Truth is, I didn’t know how to answer.
I sat in the car with one other – my boyfriend. We stared out of the front windshield into the darkness of the night. After a packed day of activities, we finally had some quiet time to ourselves; and that night, we chose to work through the “36 Questions to Fall in Love”. What were these questions, you ask? Thirty six questions that, no matter how long you’ve known someone – 1 hour or 10 years – were meant to catalyze intimacy. Bond two beings for life. At that time, our relationship was so new, so exciting, so fresh, that going through these questions was an exhilarate progression to our blossoming romance. Of course, we both wanted our relationship to get to a next level, the next level; why not leverage a scientific study and answer intimate questions like “When did you last cry in front of another person?” and “What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?”
As we parked there that night on the side of the street, headlights beamed past, one by one.
This I knew: We both wanted it to work out so badly. We both wanted to fall in love.
Fast forward 5 months: We grew apart, as did our relationship.
I often think back to this moment as I sat in the front seat of my car. Why had I been so keen on undergoing the 36 Questions? I had seen the article in the New York Times showcasing “36 questions” which, in the same study, should be followed by a 4-minute session where the two parties would stare into each other eyes, no speaking, for four agonizing minutes. I never gave into the 4-minute stare-down, to be honest, as I greatly fear intimacy. Shit sounds like the 10th circle of hell, if you ask me. This was, no questions asked, a hard pass. But the 36 questions, for whatever reason, were not. I had wanted this relationship to succeed so badly that I would undergo anything to usher it in a positive direction. But, as each of the questions were asked, I sat there paralyzed, unknowing how best to answer. This should have been a red flag. Each passing headlight as I twiddled my thumbs – a sign.
To be honest to myself, I’ve never been an eloquent person, and definitely not one who could answer questions succinctly without adequate preparation (a skill-gap I’m trying to hone). But that day, as I rambled on, I never gave a truly satisfactory or complete answer. And in the end, we didn’t finish the set of questions.
…. NOW, fast forward 2 years and I am here. This is now.
My reflections? Well, one, that I’m still extremely fearful of intimacy. This will never change; you can trust me on that 🙂 I rarely let others in unless they let me in first, and even then I hesitate.
But perhaps more importantly: that I’m as impatient as they come. In general; in life. This night with the 36 questions was but one data point to support this hypothesis. I’ve noticed that in general, I cannot exercise patience, no matter how much alleged virtue it builds. I will, under any circumstances, seek out an artificial process to substitute for the passage of time. If I were a kid in the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment… You best believe I’d take that damn marshmallow the moment they put it down. This even manifested in how I selected my college curriculum: expediency, path of least resistance, easy courses – NOT that I was so enticed to learn about “Korea Civilizations“ or “Organizing Innovation” junior year. I just wanted the easy, fast way out: That’s what these 36 questions were. Instead of organically cultivating a healthy relationship, I wanted to contrive it.
I’ve taken my fair share of personality tests: Myers-Briggs, Strengthsfinders, Love Languages. That said, I have a generally pessimistic outlook on these test results, since I do strongly believe they fall victim to our own impulsive, heavily emotional responses at the exact time of answer. From this, I’ve noticed that as much as I’d like to think that I’m a logical decision-maker (and often mark my own answers as such), I most often actually make decisions on pure emotion and desire. And with that, woop, there goes all patience. This, among the many others, is one of my biggest faults.
In my life, I struggle against expectations that I should settle down and start the rest of my life. I should grow my career. I should practice faith harder. These expectations come from all directions. Every time I am asked these questions, I question my own path. In theory, yes, I should probably be settling down. In theory, yes, I should always be hungry for more in my career. In theory, yes, I should be prioritizing faith more diligently. In practice…. a little bit of a different story.
In an ideal world, I would have already had a perfect husband, 2 kids, an insufferably cute dog, a successful career, and be an unconditional do-gooder, but that is just not the reality. I am only now just starting to accept this, as I continue to make all of the irrational, dumb decisions on the daily due to impulse – many that haunt my closest friends who only want what’s best for me.
So it begs the questions: DO we have to make all of these decisions now? Today? Well the impatient mofo in me says “yes”. Just get there already.
In a society that is always GO-GO-GO, I want to believe that I am the paragon of Meg Jay’s book “The Defining Decade” that argues the twenties are for the taking and that we need to power through them with fortitude and unending ambition. Am I doing just that? Ha, jokes. Just because I’m so impatient to do so doesn’t mean it actually pans out.
I wrote a post exactly 2 years ago expressing that I was utterly lost in my life and career and sought to find myself again. It’s crazy because time flies. And often it flies while many things stay the same. Though so much has happened in the last two years, good and bad, I really cannot say I’m any less lost today. In fact, I think I may have chucked my map out indefinitely.
And as uninspiring as this may sound, I’m totally okay with that. If I were to reflect on the beginning of 2018 to now and how I’ve grown as a person – honestly, yeah I could’ve done better.
But that’s what I’ve finally reconciled: We all have a path in life to take. Sometimes I’ll walk 3 miles per hour. Sometimes I’ll sprint 9 miles per hour. Other times I’ll slow jog at a healthy 6. This year was a solid 4.8. I straddled the line between walking and jogging in most aspects of life. Work and career was likely the only thing closest to a brisk jog. And that’s fine. Well, for now.
I’m re-drawing that map I previously chucked as we speak. This map will guide my next moves. No, it won’t take me to my final destination, but I hope it’ll get me closer. Call it “Year End Resolutions”.
(Screw New Years Resolutions – the gym is always too packed for that shit anyways.)
Today, I want to give thanks to time. To not rushing. To actually exercising patience. To feeling like life is what we make of it, at the pace we want it to go in the moment. Clichéd, yes, but it is indeed a marathon, not a sprint. So if you’re struggling with relationships, work, school, anything in your life that you feel like you’d just like to move a tad bit faster, please find solace that, for most circumstances, you have time to figure it out. To let things play out as they should, and sometimes, for the answer to find you. Yes, you should absolutely chase that which will help solidify your ideal future, but in the end, everything good or bad happens for a reason. Like going through the 36 Questions with a man I loved, and that relationship ending.
Let. it. be.
I’d like to give particular thanks to the friendships I’ve made and built in 2018. A few in particular I’ve been able to rely on time and time again for life advice and guidance – no matter how many train wrecks I create or get myself into. To growing closer with old friends, even witnessing two of them promise each other forever. To my family who has showed me not just unconditional love, but unconditional patience as I try to “figure it out”. I’ve learned the most from you. I will learn the most from you.
With all the love in the world,
Mendi
the wanderlust is real. 