Birthday Wisdom: 37 Years: Part 2

 You're one year older, one year wiser. What is one thing that you learned this year?

Remember your "why."

I often get caught up in existential musings, such as questions like these: “What’s the point?” and “What difference does it make?” and “Who cares?” and “Why does it matter?” Not literally asking for the answer, but more rhetorical frustration of “Why am I here because none of this life feels worth living” kinds of meaninglessness despair. 

These questions most often come up for me when I’m in the middle of something really challenging. I might be trying to get motivated to do a hard thing, like write a book or train jiujitsu or go to work or go skiing, or even just get up in the morning, get out of bed, and get through the day. Or perhaps in the middle of a quagmire at work or a difficult relationship dynamic. When I’m spending a ton of energy on something, I start to doubt the validity of that effort–or even just question the nature of existence altogether: Why am I here? 

If I look at the immediate reasons for something, I often get discouraged. The immediately felt benefits of hard work, while sometimes rewarding in and of itself, are often not enough for me to keep going.  

But something helped me a lot this year. I remembered a motivational saying that captured the essence of purpose and meaning that I was craving: Remember your why.

Take my job for example. If I took it too literally, where I actually saw that my mission in life was to coordinate engineering projects for consumer electronics clients who have no other goal besides getting rich, I don’t know if I could get myself to go into work and devote hours of each day of my life to that mission. To me, that mission is not only meaningless but also potentially destructive to the environment and even to society. I would and do get discouraged pretty quick.

So I have to remember my larger “why”: to contribute to the family and take care of my Bruno. It’s not about making money itself. It’s what that money signifies: my money and energy traded in to provide for a shelter, food, and medical care for me and those I love. That’s it.

If my why for training jiujitsu was simply “to get a black belt,” I’m already gone and quit. I’ve thought about my “why train jiujitsu” a lot recently, because it’s expensive and time consuming, and I’ve thought about quitting many times. “Why am I doing this?” And a tiny voice inside responds: “To move my body and feel strong, to feel alive. Because this is my playtime. To stay mentally engaged and devoted to learning. To share my presence and story as a trans athlete, offering visibility, connection, or inspiration to others.”

Jiujitsu itself isn’t the ultimate “why” — it’s a vehicle for a bigger purpose: living a life that feels strong, curious, creative, and joyful.

So when you’re caught in the spiral of “why does this matter?” or “what’s the point of living?” remember your why. And not the immediate reason of “I want to be fit, look good, feel good, get recognition, get wealth, get validation.” But instead the bigger picture: a higher purpose. Only you can know what that is. Remember your why — it’s usually pretty abstract and separated from the immediate task at hand.

I don’t know a lot. In fact, what I don’t know is a lot more than what I do know. But this is some of the wisdom I’ve gained in the last year. I hope I remember it throughout the next year, and I’m also excited about what else I’m going to learn. Already excited about the jiujitsu and yoga and writing and spiritual journeys that I’m on and excited about what that could turn into, while not losing sight of what really matters: taking care of my Bruno. And to grow. To create. To love.

What’s your “why”?

Birthday Wisdom: 37 Years

You're one year older, one year wiser. What is one thing that you learned this year?

Don’t be afraid to change course.

I was on the academic path for a long time: learn a foreign language, get grants, do cool shit, write about it, present it, publish it, teach it.

To my twenty-some-year-old self, it was all pretty straightforward. The clear path was comforting. Despite all the hoops to jump through, at least I knew what and where the hoops were.

Let me be clear: It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows either, nor was it easy. I also wasn’t totally in the dark about how hard it was going to be, if not impossible, to make a living and career out of it.

At the time (and this was over 10 years ago now...), a lot of people told me that studying the Uyghurs was a dead-end for a research career. Some told me that it was only a matter of time before the Chinese government shut it down. Besides, I knew that there was a greater chance of getting into the Olympics than there was becoming a tenured university professor.* Others cautioned me against going into the social sciences in general, especially when spending so much time on a graduate degree in a field that had little to no practical applications.

