Feb 20, 2023
A friend told me about someone they knew the other day — five years my junior, an incredibly accomplished journalist who’d already claimed a Pulitzer, and now bureau chief of Southeast Asia for a major publication. I was envious. Of the scary ambition and achievements, of the smart way she had risen, her still-intact youth. All of those things, of course. But what I was most envious of was her clear, firm belief in journalism, all through the years she had been operating. It’s been a while since I believed in something. I used to believe in journalism, too. I used to believe in a great many loves that could be trusted to lift us up; more than that, I believed I had a line to them. I believed I always would. That was a decade ago.
What do I believe in now? Small kindnesses and little lives. I believe in organising hospital visits, dropping texts to friends I’m thinking of immediately, throwing themed parties to celebrated people and the things we love. I believe in doing the good I can when I can, while preserving myself. In those little ways of living, though, I may have lost a bit of myself. I don’t regret much. Many things you have no idea how you would’ve changed until it’s long lag, and if it had gone another way you’d feel differently anyway. I do wish, though, that there was more I still believed in.
I think I still believed in a lot up until the pandemic. In the muddle, about a year in, we lost a bright star. I think I lost most of my beliefs then. In life with a big L; in the thought of changing the world.
I’m afraid that if I keep standing still, I’ll never be the same person again. I’m afraid to move too, lest I find out that that’s already true, that I’m already gone. I’m afraid of finding out I am less capable than I once believed.