How I became a resolution-ary

In 2014, I shut down my business of seven years, a long-term relationship ended, my dog of 17 years passed away.

I struggled with debt, but thanks to my support system, I was able to settle all of them and move on. The most heartbreaking and humiliating moment was when my youngest brother offered to sell his car to help me pay off my obligations. But that help from him, my mother, and my stepdad came at just the right time. I set aside my pride, accepting the opportunity to start over clean.

I’ve never felt so small and afraid. I was alone in my late thirties and I had no plan to fall back on. This wasn’t the story that I had imagined for myself. In my head, I had already pictured my success story: “Oldest Daughter Hits It Big in Business” or “Writer Proves You Can Be Creative and Be a Business Tycoon.” These may be the hokiest headlines ever, but it showed my mindset at the time: I was hard on myself because I thought the only way I could make my family proud was to be financially successful in something outside of my love for writing and art. The sacrifices that my parents made for me and my siblings hung over me, and instead of thinking of what made me happy, I constantly second-guessed what I needed to do to make them happy.

So I made my choices out of desperation to fulfill this self-imposed obligation. And desperate choices were very rarely good choices.

Not even three months after my major life event, I threw myself into a job with an outsourcing company that worked with global startups. This is where I learned about the tech industry, which I’m forever grateful for because it weaned me off the misplaced admiration I used to have for the business and its self-proclaimed gurus. At the time, it seemed so glamorous, and I felt like it was meaningful work that would make a positive difference in the world. What I thought would be temporary became a three-year career. I rose up the ranks quickly. It seemed like the thing to do. I saw no reason not to do it, so I kept on doing it.

Looking back, I think I worked in that industry because I was afraid of failing again. I didn’t want to grow older and not have financial security. I figured it was also better than going through the painful process of working on myself and my recent painful experience. It’s not fun feeling stranded and not knowing what to do next. So I clung onto a career that seemed to be laid out for me, and tried to convince myself that this was the life I wanted.

I worked almost everyday, even on weekends and holidays. And towards the end, when I realized this wasn’t the life I wanted for myself, I was completely burned out. The worst part is that I had missed a lot of quality time with the ones I loved most. The money I had saved didn’t make up for the time I’d traded for it.

I was never the type who made New Year’s resolutions. But right in the middle of that 2017, I wrote down a resolution in my journal: I don’t want to live in fear anymore. Still, that statement didn’t feel right. I knew what I didn’t want. But what did I want? A definition is about what something is, not what it isn’t. 

So I started writing again. The resolution I came up with was: I want to live a life of courage. What did that look like for me?

It looked like doing things whether or not anyone wanted to do them with me. I started traveling solo, I learned how to surf, I treated myself to dinner, went to music festivals, sat at a bar — alone. Did it feel awkward? Most of the time, it did. But those years of just being with myself were also the happiest times of my life. Yes, years. I took my time to really get to know myself. I learned that tripping in front of people, wiping out many, many times, dancing alone, fumbling a speaking engagement — they weren’t the end of the world. In fact, most people didn’t care. They had too much going on to even give a second thought to my fumbles and failures.

I dared to do something for myself again. I founded my own startup with my stepdad and brother. I setup a co-working space with two business partners. I got back on the dating scene. I failed again (yes, in all of them). I learned so much.

It sounds cliche, but the trouble with cliches is that they’re true. What I learned was: the high-octane, slash-and-burn, empire-building kind of business wasn’t for me. And that the only way I can really make my family happy was when I figured out my own happiness. Even in the painful process of closing yet another business, I knew this wouldn’t be the end for me. I knew I would have another chance. How many chances I get out of life was completely up to me.

My resolution to live a life of courage was even more an act of bravery by then. I was 41 years old, and once again, I was back to square one. But that year, with a final burst of determination, I sold my former company’s online platform before closing, and settled everything I owed. My relationship with my new partner had been going well, and two years into it, we decided to buy a home together.

Of course, just as it was starting to look like things would wrap up so neatly, the Covid-19 pandemic began. This was when I first realized the power that a resolution truly carries. I’ve called upon my resolve to live a life of courage again and again. Here was one more time where I needed to remind myself of it. Whether I set my sights on goals, fulfill them or discard them, renew them or revise them, all of there’s only one criteria I go by: they must all lead me to the life I’ve resolved to live.

The choices I’ve made for my life recently wouldn’t have been an option to my former self. Choosing the business of writing again, of creating rather than empire-building — work that I’m passionate about that supports and makes way for life, and not the other way around. Choosing partners and community over subordinates and subsidiaries. Choosing a more flexible life without debt. Choosing to live with enough, which means less things, but not “less-than.”

Mary Poffenroth, author and neuroscientist specializing in fear (fearology), says that courage is simply the practice of taking action in spite of the fear. Make no mistake, I feel afraid everyday. I don’t have a crystal ball to tell me what the future holds. I’m too much of a realist to know that there are no guarantees. But I come back again and again to my resolution to live a life of courage. That means whatever comes, I know I’ll be learning and doing what I can. There’s always a shot for as long as I allow myself to throw that ball.