the fantasy of what you do want
who do i want to be in 2024?
It’s the start of a new year and I’ve finally finished reflecting on the year before. Now for the next one.
Processing 2023 was quite easy. It helped that as that year was happening, it was all so surreal that I couldn’t fathom it so I had to constantly gawk. My first year in New York flew by, and it was a year I absolutely adored despite it being full of the most insane trials and tribulations I could’ve fathomed. But all that didn’t matter, because I was living among people I loved, in a place chock full of all sorts of them.
I’m also a bigger fan of the person I’ve become from living in New York. I don’t think living in New York made me that way — I think I was ready to be that person, and Ne York was just the grease on my wheels.
Everyone’s always talking about habits and goals when it comes to New Year’s resolutions — things they want to change, do more of, milestones that will give them a sense of accomplishment etc.
The only way I’ve ever been able to get myself to do anything though, is to identify with it. I imprint very easily on a select number of phenomenon, and I frankly feel lost if I don’t have my identity staked on *something*. But when I historically told myself, I’m going to be the kind of person that shows up for their friends, that prioritizes their personal life over fruitless ambition, that stands by their values when no one else will, that will love herself when she feels the external world isn’t validating her — it worked like a charm.
Hyping up myself in other areas of my life is hard. The habits I can’t seem to break are really because I’m unwilling to see myself as that sort of person, probably because I have bad associations with it. For example, I want to become the kind of person that can keep her room clean out of sheer convenience, but I also think I subconsciously associate that sort of person as a rigid, regimented, boring uptight bitch. Oh wait it’s my mother. For a long time I would reject the idea of doing whatever she expected me to be naturally good at, and resented me for failing at doing. This made me avoid certain things like cooking a lot, doing DIY sorts of hobbies, following social norms, or living a “normie” life. I felt like I was failing the part of me that felt suffocated by her and desperately needed someone else to raise and parent her. I identified as my own parent for so long I forgot that being like my actual parent isn’t all bad.
In a lot of ways though, Mom raised me to be the kind of person I am proud of. I am so aware of who I am and what motivates me to do what I do, that I never lose sight of that. I have not really steeped myself in any aspirational ideas of what I should be that actually belong to me. I have simply longed, for a long time, to be another way only to avoid abuse and vitriol from others. But the more I grew up and had control of my own life, the more I looked within for validation, the more I embraced I don’t actually long to be any way but myself.
The kind of person I am has remained pretty consistent for most of my life, with mileage varying in terms of my popularity. I developed more into being bold, courageous, interesting, eccentric, thoughtful, or inspirational, and owning those in a less sloppy way. But I feel very internally the same as I have for decades — I just got smoother at executing on my objectives at any given moment.
In 2023, my executive function increased tenfold, but I never quite identified as someone “incompetent,” so much as someone whose “competencies had yet to be revealed.” Now I’m the one grinding everyone’s ass about being on time, or furiously banging out itineraries, or figuring out project management systems for various things in my life (that aren’t touched by trauma). My astrologer says I’m really aging like fine wine into my Capricorn side, especially as I’m now in Year 2 of my Saturn Return. This simply means I’m getting a master class in discipline, but not a master class in getting my ass kicked. This past year was hard, but it felt right. Like the burn after you lift a bunch of weights, or even the slight comfort of painful menstrual cramps that you know are simply helping you purge your system reliably every month. Suddenly, habits have become easier to understand and execute on, mostly because I don’t have a voice in my head shouting I’m incompetent anymore. I’m less attached to “person who doesn’t cook” as an identity, or “person who can’t keep track of her things.” I’m more willing to humble myself and interrogate those emotions in an honest but kind way than I’ve ever been able to.
But if I steer away from the “kind of person I want to be” that isn’t in the abstract realm, or regarding what I literally do on a day to day basis, I seem to think in terms of “general outside perspective/impact.” And this is the real painful part.
One example: for a long time, I wanted to be “the kind of person you’d respect as a writer,” because post-journalism, I felt extremely lost that I didn’t have an endless outpour of bylines to validate that. But in all honesty, I don’t give a shit anymore if I “seem” like a writer, or if people can quote me if I produce the next body of Didion-esque work. Like really. Who cares. Everyone that’s heard me talk and gets a dose of me knows the wisdom I have to offer. I don’t need to be consistently producing work anymore like I once was to be constantly communicating. I’ve accepted that writing as a profession did not give me the space to be as creative as I want, and I’ll figure out what that means possibly this year. All I know is, I am “a writer” and I no longer care if it’s obvious to others. In the last year, I wanted to be “the kind of person who writes a lot more", but when you strip away the cope reasons for the real reason I wanted to do that, it was all about getting external validation for something I already know I’m good at. Next!
