2024 in review

Up, down, everything in-between

Cue the “I can’t believe the year is over.”

But for me, it really is hard to believe. No year is ever the same, but 2024 was especially unique. I feel as if I lived in different worlds and lifetimes, exacerbated by a pace of iteration fueled by uncertainty.

2024 started for me in Asia, literally the opposite side of the world. And despite the freedom, I felt quite stuck, aimless, and discouraged as the life I’d gone “all-in” on was exiting the honeymoon stage and revealing hints of cracks underneath.

I rang in 2024 with a woman — the first time in my life. Well, not exactly. I Ubered back to my homestay before midnight so I could avoid the incoming traffic that would soon pile up on the only highway that looped around the island.

I spent much of my month in Penang with her — a summer romance in January. I made it clear I’d be leaving and that I was okay with just letting things unfold. She was too. It made things light and easy. With her, I realized I want to be in partnership with someone, which hasn’t been the case in the last couple of years. I’d been content on my own, intent on prioritizing knowing, understanding, and most of all, creating a life for myself. That’s in part what this “all-in” chapter was about — undeniably answering the question “Can I give all of myself to myself?”

I can and I have. Now the question is “Can I give all of myself to someone else?”

I didn’t realize how much I missed being intimate with someone, and I don’t necessarily mean physically. Rather, simply getting to know someone, unwinding the mystery that they are.

“What was it like for you growing up on an island?”

“How’s your relationship with family?”

“What dreams do you have?”

I did still learn a lot about physical intimacy. I’d forgotten how special just holding someone is. The warmth of their breath sticking against your neck. Moment by moment, feeling their breathing slowing and deepening until your heartbeats sync into rhythm. My god it was euphoric. But when the clothes came off, I realized physical nakedness can be scarier for me than emotional nakedness. Being literally naked, literally seen—no separation—is really vulnerable for me.

Penang also taught me to slow down — the incessant 90-degree and humid weather did a fantastic job encouraging me to. While I thought I’d slowed down in Taipei, the subtle tension I experienced on island time showed there was still a sense of pace and urgency—doing—I hadn’t let go of. Begrudgingly, I surrendered (or should I say succumbed) to the slowness. And as stillness arrived with the end of 2023, I came to grips with the truth that whatever plans I had, loose as they were, were now sorely outdated. I thought I’d spend more time in Asia, but my heart yearned for Europe. I thought I’d be creating more, but I was creating less. Life was asking me to let go of not just a plan, but of a dream.

Before I left for my travels, I read Michael Singer’s The Surrender Experiment. I boldly proclaimed this chapter of life would be my surrender experiment. I’d pursue the thread of aliveness wherever it was pulling me until the wheels fell off. Which meant “Hey, let’s minimize our spending so we can maximize our runway.” There’s truth and prudence to this view, but in many cases it’s unsupportive, antithetical even. How can you pursue aliveness, a felt sense, and constrain it to a number? Europe was beckoning me, but staying in Asia “made sense.” My mind was stubbornly loyal to a plan haphazardly scribbled on a scrap of paper by a phantom self who had no idea what the party was like until he arrived.

Deep down, I was afraid.

Being a “full-time creator” was the scaffolding I not-so-secretly held onto amidst uncertainty. I subconsciously held on because quite frankly, I didn’t know what or where the next rung I’d be leaping to would be. It was even more difficult because this is what I’d brazenly staked my flag on — I’d made it known to everyone that being a YouTuber was a childhood dream of mine. That living around the world was a dream I was honoring for my 20-year-old self. How could I let go? Or to the voice in my head, “Give up?” My very conditioning created an identity of doership — someone relentless in getting the job done. There was no way I was going to “quit”, to return home with my tail tucked between my legs.

It’s the parable of the trapeze. To swing to the next rung, the one beckoning you forth from nothing more than a primal instinct, you must let go of your grip on the old. You must soar through the air, feeling the weightlessness as you’re suspended above the void. Terrifying. Exhilarating. Peaceful. Perhaps all three. There’s no way of knowing whether or not you’ll make it to the rung. In that liminal space between things, there is no knowing, only not knowing. No doing, only allowing. No control, only surrender.

And so I swung, following my aliveness and landing in Portugal, finding a magic that’d been waiting for me since I’d visited the year prior. Unbeknownst to me, I’d also (re)discover the thing I was looking for — the next iteration of the dream.

When the “aha” moment came, it was sooo obvious coaching was the path I was meant to pursue — the path I’d been on all my life. I’d had a similar “aha” moment when I decided YouTube would be the vessel for serving my purpose, but as I deepened in self-discovery, a gap started to emerge. At first, I thought empowerment would come primarily through sharing my stories. And while it can, with more time and videos published, I realized YouTube was more a way for me to plant seeds of inquiry. As in my own journey, the only way I could really empower someone was to hold space for them to share a story of their own.

