As pragmatic as I am, I’ve always been a romantic at heart. I read overly descriptive books with pages dedicated to a single, ephemeral moment. When it’s mid-spring, I drive slowly on tree lined roads, scattered with flower petals and canopy shadows. And I prefer walking over transits or cars in search of perfectly framed alleyways, charming buildings, and passing strangers.
Romanticism, however, is a double-edged sword. Sometimes, I become so enamored looking outside the window and the scenery unfolding, I forget where I was going in the first place. In the worst (or, perhaps, best) cases, I miss my stop. Time becomes a construct and minutes slip by when I serpent in and out of neighborhood blocks; pause to graze over every building’s detail; muse a story behind every couple or stranger outpacing my steps. Ultimately, I’m fashionably (or embarrassingly) late.
There is so much beauty to be seen and so many lives we can fantasize about. Similar to how I find myself wandering down alleyways and unseen street corners, I often wander aimlessly through my life believing I’m walking toward something, only to turn a sharp corner. And when I find myself trudging through the darkest corners of my mind, I hold onto these serendipitous yet transient joys as a beacon of light. These feelings and moments of golden hues soon become dreams, outlets, panaceas. Dreary east coast winters were eased by imagining a life in California; moments of loneliness and monotony were minimized by having an energetically adventurous partner; endless stacks of papers and deadlines in college were comforted by a potentially enriching career after graduating; late nights spent working were motivated by a promotion next quarter.
I was and am always looking beyond the horizon; always hoping I’m walking towards something more permanent than what’s around me.
the cave of time
As a kid, I wanted to be and do everything my unbounded imagination could think of. I would draw paths in my head and the hypothetical decisions to become a pastry chef,1 an architect,2 a diplomat,3 and learn every romance language.4 No matter where you are, no matter who you are, to dream is priceless and boundless--until they’re met with the confines of our realities. My mortality and the inevitable bounds of time, money, and opportunity clip any hope of actualizing all of these imagined versions of my life.
When I entered college, the glyphs of choice and consequence suddenly became tangible and overwhelming. It felt as if the world was at my fingertips; I only had to point in a direction. Ironically, to choose a direction was almost a limitation in itself. We are told to pick a career, imagine your ideal life, and go forth! But to me, taking a step toward something meant becoming further away from a romantic idealism of living multiple lives, and closer to a more narrow, tactical, and practical one. One of my greatest fears was choosing a path that’ll end in a regrettable outcome. What if I waste precious time and energy walking towards something only to be disappointed?
But, I don’t think that’s true anymore.
The adage goes, “It’s about the journey, not the destination.” But recently, I began seeing life as a seemingly unending journey made of bridges and destinations. There are goals we set, dreams we yearn for, and the paths we follow to reach them. Destinations are what we wish to walk towards (i.e. idealized goals and dreams). Bridges are the paths we choose to achieve them. I believe the journey toward each destination, visible yet far from tangible reach, is determined by yourself, the experience of other destinations, and the passengers we meet along the way. The hardest part, however, is internally reconciling what is a bridge and what is a destination.
an autobiography
Life, without the friction and burden of decisions, tends to be easier. More than we may admit, our values, our interests, and thus, our careers are deeply influenced by our parents, guardians, peers, and society. But, what if we were to step back and selfishly look at our lives as ours alone? Do your choices and their consequences bring you joy or pride? What if those decisions were influenced by other people versus being fully our own?5 How different do those scenarios feel?6
When I began to question the motivations behind my decisions, in this tragically short lifetime, I realized how many of those were driven by external optics and wanton complacency. There were doors set in front of me and I mindlessly walked through them. Many of my choices lacked intentionality because I accepted and, thus, wanted to achieve the general definitions of “success”.
As kids, we’re told how we’ll fall in love and get married; live in a big house; have kids of our own; buy a van; rotate taking them to soccer or band practice. For our careers, we’re urged to become leaders or hold a notable role with a prefixed adjective that implies how capable we are.
These aren’t necessarily wrong nor problematic paths. Unlearning the subconsciously accepted “right” path, and questioning why we choose to swim within the systems of our general society, is exhausting. But once I began to intentionally think about my choices agnostic of optics and normalized societal structures, each big decision has felt more gratifying and liberating. If we don’t spend intentional time thinking about how we want to experience our lives and what actually brings us joy, then more frequently we’ll arrive at what we believe are destinations, only to feel unfulfilled or disappointed. And the cycle will repeat.
For example: I wanted a high salaried career where I could float by and buy the things I need without the anxiety of financial stability. But, do I want a big house? Do I want kids? Do I want to move to the suburbs? What may seem universally fulfilling may not be for everyone. Many of us go to college and work cushy 9-57 office jobs, which feels fine for most. But there is a minority (or, perhaps, an unrealized majority) where this doesn’t. And that’s ok. Just as it is okay to want to work a stable 9-5.
This is the foundation of your journey. However, to actualize these paths, we may need to experience disappointments or a handful of lonely but contemplative moments. I’m still grappling with the reasons behind my motivations and what the next destination looks like, but I think I get closer every day--even when it may feel as if I’m taking a step back. Rather, I remind myself every step is a step forward because I know each decision is mine and mine alone.
one experience leads to another
I moved five times in 2021. Every city I lived in since graduating felt like a bridge to another bridge; I was living in purgatory; I’ve wanted a place to call my home for a long time now.
