I have a confession to make. I have a compulsion. No, it's not diagnosed OCD. But it's a need to do something even when I know I don't need to, or even when I don't want to. I make lists.
All kinds of lists. Daily lists. Weekly lists. Monthly lists. Yearly lists.
I have a job task list. A life task list. An errand list. A grocery list. A people-to-text list. A books-to-read list. A fun-things-to-do list. A things-to-do-in-my-free-time list. A self-care list. A 2020 resolutions list.
Sounds nice, right? These lists are what keep me ultra-focused. These lists are what keep me efficient and always--ALWAYS--intentional with my time. These lists keep me always doing things with my time that put me closer to my goals. These lists keep me on TOP OF MY SHIT. NO MATTER WHAT. WHETHER I LIKE IT OR NOT.
These lists embody my need for order and control in my life at all times.
When I'm not paying attention, these lists start to control me and my life. I stop being present. I start being a robot. I start doing things mindlessly with no other goal than to check it off the list. I have let whole days go by without enjoying the sunshine or the world around me because I am so focused on the list in front of me.
What if I don't want to be intentional with my time? What if I want to just BE instead of DO? I will start to feel a balloon of anxiety welling up in my chest. My breathing will increase and my face gets hot. I'll start to feel like the world is starting to cave in around me, and I can hardly handle the chaos.
"When did this compulsion start?" asked my therapist.
My junior year of high school.
One of my high school besties said it best in a text to me one day: "I started at a new OCD therapist today. He said perfectionism is at the root of my issues. I was like, 'if you think I'm a perfectionist, you should see my friends!' #oaklandcatholic disorder. He was like, what if we made your therapy goal to be more mediocre and disorganized? I was like...genuinely triggered."
I laughed hard! And then added "be more mediocre and disorganized" to my most recent list.
My therapist suggested I write a letter to my junior year self. What would you say to that person? Here is my letter. I pull this out often when I find myself losing touch with what's really important in the present moment.
Dear 16-year-old Sarah,
I would rather that you enjoy this time in Pittsburgh with friends and be in the moment--and as a result go to a public college--than get into an Ivy League.
Enjoy this time you have in your carefree youth. Cherish this time being surrounded by loving family and friends. Laugh hard. Laugh often. Take the humor in every situation.
Getting into a good college cannot replace that love and that time and presence. That love is priceless but also temporary. This is the last time you’re going to be able to live in Pittsburgh with your friends and family in this way. This is the last time you will spend significant time with your caring and supportive grandfather. There is nothing that is more valuable than spending quality time and being present with them, supporting them and letting them support you.
Trying to get into an Ivy League college is a waste of time. Spending time being present with loved ones is never a waste.
You won’t even remember this year. You will completely block it out of your memory because it will be a blur of pulling all-nighters and stress over a couple of points lost here and there. Just forget about that trivial stuff.
Be present for the changing of the seasons. Taste the Trader Joe's Macaroni and Cheese. Smell the morning mist as you walk to the bus. Breathe in the air of Schenley Park and feel the leaves crunch under your feet as you run. Be present for the love of your family and friends surrounding you every single day. That kind of love and support you will never have again, at least not for the next 15 years.
You will be loved and supported, for sure. Family and friends will only be a phone call away. But having so many loving people around you and present with you in that way will never happen again.
Be a kid.
You are doing a great job. You are enough. You don't need to get into a fancy college. You just need to love yourself and others and everything else will fall into place.
Wednesday, November 27, 2019
Tuesday, November 26, 2019
Grieving Xinjiang
Grief has a way of bringing up old regrets. Those places and times and people that we can never have back. As a way to feel better, we tell ourselves, “I will never take that for granted again.” We promise to do more to reach out to the people we love.
Grief hit me like a ton of bricks one night. I was listening to the CECC Congressional Testimony on forced labor and mass internment in Xinjiang. As soon as I heard "Urumchi” being pronounced in Uyghur, my chest tightened. A knife dug into my heart and I couldn’t breathe for a moment. That word, “Urumchi”--the name of the city where I lived from 2014-2017--took me back.
The memories from Xinjiang flooded my vision. My body rocked with grief like I was trying to dry-heave the memories out of me. But they stayed.
I grieve the love that I came to know in Xinjiang. The love that connected me to the people I met there. The love that flowed and vibrated between us as static pulses of energy. I grieve the laughter and sadness and the talks and exchanges we shared.
I gave them two years of my life. I wish I could give more.
I will give more.
That experience changed me. To experience that love and openness between people from two different cultures and languages and backgrounds. I vow to never take love and energy for granted again.
I just hope the people of Xinjiang know how much they meant to me. I wish I had told them more. I wish I had told them every day how awesome they are and how much they helped me, and how much I love them, and how much they mean to me. You can’t say that enough. And now I have no way of telling them that. This is what grief teaches us—that we can do better next time.
Tell people how much they mean to you.
Tell people how awesome they are.
Trust that they know how much they meant to you.
Trust to know how much you meant to them.
The Uyghurs and Han that I met in Xinjiang: I will love you more than you will ever know.
The dissertation I wrote about my experiences is important, but what is even more important is keeping alive the love that will prevent this—gross human rights violations and genocide—from happening again.
We have the power to change the world. Little by little, through every interaction we have. The more we connect and care and love, and the less we drown ourselves in our phones and screens, the more we can help make people feel loved and included and cared for. Then the less this kind of stuff—racism and hatred that keeps people locked up—will happen. We can change the world, one piece at a time, one day at a time, one person at a time, one smile at a time.
Your presence makes a difference. You can invoke change in the world through ripples. We touch lives every day and it’s the little things that matter.
We can and will make a difference by recognizing we are all one in the universe.
Grief hit me like a ton of bricks one night. I was listening to the CECC Congressional Testimony on forced labor and mass internment in Xinjiang. As soon as I heard "Urumchi” being pronounced in Uyghur, my chest tightened. A knife dug into my heart and I couldn’t breathe for a moment. That word, “Urumchi”--the name of the city where I lived from 2014-2017--took me back.
The memories from Xinjiang flooded my vision. My body rocked with grief like I was trying to dry-heave the memories out of me. But they stayed.
I grieve the love that I came to know in Xinjiang. The love that connected me to the people I met there. The love that flowed and vibrated between us as static pulses of energy. I grieve the laughter and sadness and the talks and exchanges we shared.
I gave them two years of my life. I wish I could give more.
I will give more.
That experience changed me. To experience that love and openness between people from two different cultures and languages and backgrounds. I vow to never take love and energy for granted again.
I just hope the people of Xinjiang know how much they meant to me. I wish I had told them more. I wish I had told them every day how awesome they are and how much they helped me, and how much I love them, and how much they mean to me. You can’t say that enough. And now I have no way of telling them that. This is what grief teaches us—that we can do better next time.
Tell people how much they mean to you.
Tell people how awesome they are.
Trust that they know how much they meant to you.
Trust to know how much you meant to them.
The Uyghurs and Han that I met in Xinjiang: I will love you more than you will ever know.
The dissertation I wrote about my experiences is important, but what is even more important is keeping alive the love that will prevent this—gross human rights violations and genocide—from happening again.
We have the power to change the world. Little by little, through every interaction we have. The more we connect and care and love, and the less we drown ourselves in our phones and screens, the more we can help make people feel loved and included and cared for. Then the less this kind of stuff—racism and hatred that keeps people locked up—will happen. We can change the world, one piece at a time, one day at a time, one person at a time, one smile at a time.
Your presence makes a difference. You can invoke change in the world through ripples. We touch lives every day and it’s the little things that matter.
We can and will make a difference by recognizing we are all one in the universe.
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