Funny thing is, as much as I thought I wasn’t “all-in” or “doing the thing” while abroad, I was. It just wasn’t creative work. I spent most of my time deeply connecting with people. It’s what I sought out more than anything. It’s what I’ve always sought out in life — opportunities to hold space for someone’s story, vulnerability, to emerge. To create such a space requires deep attunement, compassion, and above all, a deep love for people — for life itself. This love made it so easy, so natural, for me to give the gift of loving presence. When I’m with someone this way, I feel most alive, most intimate with life.

I decided—rather, life decided for me—this is what I’d go all-in on. I couldn’t not do it.

I started compiling a “self-directed Master’s” in coaching and facilitation. For the next year at least, I’d immerse myself as deeply as I could through different courses, trainings, and self-study. One training in particular would start with a four-day intensive in June. I had a decision to make. If I stayed in Europe, I‘d be up until 2 AM on consecutive nights. Experience showed me I’d be exhausted if I did this. If this is the thing I’m committed to, the thing I’m being called to serve, there’s no half-assing it. I need to, I must show up as fully as I can.

But the plan!

I’d long decided to spend at least the summer in Europe. I planned to stay in England to reset my Schengen visa before meeting up with S for a month in Italy. I deeply love Europe, especially England — my time studying abroad there planted the seed of living around the world. And I was excited to spend a hot boy Italian summer with S. It felt like the last time I’d be be able to something like this for the foreseeable future. Was I really going to let it go? But coaching—life—was asking me to settle down, slow down. I was ready, willing, and wanting.

When I committed to returning to the U.S., I was honestly relieved. After spending eight months wandering nomadically, I was tired. I missed my friends. I missed living a life of not thinking about visas and finding housing in obscure islands or towns. I wanted to be somewhere for a long time, not a short time. I wanted to be rooted.

In my experience, aliveness requires suitable conditions for true flourishing to occur. In essence, you’re simply a steward, a gardener, for what wants to emerge. Your role is to create a nourishing space of safety, stability, and encouragement. Life will unfold. And like with plants, you’re not meant to be repotted over and over again — how else will roots bind themselves to Mother Earth? While I could see this way of being working for some people, it’s not for me. I’d tasted the uprooted life and sufficiently scratched the itch. I craved, I needed, yes, comfort. Comfort in knowing I can deepen into this path. Comfort in solid ground for the exciting and unfamiliar to take root and emerge. Fortunately, I’ve gotten pretty good at meeting my own needs.

I flew home the day after my 25th birthday.

Landing in New York, I experienced reverse culture shock. I’d spent all my time in countries where English wasn’t the primary language, so it felt foreign to be able to understand again. And to pay New York prices again.

The adjustment came quickly, leaving a felt sense of change in its stead. As cheesy as it sounds (gosh I’m remembering the study abroad jokes), “my time abroad changed me.” I came home to the same streets and restaurants, the same house and parents, but fundamentally, I was different. I’d been granted a once-in-a-lifetime gift to explore the world, but more importantly, myself. In that exploration, I discovered a renewed conviction leading me through the uncertainty — a deeper faith in the Mystery. Like damn, I really just leapt into the abyss and was gently caught once again.

Maybe surrendering no longer has to be an experiment.

I was looking forward to recuperating at home for a bit before spending a couple of months in New York and then experimenting with living in San Francisco. But the results of the innocuous scope Mom had done came back.

”Mom has cancer.”

Everything seemed to be trending upward. I was so grateful and excited for what was unfolding. Life is amazing! For lightning to strike my family was a gut punch from the Universe I had no chance to brace myself for. This was never part of the plan.

I’d already committed to spending June in New York, just weeks after Mom got the news. There was a Part of me that felt guilty. Mom has cancer and I’m going to leave? “Abandon her?” a subtler voice whispered. In the past, I would’ve abandoned myself to put her needs above mine. But after spending so much time showing up for myself, I knew I wasn’t. If I were to show up for her, I needed to show up for myself first.

New York was a very needed breath of fresh air. I didn’t realize how much I missed having complete autonomy and a social life. I got to live in an apartment with roommates for the first time in years and it was awesome. Mostly because of P. Entirely because of P. I’ve never formed such a close friendship with someone so quickly. Living life with someone is truly the accelerator — leverage you might say. It can go horribly or awesomely. Fortunately, Mystery was shining on me through the cloud blanketing the sky.

That’s how I describe what having a loved one, a parent, with cancer is like. Everything in my life was clear skies and sunny apart from a singular truth—a massive one—lingering around. “My mom has cancer.” The emotions came in like a riptide at the start, swelled with certain milestones like surgery, but otherwise settled into a flow as cancer settled into its place in our lives.