Despite all these warnings, I remember making the conscious decision to pursue an advanced graduate degree: “I’m going to do this because I want to do it, because I’m passionate about it, because I believe in it, because I believe this work is important, because I believe this research has value, and because I would rather try and fail than to have never tried at all. As long as my school keeps getting external funding, I’m going to keep going,” I thought to myself.

I had planned to quit grad school after my Master’s degree, but upon receipt of the National Science Foundation grant that funded my research for three years, I decided to keep going. It would be foolish to turn that down. I was getting paid – however measly a stipend, it was still an income – to follow my intellectual passions and pursuits. How lucky was I?

And yet, there was another narrative being woven in: That if I just worked hard enough, if I was just smart enough, if I was just determined enough, that I would succeed. I would be the exception. In some ways, I was the classic millennial: I thought I was special. I would be the statistical anomaly that would make it through to a successful, well-known career as a Uyghur and China expert and would eventually become a tenured professor with a stable and secure job. You could have even gone so far as to say that it was "my dream." And I really believed that it was possible. Hard, but possible.

Hope is a powerful thing until it runs out. 

And then, that dream chipped away slowly one day after another, until finally there was nothing left. The realities of this world came crashing down and at the fork in the road, I chose a different path: consulting. Applying my knowledge and skills to data analysis. Learning a new language: computer code. This was smart. This was practical. This was lucrative. This had potential. And I was contributing to the environmental advocacy efforts striving to mitigate climate change. 

Last year that life came crashing down once again. My year-long job search for something better was fruitless, and my boss’s consulting business lost enough clients that I was laid off. I felt lost and hopeless, and in many ways, it felt like the last few years were a huge waste of time, not to mention all the years spent on graduate school.

But you know who was hiring? The tech sector. There was space for me and my skills, long cultivated during my years of schooling and professional life: connecting different people and things, bringing out the best in people through proper planning and direction, navigating different cultures, priorities, and personalities, juggling multiple deliverables at once, and analyzing large amounts of data in a short period of time: Project Management. 

It’s not glamorous. I joke that I’m a glorified administrative assistant. It’s a humble position. You’re like the stage crew of a theatre production: in the background, making sure everything is set up in the correct time and place, that everyone has the gear and information that they need to do their job. But not the main character. Not even the supporting actor. You’re more like the prep cook than the sous chef. In an orchestra, you're the bass player rather than the violin (and certainly not the conductor…). And I can find the joy in that, too. Because ultimately life is really just about finding your place in the world no matter how small.

So, for me the main lesson from this last year is: Don’t be afraid to change course – sometimes in dramatic or unexpected ways – no matter how long you’ve been on your current path (...and sometimes finding a new path in ways that are completely out of your control). You never know what you might find on the other side.

Maybe the point is that none of it was wasted. Every version of me—student, researcher, post-doc, author, consultant—was learning how to adapt, how to be resilient, how to let go, and how to begin again.

This year taught me that identity can be fluid without being lost. That changing course isn’t failure; it’s responsiveness. That meaning doesn’t disappear just because the plan does. And that grounding yourself in your values, your relationships, your body, your curiosity matters more than any single outcome. And certainly more than any single career. 

*This is popular folklore among graduate students and has not been independently confirmed as a statistical fact.

Poem for Myself

I am a hamster on the wheel,
I am the bird in its cage.
Is this how a wolf would feel?

Is this how a horse feels?

Is this just how life is?

A never-ending loop:

Make money, spend it.

Still feel empty.

Make money, spend it.

Still feel exhausted.

What's the point?

To feel safe?

Why did I work so hard?

Why didn't anyone tell me: don't try so hard cuz none of it matters and nobody really cares.

I hate the victim narrative.

I know I have the power.

But do I have the energy?

Do I have the resources?

And even if I did, does anyone care?

Baby Sammi deserves a second chance.

Everybody has their own gifts, 

their own contributions.

It all fits together,

like a tapestry,

like a mandala, 

each fractal a reflection of the whole.

I am you and you are me. 

Human.

Child.

Ego

Heart.

Spirit.

Temporary soul.