May 9, 2026 — Saturday Afternoon
Dolores Park, San Francisco
Today felt like one of those days that looked ordinary from the outside but carried an entire emotional landscape underneath it. I spent the afternoon sitting in Dolores Park surrounded by noise, sunlight, strangers, barking dogs, music, conversations drifting from every direction, and people fully immersed in their own lives. The park was crowded in the way San Francisco parks always are on warm weekends — groups laying on blankets drinking canned cocktails, volleyball players yelling across the grass, couples sunbathing, runners weaving through pathways, and clusters of friends laughing loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear. Yet despite all of that movement and stimulation around me, I somehow found myself experiencing a strange sense of internal stillness. Not complete peace, because my anxiety still lingers in the background like static I can never fully turn off, but enough quiet to hear my own thoughts more clearly. I recorded videos for YouTube while sitting there, and although part of me still felt self-conscious speaking to a camera in public, another part of me felt proud for doing it anyway. I realized that the discomfort itself is part of the growth. There was a time when I would have let embarrassment stop me entirely, but now I am slowly learning how to exist more freely without constantly filtering myself through imagined judgments from strangers.
Lately, I have been thinking deeply about solitude and the role it has been playing in my life. These moments alone — whether filming videos, sitting in silence, walking through the city, or simply lying in the grass watching people move around me — have become opportunities to reconnect with myself in ways I had not allowed before. So much of my life has been spent performing versions of myself for other people. I think I adapted myself constantly depending on who I was around, what environment I was in, or what role I was expected to fulfill. Nurse. Student. Friend. Responsible son. Productive person. Stable person. Strong person. Even when I was exhausted or emotionally overwhelmed, I still felt pressure to maintain those identities because they became familiar not only to other people but to me as well. Being alone recently has allowed me to step outside of those fixed identities and ask myself who I actually am underneath all of those expectations. I am discovering parts of myself that feel softer, more creative, more emotional, more uncertain, and honestly more human than the polished versions I used to cling to. I have been learning my strengths and weaknesses without immediately judging either one. I am beginning to understand that self-love is not about becoming a perfected version of myself but about allowing every version of me to exist without shame.
Something else I kept reflecting on today was how much anxiety has shaped my daily life and how exhausting it is to constantly live inside my own head. Just a few days ago, before a meeting I knew almost nothing about, I completely spiraled mentally. I spent hours imagining worst-case scenarios, overanalyzing possibilities, and emotionally preparing for things that had not even happened yet. By the morning of the meeting, my anxiety had escalated so intensely that I was physically sick. I was dry heaving, vomiting, unable to settle my thoughts or regulate my body. Moments like that remind me how deeply intertwined my mental and physical experiences are. Anxiety is not just worrying — it becomes something that consumes my nervous system entirely. Yet after the meeting actually happened, I realized it was harmless. It was simply a meet-and-greet, nowhere near as threatening as my mind convinced me it would be. That realization has stayed with me because it exposed how often my suffering comes not from reality itself but from the stories I create before reality even arrives. I am beginning to understand that overthinking gives fear more power than it deserves. The more energy I spend trying to mentally control every unknown, the more trapped I become inside imagined disasters instead of actually living my life.
That is why these quiet moments have become so healing for me lately. Sitting in the park today, feeling sunlight against my skin while my dog ran around chaotically nearby, I realized how desperately I needed moments where I am not trying to solve my entire life at once. My mind is constantly searching for answers, reassurance, certainty, or control, but peace never seems to come from finding perfect solutions. Instead, peace comes in brief moments when I stop fighting reality and simply allow myself to exist within it. Watching Dots run around without embarrassment or self-consciousness made me laugh because animals embody a kind of freedom humans often lose. She does not worry about how she looks, who is watching her, or whether she belongs in the park. She simply exists fully as herself. Meanwhile, I sat there debating whether people were judging me for filming videos, taking off layers to tan, or talking openly about my thoughts. Eventually, though, I reminded myself that everyone around me is far more consumed with their own lives than with mine. That realization felt strangely liberating. It made me realize how much unnecessary fear I carry about being perceived incorrectly. The truth is that nobody is thinking about me nearly as much as I imagine they are, and even if they are, their opinions do not have to dictate how freely I allow myself to live.
I also spent a significant part of today reflecting on my relationship with my mom and how deeply connected she is to my understanding of success, healing, and love. As I talked about my travels and my YouTube journey, I found myself becoming emotional thinking about how much she sacrificed for me growing up. She constantly tells me she could not support me financially in the ways she wished she could, but what she gave me emotionally and mentally was far more important. She believed in me during periods of my life when I could barely believe in myself. She worked tirelessly to raise us, often carrying responsibilities alone while still somehow making me feel cared for and protected. I think so much of my drive to succeed academically and professionally came from wanting to repay her sacrifices somehow. Becoming an ICU nurse, completing nurse practitioner school, traveling the world — all of those accomplishments felt tied to this deeper desire to make her proud and to create opportunities for her that she never had herself.
Traveling alone through Europe during graduate school became one of the most transformative periods of my life. At the time, I thought I was escaping stress, burnout, depression, and uncertainty. In many ways, I was. I needed distance from the pressure I felt in San Francisco and from the version of myself I had become trapped inside. Being alone in unfamiliar cities gave me permission to explore who I was outside of everyone else’s expectations. I could walk through Paris anonymously, spend entire days wandering museums or cafés, and exist without needing to explain myself to anyone. Those experiences taught me independence and self-trust, but they also taught me something unexpected: solitude is meaningful, but connection is too. Some of my favorite memories from those trips eventually became the moments I shared with my mom afterward. I remember sitting alone in a hotel room in Paris wishing she could experience the beauty around me, and eventually I brought her there myself. We traveled together, created memories together, and experienced joy together in ways I never imagined possible years earlier when I was overwhelmed and struggling mentally. That realization inspired me to start documenting our travels because I want tangible memories of these moments while we still have them. Time feels fragile now. I understand more deeply that life changes quickly, people age, and moments disappear unless we intentionally hold onto them somehow.
As the afternoon continued, I became increasingly aware of how beautiful ordinary life can feel when I stop trying to force meaning out of every moment. Conversations drifted around me about apartments, office buildings, parties, startup culture, apps, relationships, and weekend plans. Friends reunited. People laughed loudly. Music played in the distance. The city carried on around me exactly as it always does. For once, though, I did not feel disconnected from it. I felt present within it. Even sitting alone, I did not feel lonely. There is a difference between loneliness and solitude that I think I am finally beginning to understand. Loneliness feels like absence, while solitude can feel like companionship with yourself. Today felt like companionship with myself. Imperfect, awkward, uncertain companionship — but genuine nonetheless.
I think the biggest realization I had today is that healing is far less glamorous than I once imagined it would be. Healing is not always dramatic breakthroughs or complete transformations. Sometimes it is simply sitting in a crowded park while your anxious thoughts slowly quiet down enough for you to appreciate sunlight on your skin. Sometimes it is recording imperfect videos despite feeling embarrassed. Sometimes it is realizing that your worth does not decrease simply because you are still figuring yourself out. Sometimes healing is allowing yourself to evolve publicly instead of waiting until you become a perfected version of yourself before permitting yourself to be seen. Today reminded me that I do not need to have everything figured out in order to deserve peace, joy, creativity, connection, or rest. I can exist in the middle of uncertainty and still have meaningful, beautiful moments. And honestly, that realization alone made today feel important.
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