Pursuit of More
As I sit here on a Saturday night, while the world is out partying, I choose to stay in. It’s not about missing out—it’s about reflecting. Tonight, something hit me differently, a realization that has been staring me in the face for a while. People only change when they decide to, not because we want them to. No amount of pushing, persuading, or hoping will do it.
I ran into a friend tonight—someone I used to like, maybe still do in some way. But I saw her in a different light, one I always knew existed but had never experienced firsthand. Her outfit screamed confidence, fun, and the kind of energy that thrives in a club. I’ve only known her in her daytime version, never like this. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to never fall for a club girl. They hold a certain power, an effortless control over the room, and they know it. It’s intoxicating, but it’s also trouble.
I worry about her more than I should. I even prayed for her tonight, which is rare because I don’t even pray for myself. I hope she finds her way. She always talks about balance—about being able to party while still chasing her dreams. I want to believe her. I want to see that balance in action. But more than that, I want her to see her own potential, not just talk about it. It hits different when someone tells you they’re proud of you. I’m dealing with some family stuff—things I won’t share here—but something happened that caught me off guard. I was on the phone with my grandma, talking about life and family, and she told me she was proud of me. In my entire life, I don’t think I’ve ever heard those words from her.
I brought it up with Cassie, a friend who knows what it’s like to grow up under the weight of Asian parents’ expectations. She told me that in some families, love isn’t spoken—it’s implied. “You should just know,” they say. But no, I don’t just know. Some things need to be said. Maybe I’m supposed to feel grief right now. I’ve lost family before, but I never really felt it deeply. Instead, I bottle it up and push it down, using it as fuel. But I’m trying to do better, to take those negative emotions and turn them into something worth living for. There’s still so much left to do.
Today, I went to church. I hadn’t been in a while, and I’ve been feeling lost. As the New Year settles in, I find myself dreaming bigger, but I also wrestle with the fear of failure. The sermon was about King David—a man who fell, who wasn’t free of sin, and yet still found redemption. I think about that a lot. About slowing down. About letting up on the gas pedal long enough to enjoy the moment. But I worry—if I slow down, will everything I’ve built crumble? Then there was the pastor. He stood there preaching about being a model Christian, about doing what’s required. And I judged him. “This guy is so full of himself,” I thought. But then it hit me—was that judgment really about him, or was it about me?
I used to lie all the time as a kid, just to see if I could get away with it. Turns out, parents always know. But now, I lie by omission, by holding back truths from people I claim to care about. No wonder she doesn’t mess with me. I don’t even fully mess with myself.
How can I expect God to bless me with the right person when I’m not even ready? We’re all works in progress, but I measure others with the same impossible standards I hold for myself. That’s not fair. I’ve been trying to use faith to fill the void in my life, but maybe it’s not about filling the void—it’s about sitting with it, learning from it, and letting God in during the moments I’d rather ignore.
Today, I found myself sitting at a bar, looking across the room at Stacy. She’s someone I consider a role model—she works in real estate, she hustles hard, and she’s built something for herself. She recently started her own firm, and it is truly inspiring.As I watched her, a question formed in my mind: Do people who strive for greatness need a bit of desperation?
At first, I thought, _No, desperation leads to downfall._ But then I reconsidered. Desperation creates agency. It forces you to tap into a part of yourself you never knew existed. That “dark energy” can be fuel, if you use it right. Agency is the key—realizing that your life is in your hands, that your actions shape your reality.
Maybe that’s the real lesson in all of this. It’s not about losing yourself in the pursuit of more. It’s about owning that pursuit. About making sure the hunger doesn’t consume you, but fuels you in the right way. And maybe, just maybe, it’s about learning when to let go and just be.