fred again.. poster (my unattainable boyband crush) in my bedroom to commemorate.

My clothes no longer felt like mine. I struggled to don the all black, tactical outfits that had become the daily staple of a tired mind and started to crave a specific kind of chartreuse green.

When I cut 20 inches out of my hair in November 2024, I told my mom (who was more than skeptical of the new look) that my hair would grow as I grew into this new stage of life. It took two years, but I’m finally ready to see length return to my hair.

Life is constantly striking me with reminders of how beautiful she is. After years of living on a screen, the most ordinary moments feel infinitely rich and alive. I’ll cry at the drop of a hat.

I bought my first (not-a-print) art piece!

I’ve been letting serendipity lay down the path forward a bit more than usual and my tolerance for acting against my intuition has gone down to near zero.

I think often about how the conscious mind, the inner voice, is such a flattening of our true intelligence. If our true intelligence is a body of water, the conscious, visible, speaking mind is perhaps the thin layer that makes up the surface. I have to assume the vast amount of our intelligence is buried in emotion and “gut,” given how much animals are able to operate out of pure instinct.

Anyways, I physically cannot make a decision against my better thinking or else I stop being able to sleep, almost immediately.

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I’m still not quite the same as I was before all this started. I still consistently lose at least two days a week to my health and often feel embarrassed by the resulting flakiness / inconsistency.

I’m not sure if you can tell by comparing this essay to my past writing, but I’m massively creatively blocked. I’m desperately searching for that spark of obsession that carries my ideas through to execution, but everything I make and most of what I consume feels flat.

I’ve been thinking loads about what my life could look like from here on out. The dream when I left my corporate job in 2024 was to find a way to be a creative independent. Since then, I’ve encountered hundreds of creative independents who are each making it work in their own unique way, building an intricate mosaic of a life suited to their practice.

I recently became open to the idea of taking on a full time job again. Admittedly, it feels at least a little like giving up on my dream. From my experiences with ITP camp, I realize that recovery has stemmed largely from structured environments that hold the pieces of me when I am unable to manually uphold them myself.

I now know, far more intimately, that this is to be a lifelong journey of with trial and error, learning and adaptation, rather than boiling down to one successful or unsuccessful venture. The dream remains, but I meet it with hopeful eyes that are maybe a little weary and a little wiser.

What if it all works out?