Tag Archives: Personal

My Little Hero

I won’t pretend that finding motivation is easy. It’s not sexy to admit that I default to lazy mode, I procrastinate, I say I’m efficient when I put in the least amount of time and effort needed to complete a task. I always feel better when I push myself to be better. But I need that motivation.

Today, I found a great motivator in my niece, Jocelyn. She’s five years old and currently in kindergarten. Times have definitely changed since I was in kindergarten: she has a full day of classes and homework everyday. When Jocelyn gets home from school, she is eager to get started on her homework. I usually help her if I’m around. Her homework involved numbers today. There were some problems that were challenging for her, and while I tried my best to explain things to her, we both knew it was a hard concept for her to grasp.

I was relieved when we were finished with the work, and happy that we got through it without me having to give her the answers to problems that were challenging. I casually mentioned that it might be good to do some more problems, for practice. She was thrilled at the idea. So we had a snack and then got right back to work.

She could have given up. She could have begged for the answers. She could have cried, sulked, had a meltdown, or told me that I was being mean (all things that have happened during previous homework sessions). Instead, she took her time and kept at it, tried to think the problems through and avoided guessing random numbers, and actually wanted to do some more hard problems so that she could learn.

She’s five. Who knows how long she’ll be this way? I’m happy that she’s motivated to be smarter, though. I’m glad that she tries, that she wants to understand, and that she is willing to put her vulnerabilities on the table instead of pretending she knows what’s going on.

I see my niece do amazing things, and I like to think that I have gifted her with some of my better qualities. Nothing beats learning from her, though. She is my little hero.

Long-Distance Motivation

I sometimes participate in long-distance drinking. I’ll technically be alone, but a friend and I will exchange texts and pics while drinking together. It’s a fun way to unwind and not feel like I have a drinking problem.

Surprisingly, much of my motivation comes from long-distance friends these days. Yes, there’s e-mail and chatting. But sometimes, I’ll get a text or a DM that’ll just say

Hey, I’m going to the gym. Let’s go together.

or

Let’s do push-ups during commercial breaks while we watch TV.

or even something as simple as

Do something fun and tell me about it!

I hope my friends know how much I appreciate these messages and that I take them seriously. It’s easy to ignore them and even easier to text back and pretend that I did go to the gym. But I can never lie. It’s a test in itself–not to imply that my friends are testing me, but that I’m testing my own integrity.

What makes my long-distance friends so special? Have I been desensitized to the advice and motivation that I get from the people I see everyday? I’m not sure. All I know is that there’s something genuine about “surprise” messages that really push me to achieve something.

Your task? Text a friend and invite them to go to the gym with you… regardless of whether they live with you or live thousands of miles away. Or, if the gym isn’t you thing, have a shot and celebrate your friendship.

Strangers In Our Heads

My dreams are usually vivid. I can’t always remember them, but I’m able to remember how they made me feel: scared, powerful, happy, disturbed. I don’t know how I compare to the average person, but I do dream often, in color, and, if I wake up in the middle of a dream, it will usually continue if I fall back asleep right away.

Many times, my dreams have a rationale behind them. For example, when I spent several days in a row watching 24, I would have dreams about fighting terrorists with Jack Bauer. Certain foods right before bed seem to trigger bad dreams. Then there are the seemingly random dreams where I’m falling or running, and wake up with my heart pounding.

I apply the same philosophy to my dreaming as I do to fantasizing: it’s normal and safe, but can get you into trouble if you expect them to come true.

I’m thankful that my dreams are usually extraordinary; there’s little chance that they will happen in real life. I once dreamt that I was with my family in a remote cabin, there was darkness all around us, someone was trying to attack us, and I was the only one who understood what was happening. Luckily, I’m always a badass in my dreams, so I morphed into a “Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2″-esque character and went after the bad guys. The other players in my dreams are people I know or can place in my real life: family, friends, old classmates, TV/movie stars, etc.

It bugs me when my co-stars (for lack of a better term) are people I have never seen in real life. Where did these people come from? If I’m me in my dream, why am I hanging out with them if I’ve never met them? What’s in my head that causes me to dream of this imaginary person? Where did they come from?