Another example: a gorgeous, glamorous, model-esque woman whose beauty makes men faint and fantasize. In Los Angeles, I’d dye my hair various colors to highlight my eccentricity, but I knew I wasn’t on the level of some other Asian girls whose eyebrows, eyelashes, and makeup was always perfect. At the same time I didn’t care about dolling myself up all the time, I also never felt like it’d make a difference and I’d ever be the kind of girl whose Instagram that a group of guys would crowd around placing bets on who’d be able to win her over. Now that there are so many Tik Tok Asian girl influencers, and my love interests always seem to date women who are much more beautiful than me, I feel extra self conscious about this phenomenon, but keep myself out of the running by choosing to only stick to looks that don’t feel like “me trying.”
Ironically, the time I loved wearing makeup the most and glamming myself up was when I felt like I had no competition, when I went to school in Missouri. Then, I knew that I was going to get attention from the kind of guy who’d go for me, and I wasn’t really up for comparison with anyone else. But now, it’s like, oh, what if I just decided to “try” and not think it’s a bad thing? For example, I refuse to wear false lashes or tint my eyebrows or wear foundation. But what if I just did those things because I wanted to, instead of purposely avoiding them because I feel inadequate and don’t even want to put in the effort and be disappointed anyway? In this case, it is technically about “external validation,” but is it really? I think the internal feeling of identifying as “a woman who tries hard to look very beautiful” would give me an idea that I’m not excluded from things like I always felt I was as a kid, that I’m “allowed” to be lusted after and yearned for.
Another final example: “the type of woman that guys want to date long term.” This is different than “the type of woman whose beauty makes guys’ jaws drop” or “the type of woman that guys want to hook up with.” I addressed how I know I’m cute, but not necessarily “sexy wife.” I also know that to me, I associate having sex with proverbial one night stands, a quick satisfactory brief connection. It doesn’t take much to vibe well with a man and then for him to take you home. For him to want to keep taking you home until he confesses he wants to be the only one taking you home, that would be truly revolutionary. I yearn for it.
I think of myself naturally as a “good luck Chuck" for men. Fuck me, and you’ll soon find your forever girlfriend! If I’m lucky, you’ll keep me around in the picture as your bestie who will help you, friend zoned perpetually, and I will smile through my gritted teeth as I help you with who that may be because I’m an incorrigible simp who can’t let go until I’ve been truly violated. Thus, my persistent identification as the binary of just a quick fuck, or someone who’s so platonic you won’t even fuck, makes me unable to identify as a “girlfriend.” Maybe I’ll live action role play as one for a bit, sure, as I have gotten, before they end up becoming serious with someone else right after me, as if I’m their “training ground.” Since 2018, when I wrote “Call Me Sexy,” I have indeed been called Sexy more, but I still can’t believe it. In fact, it hurts more to try, because I almost believe it even less than I did before.
What I recently realized though, is every “fantasy” of “someone I want to be but don’t think I could be yet,” is actually very delusional because it doesn’t incorporate evidence from the external world. I don’t keep track of who says my writing impacts them. I don’t pay mind to people who heart react my IG stories and call me gorgeous. And I can barely recall when love interests reciprocated at all, because all I remember is the ones that gaslit me about their feelings, to where it’s clouded my judgement in present day.
Thus, when I think of the entangled identities i hold that are toxic, the exact opposite of what I presumably want to embody, they’re all concerned with my ability to fathom the outside world exists, and my little imagination that likes to choke me to death isn’t suffice. See, this is where I don’t know if I can blame my parents for these trauma-based debacles. This is probably just some sort of middle grade middle school level socialization I haven’t gotten over quite yet.
2024 is the year I’ll build better habits, as I do every year, and keep slaying those dragons that just won’t die, especially that Good Luck Chuck one. But you know what? That’s cool, because I do rely implicitly on how the momentum of each previous year is caring me to the better ones coming up ahead.