The launch of the James Webb telescope captivated my attention for weeks. Galaxies and phenomena were painted in colors and details beyond my own comprehension. I was never one for fantasies, but the images were nothing short of magical. These feelings of excitement and novelty were accompanied, as they always are, with a nihilistic tinge. As illustrious as these images and discoveries are, the expansiveness of our universe trivialized our footprint.
In 1994, Carl Sagan wrote A Pale Blue Dot which evoked how small we are, literally and figuratively, compared to the vastness beyond us.
“Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light.”
There’s some comedic relief in nihilism, I suppose. In the grand scheme of all the rules we follow, the titles and recongitions we yearn for, the pressure we place on ourselves, and the stress we tolerate, A Pale Blue Dot poses the question: does it all even matter?
Is this thought paralyzing? Disheartening? To me, it’s liberating. Via some happenstance combination of events, we’ve found ourselves on a Pale Blue Dot hurtling through space. Out of every life form we could possibly take, we are blessed, or cursed, with one where we have conscious agency. A Pale Blue Dot then poses a secondary question: If this is the life we’ve been given, how do we choose to make it matter?
They say time feels slower when it’s filled with moments that matter. Lately, my days seem to evaporate before my hands or eyes can grasp onto any significance.
icarus’s wings
Almost two years ago, I arrived in Los Angeles on a Sunday evening, found a Craiglist sublet the next morning, and moved-in by noon. I sought stability in a place I already painted as temporary. With an entire country between myself and the only community I surrounded myself with for over nine years, I held onto the only constant I had from old life: work.
I happily chose to spend my hours staring at charts, putting together roadmaps, writing SQL queries, dbt models, and drafting Slack messages in the evening to send in the morning. I worked so much because it gave me a routine; a sense of accomplishment; a form of company after moving to a city of strangers.
When decisions around my personal life were too intimidating or overwhelming, I defaulted to expending my energy towards my job—the tasks were direct and decisions were, in many ways, easier. This became a habit until there wasn’t any room left for anything else.
And so, last year was the best year of my career.
I found my voice and could clearly state my convictions; I spoke on stages; I was asked to be interviewed along peers I deeply admired; my friends and family cheered me through the entire journey. While creating this Substack was an accident, I thought, if people are willing to listen then I want to say what truly mattered to me. Even during the proudest moments of my career, I kept asking myself, why do we allow ourselves to do this? Why do we push ourselves and allow this to take up more space in our lives than it should? And when did I become complicit in it?
Last year was the best year of my career.
Last year was also the worst for my mental health.
the curse of sisyphus
I stepped down as “Head of Data at dbt Labs” at the beginning of the year.
The company was moving quickly; I was averaging 4 hours of sleep on weekdays; my family and closest friends’ celebrations morphed into concerns and shortly frustrations. I had nothing left to give and let go of everything I once cherished. And what did I have to show for it? Surely, if I set my eyes towards the horizon, maybe I could run towards something—scope down my job, move to a new city, take on new hobbies to replace the ones that lost their luster. If my sight is fixated towards an illustrious false hope in the distance, then I can overlook the surrounding ruins and rubble. Unsurprisingly, my days grew colorless and devoid of meaning. My drafts piled, I told myself to give them time, maybe there would be some unforeseen inspiration ahead.
After Coalesce, arguably the biggest week of my profession, I was exhausted from sleeping on top of hotel beds, staying up talking to coworkers and team mates, or not sleeping at all. After two weeks of intense work travel, one of my closest friends had a wedding right after. I was unbearably sick and emotionally drained, the slew of worn excuses effortlessly poured into my head: She’d understand; I don’t want to get anyone else sick; I can arrive the day-of and skip seeing my other friend; They know how crazy work has been for me.
By the grace of miracles, Dayquil, and a kind nudge from someone who’s lived through the mess, I arrived as a dazed shell outside of the Dallas Fort-Worth Airport Saturday morning. Immediately, I was welcomed by a close friend in the rental car I was supposed to book a week before. Without any questioning or a hint of grievance, she drove us towards a congee spot she found while waiting for my arrival, then another for warm tea, then insisted we pick up water and juice, and finally drove us to the hotel which she checked in the day before—alone, with plans of me being there the day before. The next day, she let me sleep 14 hours—forgoing any morning plans—coordinated the travel logistics, and we hazily arrived at our friend’s wedding. Not once did she ask for an apology —“We’re just so happy to see you.”
asclepius’s resurrection
For the past two years, my eyes were fixated on some unforeseen horizon in the distance because I feared the mess I carelessly brushed away from periphery. The highs of last year gave me hope that there were more to be had, it was just the economy. If I worked harder, my family and friends would celebrate and those colorless days would make this all worth it. And yet, I was overlooking the heart of my motivations and support—the people who unconditionally love me; who only wanted what was best for me; who saw how much I killed myself over this work but supported it because it was what made me happy.
But, on this Pale Blue Dot, it’s the people who make our short tenure matter.
I told myself if I worked harder to give my family and friends some guaranteed financial security; to give my team the relief they needed; to help my coworkers exceed in their roles, then my existence on this Pale Blue Dot would mean something. This self-inflicted masochism of allowing work to be the only stable force in my life caused the rest of my life to be devoid of any meaning. I sought comfort and meaning in the wrong places because it was so easy to fall into and value without question. But this devotion towards work, guised as devotion to your loved ones, is often weaponized as an excuse for failing to show up in the places that matter—especially to yourself. Society, innately, does not value making time for personal moments that matter, for rest, for the human experience outside of work.
So often we believe self-infliction hurts only us, but as someone who lives alone with distance friends and family across coasts, I’ve seen how my habits have harmed the people I care for the most—forgotten birthdays, holidays half-present and half-working, delayed phone calls or texts for days to weeks to months, flights booked the day before. My excuses will become broken records and their insistence will fade. Time is the scarcest resource and it will move forward as their lives move on with milestones celebrated and moments created, with my absence becoming more regular and habitual.
If I painted a narrative that I was to running towards something then this movement, motivated by unwarranted ambition and hidden fear, would mean I was at least going somewhere and it would justify my absence. But, I’ve come to recently realize, directionless hope means we are running away—often from ourselves—and we contort the story to convince ourselves otherwise. And every accolade or achievement thereafter grows emptier and more meaningless because it was never what we wanted in the first place.
. . . . .
I’m afraid to stand still, but I’m so tired of running.
Today is the start of my three months off to focus on rebuilding the foundations of my life again—sleeping 8 hours a day, eating three meals, and reconnecting with the people who’ve given me more patience and support than I deserve. I want to stand still and clean the mess I’ve accumulated and forgotten over the past two years. And beyond spending time with loved ones, I want to rediscover the value and meaning of protecting and cherishing myself.
So while looking towards the vastness ahead is exciting and enticing, we shouldn’t trivialize the immense meaning and beauty within our surroundings on this small Pale Blue Dot.
can’t think of a better way to plunge into scorpio szn <3
It's funny I reached to this article and your profile due to a Data Leadership material produced by Atlan that you participated. I'm on my way to get to know more and more about the data world and how can I become a successful data leader. I saw you, as Head of Data at dbt, being a clear inspiration to pursue my long-term objective of becoming a data leader, that's why I clicked on the Substack link and here I am, having a class about what is really important, being reminded that there's so much more "beyond this". The Erica Head of Data at dbt brought me here, but the simple Erica Pale Blue Dot's resident is who will make me stay. Thank you for sharing your thoughts.