I had a dream last night and the person in my dream was someone I had dreamt about before–the same I-have-no-idea-if-this-person-really-exists person. It’s starting to freak me out. Who is this person?

You know what? I won’t let it bother me unless I happen to see this person in real life. Then, I am REALLY going to freak out. But I can’t help but wonder if I ever make cameos in this person’s dreams? Hmm.

A Follow-Up on My ‘Problem’

This is a follow-up on my post from last week, I Have a Problem.

First, I want to thank everyone who commented, both on and off the blog. You guys are awesome.

Second, I feel like I should clarify something: the post came from a really good place. The point I wanted to get across was that I am eager to find my passion in life. Whether it coincides with a career or not doesn’t matter. I just want to find something (or things) out there that make me ridiculously happy (besides television and fattening food).

I feel like people have this “a-ha” moment when they find their passion. I haven’t had that moment. I haven’t seen something and thought to myself, “Self, if you could do that for the rest of your life, you would.” I think my main issue is that I haven’t let that moment happen. I subconsciously stop myself from having that moment, and stick to practicality always.

Now, I know I can’t force myself to have an “a-ha” moment. That’s my other mistake. I have tried a few hobbies here and there, but I tend to do things half-ass and abandon it later (eg, knitting, jewelry making, screenwriting).

So that post was about me taking that first step, opening my mind up to possibilities, and allowing myself to have a bit of a devil may care attitude. I’m so worried about money, my reputation, and letting people down. Fuck that. Seriously. I don’t want to be destitute, but I’m sitting comfortably financially. As far as my reputation goes, well, maybe it’s time that I actually make one for myself. Finally, I do care about the people around me. But I’ve let myself down for a long time and it’s time to change that.

Sure, I might fail. My pursuit may lead me right back to where I started. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t go for it… right?

I Have A Problem

I am so bored.

There are people I know and love who have found their passion in life: music, art, writing, education, science, fashion, philanthropy. I hate that I haven’t found that thing I’m passionate about. I’ve dabbled in things and have an interest in a lot of things, but nothing has made me get up and say – THAT’S what I want to do and I will do whatever it takes to succeed.

I was basically la-di-da in college and did what I had to do in order pass my classes and get my degree. Ugh. Slap my 18yo self in the face, please. I’m proud that I earned my degree (with high honors, cuz I’m great at faking over-achievement), but no blood, sweat, or tears went into it.

When I went back to school, my classmates were mostly college freshman. We were taking science classes together, starting with Biology 101 and Chemistry 101. I was among students who were hoping to become doctors, pharmacists, or dentists. I remember thinking to myself–Man! Some of these kids are going to be really shattered when they realize they don’t have what it takes to be a doctor. And it did happen. Some abandoned science altogether. Others faced reality early on, sought guidance, and changed their paths but chose something that was still related to what they wanted to do. They got close enough that they would be working in the field and could hopefully still pursue their original goal down the road. And there were others who went through every step, got rejected when it mattered or couldn’t survive their first year of med school, and ended up feeling like failures.

Why work hard if you might fail? Why study something that you have a hard time grasping? Why waste your time and money on something that may amount to nothing later on? It’s not a good attitude to have, but I also didn’t mind being lazy and lacking motivation

My big problem is a lack of passion. I’ve never asked myself what I WANT to do. I’ve always asked: What am I capable of? What will keep me from becoming homeless? What do I need to do in order to not look like a complete loser?

Well, I may not look like a loser, but I feel like one. I am so very jealous of people who love what they do and never let any roadblocks stop them from achieving their goal. I’m so jealous of people who don’t ever want to retire because they love what they do so much.

I’m considering hypnosis to uncover what my passion may be. But seriously, folks. I am bored. I want to do something that makes me feel happy to be alive and that makes me want to get up in the morning and do stuff. I just need to find out what that something is.

The Accordion Years

Every summer, from age 10 through age 20, I could count on spending at least three days in a hotel, surrounded by music and musicians. I was one of those musicians, and I was armed with my axe. I was armed with my accordion.