I spent the summer between New York and Pennsylvania. Every other week I’d take a bus or train to Pennsylvania, accompany Mom to chemo, and head back to New York soon after. I was living one life as a “normal” 25-year-old in the city, another as a way earlier-than-expected caregiver for a parent.

To care for a loved one, especially a parent, in need demands deep intimacy and surrender. At times, I felt frustrated plucking myself out of the flow of life in New York. In the past, I would’ve rejected my frustration. Shamed myself with “How could you feel annoyed after all they’ve done for you?” This is the reality of an illness like cancer. Everyone is affected by the presence of this new, unexpected guest. But being in touch with your emotions is ultimately what allows you to show up for and care for someone else. You may not understand what it is to be ill, but you understand what it is to be frustrated, silent, and even ashamed.

I’m blessed that Life decided to shift how I’d relate to myself during this time. I started doing Parts work through my training in Aletheia…wow. It’s the healing I’ve been unknowingly seeking all these years. I now know what it’s like to unconditionally be with, love, my “difficult” emotions. To care for my Parts in this way gave me even deeper permission to show up for Mom.

While the New York stint was more enjoyable than the first go around, it confirmed New York still “isn’t it.” Deep down, I was afraid San Francisco wouldn’t be either. That in signing a lease, I’d be making a “wrong” or “irreversible” decision. I was afraid of committing, which makes sense. Making a life-changing decision like moving across the country without any firsthand experience living there would bring up fear in anyone. That’s why I experiment first.

In August, I went to Mexico City. M invited me on a group trip with around 20 other people. There, I got a taste of what I was looking for in New York but didn’t find.

Community.

I hadn’t been in community since my days in a professional fraternity in college. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I tasted it again years later, only now at a depth of nuance I didn’t have then. And holy shit, it tasted amazing. I couldn’t get it out of my mouth. My time in Mexico City was so much fun, so deeply connective. “This is what life could be like” something whispered. A few people on the trip were from San Francisco — this dream would literally be reality if I moved there.

The fear I’d felt toward committing to a move was really around “Will I find my people?” While access to Broadway shows or beautiful vistas is nice, it’s less important to me than the people I’m with — they determine your experience of a place. And now I’d found them.

One person in particular is M. She has opened up my life in a way I could’ve never imagined. It’s largely through her that I’ve met people and had experiences affirming the life I dream of is possible. Is there any more sacred gift? I’ve only known her for a year (much of it virtually), but experience a deep ease and connection, kindredness, that is rarer than the most precious gems. Spending time with her and other friends in San Francisco gave me a visceral “this is it” feeling in my being. This is home. How could I not return to it?

M, you are an incredible human being. If you’re reading this, I love you <3

With my commitment sealed, my time in New York began counting down, and with it, my time with P. It’s surreal I’ve only known him since June. I’m deeply grateful our paths intersected when they did — an unbreakable bond is formed when you begin a journey with someone else. We were following our aliveness, swinging to the next rung, and showing up for each other amidst everything. My favorite moments are the simple ones. Morning gratitudes and check-ins. Late-night chats while lying on my bed in the darkness, sharing our hopes for the future and stories of our insecure high school selves and heartbreak with women. How else do men bond?

In November I moved out of New York and returned to Pennsylvania. I got to be with Mom for her last chemo treatment. It was a bit of an out-of-body moment seeing her ring the bell.

“Is this really happening?”

“All this was happening?”

“It’s over?”

“Weird.”

It’s a special moment to witness, one I hope you never have to experience. But man, it captures the beauty of what it means to be alive. To show up for another human being you have no relation to, simply out of a deep love, care, and reverence for life itself. To all the nurses and caregivers in the world, I bow to you.

With snow lining the driveway and peppering the lawn, it’s clear “I’m in such a different place than I was a year ago.” I’m no longer swatting away mosquitoes at dawn on a porch in Penang, but instead writing from memory — writing from home. And like the heat, the snow reminds me to slow down. Instead of resisting, I’m allowing it for a change. My schedule is vacating, but I’m not trying to fill it. My sleep quality is bleh because of my deviated septum and enlarged turbinates (which I’m getting corrected) and I wake up “later” than I’m used to, but I’m letting it happen. Letting life happen.

In the stillness, I feel the excitement for what’s to come. I’m eager to live in community and co-create a beautiful life with people I love. I’m excited to deepen into this coaching path — I’ve never felt this excited and convicted about anything in life. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if I ate my words a year from now. For nothing is within our control. We know nothing. All we can do is be here moment to moment, witnessing, being, the unfolding. Whether a rising sun or a gentle snowfall. The joy of laughter or the depression of illness. All are welcome. All are life happening.

The central portion of my 2024 vision board