Some days, I miss waking up and knowing exactly what I was working toward. I used to have a clear goal ahead of me. I knew what I needed to do that day, whether I was moving fast or slow, and if I hadn’t reached it yet, I just kept going until I did.
That path is still there. I still know how to set a goal, work more, and go back to the things I’ve spent years doing and know how to do well. I know what it feels like to have a number in front of me and pour almost all my energy into reaching it. If I decided tomorrow to go back to living the way I used to, I’d know where to start.
For almost two years now, things have been different. I work less than I used to, and my income is lower. Some of the plans I thought I would complete within a few years may take longer, or may change. And there are questions I’ve been living with for a long time that I still can’t answer clearly: What am I building, and where is it taking me?
I used to be able to look at a year and know pretty easily whether it had been a good one. Now, a lot of the time, I don’t know what to measure a good year by anymore. I know how to go back. I just know I don’t want to go back to living the way I used to.
I used to want an ordinary life, like everyone else. No more, no less. I wanted things to be easier for my family, and I wanted to be able to take care of myself and the people I love.
Then I started making money, and one of the things I did was rebuild my family’s house. My family had a better place to live. Things I used to think I’d do someday, when I had the means, became things I could actually do.
I went to places I’d only ever seen on a screen and tried things I never imagined would be part of my life when I was a kid. The more I traveled, the more I realized how much was still out there that I hadn’t seen, hadn’t tried, and had never imagined could be part of my life.
From wanting only an ordinary life, I started wanting to try more, go more places, and see what else I could do.
I started wanting to know how far I could go.
For a long time, I had a pretty clear idea of what it meant to “go far.” Earning more this year than I did the year before, traveling more, doing bigger things. As those early problems started to ease, the question changed from How do I get out of here? to something else: What’s next?
And that question rarely sat there for long. There was always another goal to work toward, another place to go, something new to try. I just kept going. I had already come a long way from where I started, so wanting to keep going felt natural.
I learned a lot about how to get what I wanted. I learned how to set goals, work, make money, and turn something I wanted into a plan I could actually carry out. But I don’t remember spending much time asking a simpler question: What do I really want? And deeper than that, why had these particular things become what I wanted in the first place?
Some answers had been there for so long that I barely noticed there had ever been a question. Those old answers were still there. They just weren’t enough anymore to answer the question: What’s next?
Then some things that had once felt very clear stopped pulling me forward in the same way.
After I finished my 50-mile race, I pretty much knew what the next year would look like. I already had a plan to run 100 kilometers, and then 160. I bought new shoes, new training gear, and even picked the 100K race I wanted to do. I had just finished a huge milestone and was still fired up to keep going.
But about a week later, whatever had carried me through those 50 miles was suddenly gone.
The plan was still there. The next goal was already there. I was still sure I could finish 100K if I trained seriously. I just couldn’t bring myself to run anymore. I still can’t fully explain why.
And it wasn’t only happening with running. I’ve worked in affiliate marketing for eight years. There were periods when I worked around ten hours a day; now that work takes about ten hours a week. At the same time, studying psychology has gradually taken up a much bigger part of my life. I’m stepping away from a career I’d spent eight years learning how to do well, while whatever comes next still isn’t clear enough to name. Sometimes I’m afraid a few years will pass and I’ll look back and see that I’ve fallen behind, while this new direction still hasn’t taken any clear shape.
I miss Vietnam a lot. I miss the friends I can sit with for hours without having to explain much about myself, the patch of grass where I used to sit in the afternoons, and my mother’s cooking. But I also remember lying in my room in Vietnam, looking out the window and asking myself: What am I living for?
That question was part of why I left. Missing home never made it disappear.
For much of my first year in the US, I felt like I was moving through the dark. No direction felt clear enough for me to know I was going the right way. Standing still was scary because I was afraid I was wasting time and falling behind. But moving forward was scary too, because what if I was going in the wrong direction?
Sometimes all I could do was move toward whatever seemed to offer a little light, then keep going and see where it led.
Almost two years have passed like that. I still don’t know where this period of my life will eventually take me.
When I was 18, I was in a similar place. I didn’t get into the university I had planned to attend. At the time, university was pretty much the only path I knew. I didn’t know what I wanted to study, and I didn’t know what else I could do. In the end, my mother chose another school and another major for me.
It wasn’t that I had no choice. I just didn’t know what to choose.
This time, I’m no more certain than I was then. I decided to leave Vietnam, and later I decided to go back to school. A few years from now, I could look back and realize that one of those choices was wrong. That fear is still real.
This time, I’m the one choosing.
When I enrolled in the East-West Psychology program at CIIS, I didn’t know where it would lead. At first, I thought of it simply as a way to understand myself better.
But something about being at CIIS gradually became important to me. In our in-person classes, I watched people speak openly about things they were still trying to understand about themselves, while others simply sat with them and listened. Over time, I realized I could be there without having everything figured out yet. I still didn’t have a map, but at least I didn’t have to find my way alone.
I also started asking myself different questions before rushing toward the next goal. If no one knew I was doing this, would I still want to do it? With some things, I only know whether I want to keep them, change them, or let them go after I’ve lived with them for a while.
I used to need to know where I was going before I started moving. Now, some things only become clearer once I’m already living them. I still don’t know what shape this life will eventually take.
Maybe I’m coming to understand it as I live it.
Today I turn 30.
So much has opened up in me again during these nearly two years in between.
Right now, my life feels rich.
It feels enough.
- Nam Le