When I moved to Los Angeles, I fell in love with the sunshine, the dream chasers, and how different it felt from my previous lives in crowded, concrete-hued east coast cities. Passing strangers offer warm smiles, farmer’s markets are year-long, and my neighbors are now good friends. After uprooting myself across coasts, Los Angeles was everything I needed it to be; it was a place to start over and regain my sense of self again. For the first six months, I stated with gusto and certainty that this is the place I’ll plant roots, grow, and die. I was seeking a destination and I found it in LA.
Now, I’m not so sure.
This thought sent me in a spiral. If I couldn’t plant roots here, where would I? If this isn’t a destination, will anywhere else be?
The same could be said for careers. When I changed jobs to pivot into data science and eventually ML, this was a lofty destination. But, I assumed it was the rational next step in my career. After experiencing the work, I confirmed that I wanted to continue doing analytics engineering and manage on my own terms. If I continued doing analytics engineering without having that experience, I imagine that thought would always linger in the back of my mind.
So often we experience disappointment once we arrive at a destination. But, I believe there are fewer destinations than we realize. This does not discredit the destination itself, but rather we should reframe these as a bridge. The experience served you for what you needed at the time and while it wasn’t the place to make your home, the experience of it progresses you toward where you need to be. You cannot build a home on a bridge, but we should thank and honor these experiences. Without bridges, we couldn’t cross over to the next destination.
the company we keep
I believe there are two types of passengers we meet along the way: the ones to accompany or lead us over bridges and the ones to accompany us towards destinations. While these sound similar, the former are temporary and the latter are permanent. But neither should be destinations themselves. Friends, in my opinion, are the one of the most important passengers (second to family, if you observe). But, more interestingly, the third most important is your partner.
I once believed finding someone to love and become my life partner was a destination. I am a romantic at heart, after all.
In the past, I would be completely enamored with my significant other and the atmospheric, cinematic excitement of young love. I’d revel at the ways their eyes light up and how their arms and hands livened and animated as they described their dreams. Though I may be weary of the trek and their vision may come with compromises, my adoration for this person and their ambition became more important. The brightness of young love is masochistically blinding. Their destination became mine because to experience life with them was enough for me. But shared interests and romanticized visions of what love could be is limited when it comes to practicality and personal fulfillment.
We frequently believe that the determination of choosing which passengers to accompany us should be the passengers themselves. Do you share the same interests? Do you have the same values? Are they cute? But if you do not share a common destination, then you’ll find yourself running in endless loops. While the journey may be fun, you two will become worn and tired, hoping for the day you can both off-board the train but never seeing or agreeing upon where or when that may be.
Love is poetically irrational and while we may overcorrect this by guarding ourselves with “But I’m not sure where I’ll be in a year” or “I’m not sure if they would be The One” I also believe, similar to destinations becoming bridges, if you enjoy this person’s company and they nurture your growth, then honor these feelings and experiences. Embrace them. Cherish them. And if the time comes, let them go but thank them for their company. But remember, this life is selfishly yours and to overly compromise your dreams and experiences for the sake of another’s would be a great disservice.
a journey to infinity
Similar to our boundless dreams and imaginations as children, our journeys never end with a single destination. And, perhaps, we could argue destinations don’t actually exist. What if we’re on an endless journey to experience life’s absurdities and we’re subconsciously weighing if the feelings these absurdities give us is enough to linger for a while longer? And, perhaps, there is freedom in being untethered and never worrying about the foundation of your journey; if something is a bridge or a destination; if someone you love is a temporary or permanent fixture in your autobiography.
As carelessly fleeting as I tend to be, imagining a life of never walking towards something, whether they are goals or feelings or experiences that bring me joy, sounds awfully empty to me. Rather, I feel more liberated and fulfilled knowing I chased after destinations because they encompassed what gave me happiness and fulfillment during those years. And if the time comes to let it go, I could do so comfortably without fear, resentment, or self-deprecating disappointment.
Everyday we are constantly evolving, whether it’s from sudden rushes of novel excitement or the progressively monotonous life. Our destinations will naturally change, too. And, perhaps, we don’t know what the next destination is. But, there is nothing wrong with feeling a bit lost while staring out the window because you want to savor or seek unexpected joys as you search for the next destination.
Freshman year of high school, I took French in anticipation of becoming a pastry chef and interning in France. The French language program shut down a year later.
Reading The Fountainhead influenced this phase. And I’ve yet to give this dream up.
Hence my political science degree.
Hence my Italian minor.
There is a difference between asking others for advice to gain insight before making your own decisions vs. asking others to decide for you.
Imagine you run a marathon and break your ankle. How would you feel if you ran it because someone told you to? And how would you feel if you ran it because you chose to fulfill this goal? I suspect consequences from our choices are readily eased because they came from an intrinsic motivation rather than being pushed to do it because someone told you to.
Or 09:00-17:00 jobs for my fellow 24hr clock folks.
thoughtful, poignant, and beautifully written. here's to the bridges, destinations, and the passengers we meet along the way.
thoughtful, poignant, and beautifully written. here's to the bridges, destinations, and the passengers we meet along the way.