How music became the big extra-curricular activity of my young years is simple yet mysterious. Show me an Asian-American and I’ll show you someone who took piano or violin lessons at some point in their life. The mystery is in how and why it became so important. My parents aren’t musicians. A musical career was never a goal of mine. I had a lot of peers, but none of them took it as seriously as I did.

At age 5, I began taking piano lessons, following in the footsteps of my older siblings. Around the same time, at the recommendation of family friends, my brother started taking accordion lessons. It was weird, interesting, and new. I used to watch him practice and would tag along for his lessons.

My bro. When I started playing, this accordion was handed down to me. It was my first of three accordions and my favorite.

Our entire family would support my brother during his competitions–competitions during which players are grouped by age and/or skill level, take turns playing a solo, and are judged and ranked by a professional musician. There weren’t just solo competitions, either. There were duets. And there were bands. I’m not talking about a rock band. I’m talking about a band of accordions. An accordion orchestra. A musical group made solely of accordion players, directed by a conductor.

I started accordion lessons at age 9. It would be easy to say that I loved playing because I was good at it. Upon further reflection, though, I know there were solid reasons for loving it. It was something I could share with my brother. It may be cheesy, but my brother truly was my hero and role model growing up. I had a wonderful connection with my teacher. She not only taught me how to play the instrument, she gave me great advice on life and love, and was the type of mentor that every young person should have. Playing led to relationships with people and shared experiences. I made connections that I wouldn’t have otherwise made.

I think what I loved most was the instrument itself.  The relationship between the accordionist and the accordion is physical and intimate. Not only did I carry the instrument, it was strapped onto me and was physically close to my body. The accordion breathes; the deeper the breath, the louder the sound. The accordion can whisper. It moves because I move. Transferring emotion to the instrument was easy. There’s something else about the accordion that I think I appreciated on a subconscious level. When an accordion player performs, the instrument is what the audience focuses on. I don’t know about you, but when I watch a piano player or guitar player, I’m looking at the performer, not the instrument. I was a shy girl, and the accordion was easy to hide behind. It did all the talking for me.

Here I am with accordion #2. Age 15.

I immediately began entering music competitions. I won first place at my first contest. In my entire competitive career, third place was my worst placement. It’s not as if I was competing against hundreds of people. There were always more piano or violin players. But that doesn’t mean that accordion competitions weren’t extremely competitive, at least for me. My goal was to always place first, and I usually succeeded.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but I was a serious competitor. I couldn’t eat anything until it was over. I couldn’t talk to anyone until it was over. Usually, all the competitors sit in the room and listen to each other play. After a few years, I couldn’t stand to do that, and would sit outside until it was my turn, then leave once I was done. One of my regrets is that I never watched my best competitor play. We competed in two categories at one of the national competitions I went to. He won one of the categories, I won the other. At the awards ceremony, I could tell that we were both disappointed for not taking first in both categories. The other players from his school were surprised he took 2nd in something. The other players in my school were surprised that I took 2nd in something. I really wish I could’ve seen him play. I never saw him again.

Two local organizations and three national organizations held competitions annually. I loved competing and would participate whenever I could. I had duet partners and I played in bands. I cheered on my friends who were also competing. It was a big deal to me. I was Illinois State Champion. Competing took me to Toronto. Minneapolis. Houston. Grand Rapids. Oconomowoc. Branson. Kansas City. Philadelphia. DC. New Orleans. I’ve played on the streets of Galveston, at the Liberty Bell, at the Daley Center, on the steps of the Capitol, in Jackson Square. My brother even toured the Philippines with a group of accordionists. I have trophies that I have no idea what to do with, including two that are four feet tall. I cried when our basement flooded and I realized that I had lost all my competition score sheets.

Professional photo! With accordion #3. My Gorbachev forehead scar really stands out in this photo.

When I decided to quit playing at age 19, I really quit. I put the accordion in the box and walked away. The years that I spent focusing and practicing seem like another lifetime, like they belong to another person. I take the accordion out once in awhile. My shoulders, arms, and legs ache from the weight of it (my heaviest one is well over 20 pounds).

