In Pursuit of Wholeheartedness
23.95
I write sitting at the corner of the parklet at Atlas Café. Light peeks through the tree branches dancing to a benign breeze. I watch the pockets of light flicker for a moment before writing again. S is sitting across from me with his headphones on and a few pens and highlighters tucked beneath an unwritten, light blue Hallmark card. We’re both drafting letters. Mine through keystrokes and him through stick-figure drawings of memories with his girlfriend from their first month together. “We can exchange words over text, so I want to draw instead”, he tells me. I nod, silently agreeing on the limitations of words.
A lot of things have changed in a short period of time. Summer arrives with people moving to new cities, new jobs, and new relationships. I feel the bustle of familiar streets and the revival of passions deferred. People rejoice at a band performance in Precita Park, travelers and locals alike roam down Market Street, and the parklets and the slow streets lay their roots. The days are longer and we want them to be. But, what we see in the streets and on-screen—friends in bars, on yachts, and flaunting their window seat views—suppress the anxieties that still remain a reality for many. There is no denying some kind of revival here, but we’ve grown too much to call it a return. Moving through the visible flourishing and less visible trauma, what personal philosophies and values will we choose to carry with us?
Lately, I’ve noticed more wholeheartedness among my friends and peers. When I catch up with S or a number of other friends, their words carry more honesty to them. D and S are finally getting married. S, T, and B have severed their golden handcuffs for more adventurous ventures in radiology software and publisher & creator tools. Another S is trading LA sunshine for New York bustle to pursue a degree in education. A is scaling his agency and moving back to the east coast to be closer to his parents. Some relationships feel like they haven’t changed, but I prioritize them differently. Many of the same stressors still occupy my thoughts, but I’ve crystallized new ways to cope with them. Whether it’s in our relationships, careers, or self-care, we are striving for more and settling for less.
Wholeheartedness = sincerity (paying attention, refining instinct) + commitment (making decisions, being patient)
Wholeheartedness begins with paying attention to the parts of your life that tether you, but persists only through commitment. What are you embarrassed by because it goes against others’ expectations of you? What are the activities and people you devote time towards most effortlessly? To be wholehearted means you not only recognize these values and desires but endure the doubts and judgment that come with it. This is the half that I’ve struggled more with lately. I often try to optimize decisions and time my actions to avoid mistakes, failing to realize that it will never feel like the right time. I wish to replicate events and feelings because they’re familiar. Wholeheartedness without sincerity is just blind ambition; wholeheartedness without commitment is just self-aware wishful thinking.
When I doubt my intuition and get overwhelmed by the noise of infinite “should’s”, I remind myself that the most transformative times in my life have all required instinct and some leap of faith. I think of the anti-social eight-year-old who spent all his waking hours outside of school in the Tae-Kwon-Do dojo and the richness of the friendships I made there. I imagine the timid high-school freshman who grew into a leader among his peer after leaping into a serendipitous opportunity. I transport myself back to show day to experience the full range of feelings I felt stepping onto the stage to showcase what we invested in and created. These memories and conversations with friends reassure me that the world is more malleable than we credit it to be.
There is, of course, no universally correct response to whether our commitments will be worth it, especially in this cautiously optimistic time. We each carry our own losses, anxieties, and challenges that are deeply personal. We each operate on our own concepts of seasons, trying to forecast how many weeks of winter are left. But, one of my biggest fears is that I’ll lead a life of jaded ambivalence—to walk into and get lost in a forest of muted colors and textures. We owe it to ourselves to lead ourselves out of the dismal forest—to leave ourselves room for new explorations and little bets. Challenge your half-hearted moments with a capacity for forgiveness and faith in the resilient version of yourself that you have already proven yourself to be.
