Traditionally, New Year has never been an exciting time for me. I’ve always gone through the motions of twiddling my thumbs around until midnight, waiting for some ball-variant to drop and pretending to be elated when the New Year finally hits. Usually, the most I’ve felt is relief that the transition is finally over and perhaps a pinch of comfort when I hear “Auld Lang Syne.”
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment or the intention to welcome in the New Year – finding joy in little moments is instrumental to personhood – it’s that a whole new year brings with it a lot of responsibility, a lot of unknown, and a lot of pressure to try to find a way to live authentically while still being a functioning member of society (whatever that means). New Year also implies the death of the old year, which means that all of that time is now lost, and all of those decisions have been made, for better or for worse. Whether I’ve had an objectively “good” year or not, I’ve never felt like I’ve achieved enough to celebrate the year outgoing, nor have I prepared enough to genuinely welcome the year coming in. Essentially, I’ve always perceived New Year as a necessary holiday marked by a sense of mild impending doom that gets faster and faster each year without any hope of slowing down. Cheers.
This year, however, is different. 2022 is the first year that I’ve ever consciously been invested in and, dare I say, excited for my prospects ahead. Here’s why:
For 18ish years, I was a product of the school system. I went to class. I participated. I learned. I had fun. But I swept my interests aside to get good grades. I prioritized memorizing teachable phrases over absorbing practical knowledge. I learned how to people-please and how to take multiple-choice tests instead of how to create genuine connections, how to stand up for myself, and how to think critically. I lost touch with myself and became sad.
The following three years, I floundered about, figuring out the “real world” skills I never learned. I grasped at straws and made them connect. I stayed afloat. But I felt like I was so behind. I felt like I was a burden. I felt like I wasn’t doing the things I had the potential to do. I was sad.
Last year, I got the hang of living as an independent contractor. I proved to myself that I can live independently and that I can also sustain myself working in my chosen industry. I worked in a lot of different places with a lot of great people. I traveled. I learned a bunch. I had fun. I did a good job. But I devoted most of my time to serving other people and to building marketable but unfulfilling skills. I was sad.
Then, I reflected. I thought about all of the times in 2021 that I had pure fun. I thought about the times I felt most in tune with myself. I thought about the opportunities that I had to learn and to grow. I thought about the people who encouraged me along the way. I was inspired.
Now, I’ve decided: it’s time to change; it’s time to invest in myself.
This year, I am giving myself permission to “splat.” I am removing much of the order from my life and am instead leaning into unknown, positive chaos. I am giving myself permission to invest fully and unashamedly in activities that I once loved and had to let go of as well as in activities that I have always wanted to try. I am giving myself permission to take up space. I am giving myself permission to play.
I don’t have many defined resolutions this year, but I very much want to cultivate a lifestyle that is sustainable and energizing. I want to nourish my creativity; I want to reignite my curiosity; I want to attract meaningful companionship. I want to feel fulfilled in the way I live my life.
As someone who is motivated by deadlines and projects, I’ve decided to publicly document my lifestyle-change journey. This documentation will manifest as articles, as art, as training, and as a podcast. And I won’t shy away from any unexpected adventuring.
This is The Let Me Play Project, a quest to find fulfillment. Come along, if you like!