These days, if you tell someone you play the accordion, they’ll reward you with cool points (thanks, Harmony, if you’re reading this). God knows that I never played the accordion to be cool. I played because I loved it and because I was really good at it. Being that-girl-that-plays-the-accordion was my thing, but it was something very private at the same time. Ask any of my non-accordion friends about my accordion career, if you can call it that, and they’ll have very little to tell you.

If I’m ever feeling brave enough and practice really hard, I might – MIGHT- post an audio or video recording of myself playing. In the meantime, enjoy this video. I saw this live.. it’s unreal to see it posted on the Internet.

And another. Video is shaky, but this is f’in awesome.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ny4lJj441Go

Feedback

I hate being evaluated. Whether it’s by a stranger in a public place, my boss or peers at work, my parents or siblings, or even my niece, I hate having to sit down and listen to what someone thinks about me.

I feel badly when something negative is pointed out. I feel humble when something good is mentioned. I can get defensive. I can feel proud. But any way you slice it, being evaluated isn’t fun.

At work, we’re invited to talk to students and tell them about what we do and how we contribute to the company. My spiel is usually very short and straightforward: This is what I do. This is how I can help you. Here’s a blurb on how I got here. Good luck joining the world after your graduate.

Some of the students write up evaluations after our meetings. I read one yesterday that jolted me. It wasn’t negative or offensive, but it caused me to have a “What the hell am I doing here?” kind of moment. In a twisted kind of way, I felt like the student’s comment was posing that very question to me: You’re smart. You’re interesting. I wonder why you gave up on pursuing something better?

It’s one thing when family and friends ask me that question. It’s completely different to hear it from a stranger.

I’ve been talking to a friend lately about being motivationally challenged. I think I found a little bit in the evaluation I read. Thanks, nameless student. Be good to me if you ever become my boss… but I’m gonna make sure that doesn’t happen.

03.01.2010 Monday Bloody Monday

I wore this sticker proudly for the rest of the day.

I donated blood for the first time on Monday. I don’t know why I’ve been so chicken about it all these years. When I was in high school, I helped organize the blood drive one year and talked it up to a lot of people. I had the easy excuse of not being eligible to donate because I didn’t meet the minimum age requirement then, in later years, of not meeting the minimum weight requirement (my you-look-like-you’re-anorexic days). I always felt that when I was eligible, I’d totally donate. Yeah. Didn’t happen.

Well, I finally sucked it up. I need to thank my friends and family who encouraged me to do it. It was a great experience, and I feel good knowing that I might be able to save a life.

If you are eligible to donate blood, do it! If I can do it, anyone can… unless you have low iron levels or can’t stomach the sight of your blood running through tubes for 10 minutes.

Chicago peeps who are interested in donating, visit http://www.lifesource.org. Do you have a blood donation story? Share it in the comments. Or don’t. Whatever.

The Importance of Being Vulnerable

When creating something, especially something that may be put on display for anyone to see, we have a tendency to focus on certain aspects of the work and concentrate less on other aspects of it. It always helps to have a fresh pair of eyes inspect our work. Another person may find artistry in a place where we weren’t trying to be artistic. He or she may see potential in a spot that we had given up on. Whether the notes are positive or negative, whether we wanted the work to be reviewed or not, we can’t deny that another person’s opinion is of value and affects us.

We are constantly crafting who we are. As time passes, labels are assigned to us: quiet, outspoken, ditzy, intelligent, athletic, lazy, flighty… these are just some of the words that we use to describe ourselves or other people. Some people let the labels stick. Others do whatever they can to prove that they aren’t whom everyone thinks they are.

Revealing who we are can be painful and embarrassing. It requires trust in ourselves and the other person. The goal isn’t necessarily to learn something new about ourselves. We mostly need others to remind us who we are.

It takes as much courage to accept that we are good as it does to acknowledge our flaws.

My eyes have recently been opened by a true friend. As a result, I feel more comfortable in my own skin than I have in a long time. I see possibilities where I used to see roadblocks. Most importantly, I feel happy and hopeful.

No price tag can be put on the gift that I’ve been given. I imagine that I will be forever grateful for it. The best part is that I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t expect it. And I never would have gotten it if I hadn’t taken a risk and let my guard down.