A Uniquely-Me Sensation
Hydrocarbon
The little me had a predilection for challenges. I loved to pretend I was in danger from predator boys and was thrilled bolting for my life through the padded schoolyard. Dangling from the monkey bars, I spied at the evil patrols and, accidentally, or not, hurled a curving frisbee right at their heads. I thought I could fly but flipped right off the secret loft that was our metal bunk bed, purpling my left eye. When I pretended to be a deer leaping off the school stairs, I stepped in air and fell flat down on my arms. Rest assured, I was not injured-injured, just that I had to leap on one foot for three months hailing my new status as the One-legged Supergirl. Why...just why? I know! It was for the exhilaration, the feeling of life in my beating heart.
Just as the acceleration of my fleeing speed quickened my heartbeat, the acceleration of my life toward a different direction also gave me an intensified sense of life. In 6th grade, I moved from Beijing, China back to the Bay Area, the birthplace I left at the age of three. My eyes widened in fascination at the sight of unfenced grass and untainted sky in this land of unlimited opportunities. Life here was all about surviving change. I caught in myself the same exhilaration as when I flew off the bunk bed. My head spun from the impact of falling onto the hard floor of my English-speaking classmates’ indecipherable blabber. It was like I went deaf and mute and blind all at once from hitting my head too hard. But I loved it. The struggle, the challenge, the feeling of starting over. Instead of feeling ashamed for the rough start, I felt a profound sense of purpose surge through me as I embraced this change. From having to turn in homework in my native language to chewing through 36 books in one year, I unflaggingly crawled up from the fall.
Yet when this change was well in the past, and I gradually settled into the Bay Area life, my once very acute sense of identity slowly vaporized and became abstract and hard to pinpoint. When I became just like any other, I wondered… where did that sense of purpose go?
Since high school began, I spoke fluent English and integrated smoothly into the academic and athletic life that the crowd shared. But I missed when I had a very uniquely-me sensation, which was simply to feel the exhilaration of change.
I searched for that nervous feeling of change when I sought out new experiences like playing competitive tennis, serving on the worship team, teaching the Scripture in Taiwan, and MCing and performing for the Lunar New Year Festival. Ironically, many of these experiences made me feel unqualified and incompetent rather than thrilled. At times I wondered, would it be easier if I just say “no” to trying new things? Stick to the status quo, and there’ll be no risk and pain. However, just as I could learn to enjoy my new life in the U.S. despite the difficulties, pain turned into joy for most of the things I tried. The “yes” attitude rewarded me with a vault of real-life knowledge and experience; it broadened my perspectives to understand both the leader, the participant, and the audience. And most importantly, the “yes” attitude made me a truly happy human being who commits to responsibilities and embraces uncertain outcomes.
Growing up in changing environments, I learned that life isn’t just about adapting to changes, life is change. And I thrive in uncertainties because I accept the doubts, struggles, and intrinsic risks of failing as part of what makes me human and real.
