#51: A Year of Zero ⓿

reflections from my first year on sabbatical

A year since its creation, I have refreshed the How To Quit Your Job guide. I thought about updating the existing version and realized that so much has changed that it could use a full remake. The new version carries over from the original and includes the learnings from my first year on sabbatical.

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In my life so far, I have experienced unemployment twice. I was laid off in May 2020 when the pandemic was raging and vaccines were nonexistent. On the inside, I was riddled with anxiety and existential worries. From that experience, the thought of voluntarily ejecting myself from the labor market has always seemed impossible to me. As someone who worked four jobs in high school and completed seven internships throughout college, work has been coursing through my veins for over a decade.

Working hard is in my DNA. My immigrant parents came to this country for their PhDs with literally $50. During those initial years, the groceries they bought were determined by coupon clippings rather than what was in season. Both of their glasses lenses are nearly as thick as an iPhone, from all the long nights of studying. I somehow naturally became a high achiever, even without rewards or punishments based on how I did in school.

Being a high achiever can mean a lot of things, and for me, it comes with a resistance to quitting. To step down, take a break, or leave something behind often comes with feelings of failure, inferiority, and an erosion of identity. So a year ago, after 10 months of crippling indecision, when I finally quit my job, I was entering unchartered territory and surrendering to the unknown.

It’s hard to overstate how significant this year has been. People go to business school or change jobs when they feel stuck in their current career path. Others go to Burning Man, ayahuasca experiences, or Vipassana retreats when they feel lost in life. This year has been a blend of all of those. It has felt like being back in school, but where learning is firmly rooted in practicality instead of floating in academic abstractions. When I’m old and saggy, I wouldn’t be surprised if I describe my life demarcated by the year 2023, the year I went on sabbatical.

In this reflection, I’ll cover my sabbatical through two different frames.

Through the lens of time, I’ll share the four phases of my sabbatical. These phases were certainly not planned and they only seem like distinct phases in hindsight:

• phase 1: Foundations (January - April)

• phase 2: Craft & Process (May - June)

• phase 3: Execution & Expansion (July - October)

• phase 4: Refinement & Return (November onwards)

Then, I’ll explore a series of themes:

• Work

• Money

• Uncertainty

• Curiosity

• Health

• Relationships

• Identity

This will probably be my longest blog. I’ve honestly thought about whether I should split it into multiple pieces, but I think keeping it as one cohesive piece is part of the point. To illustrate just how much can unfold in one magical year. So without further ado, let’s get into it ✌️.

phase 1: Foundations (January - March)

The start of the year marked the transition from full-time job to being on sabbatical. In the time between deciding when to finally quit and my actual last day, multiple ideas naturally emerged. When my attempts to build a climate tech startup fell apart, I had an epiphany the very next day to start my climate newsletter. A walk through the fall foliage in NYC with my friend led to the creation of our podcast On the Rise.

I traded OKRs and Zoom meetings for haphazardly-set goals and self-imposed deadlines. It was both a blessing and a curse to know that I would spend the initial months writing, podcasting, and skiing. Even though finding new work gave me peace of mind, I failed to recognize that I first needed to rest. The excitement and desire to have a coherent story to tell people led to simple struggles around discipline, consistency and motivation. I mistakenly assumed I couldn’t have been burnt out because I wasn’t working that hard when I left my job. I felt eager and excited, but also rushed and tense.

In hindsight, I wish I rested for a month before jumping in. There were lingering things I still needed to process. Scientist Louis Pasteur said "Chance favors only the prepared mind.” and I didn’t give myself any time for preparation.

I haven’t done an Ironman, but I’ve watched a few Youtube videos. I’ve always wondered how they transition from swimming to cycling to running. I noticed how unrushed the athletes are from the time they emerge out of the water to when they click their cycling shoes into the bike pedals. Their entire performance is measured in time and yet, in these critical transition periods, they are calm and composed.

During these initial months, I was living in South Lake Tahoe, just minutes away from Heavenly ski resort. With the entire house to myself during the weekdays, I experienced the full spectrum of emotions associated with being alone. While I was in flow reading and writing, I felt incredibly grateful to be in this chamber of isolation where I could focus without any distractions. But I’d also end up on the couch scrolling on TikTok. When that happened, I’d go from being happily alone to feeling lonely. Living in a mansion with a hot tub was nice when I put in a good day of work and could actually enjoy it, but also felt utterly irrelevant when I struggled to sit down and write.

My internal state matched the external environment. I was closed off and the only conversations I had were when people reached out to me. This winter’s record-breaking snowfall resulted in far more cloudy days (but also powder days!) than anticipated. My friend Maggie snapped a pic of me during a whiteout blizzard at Snowbasin which depicts the inside and the outside:

me: how am I gonna get down this mountain? also me: wtf am I doing with my life?

Recommended resource: When Our Fire Stops Burning by Steve Schlafman

Guiding question(s): What if doing great work requires you to be fully rested first? What if you could accomplish everything that you want without needing a tiny manager in your head?

phase 2: Craft & Process (April - June)

During this next phase, I began to find my groove, but I also traveled a ton. I was skiing until mid May and then immediately flew to Asia. The chaotic pace of life made it difficult to have a routine, but being far away allowed me to spend a lot of time listening to myself.

As April rolled around, I started to get more energy and more clarity. I’m not sure if it was the skiing in Utah or the surfing in Hawaii, but something shifted, in a good way. The days got longer and with more sunlight came more energy. Ski season ended in mid May and two days later I was on a flight to Seoul. After a speed run of the entire city during my 22 hour layover, I found myself in Thailand. As I sought refuge from the 100F heat, I wondered why the hell was I sitting inside a cafe writing blogs when I could be petting elephants or exploring temples. The tension between my work and the feeling that I should be doing touristy activities grew.

During the transition from ski season to a sweltering tour of Asia, I also took an online writing course. I think the decision to sign up in the first place indicated that I was ready to dedicate time and money to my craft. This might sound obvious, but I noticed that my writing improved when I put more effort in and sought out feedback. It felt empowering to know that great writing can be developed with consistency and dedication instead of a natural-born talent. The ceiling had been raised and I felt invigorated.

By the time I left Thailand and arrived in Indonesia, I was more familiar with the inner terrain of how I like to live and work. The distant time zones, rural luxuries of quietness, and physical isolation created the proper conditions for revelations to emerge. The lack of scheduled calls and friends still trapped in corporate lifestyles made it easier for me to do exactly what I wanted. Without the rush of a packed itinerary or a return flight booked, I settled into a magical routine of yoga, writing, and surfing. Immersed in presence, my worries about the future dissipated.

I returned home with renewed energy to keep honing my craft. During this phase, I also learned the simple, yet powerful idea to live one good day at a time.

left: polar plunge in Lake Tahoe, right: sunset in Lombok, Indonesia

Recommended resource: Growth Without Goals by Patrick O’Shaughnessy

Guiding question: How can I utilize my existing resources (rather than needing more) to feel abundance?

phase 3: Execution and Expansion (July - October)

Looking back, this phase clearly started once I came back to New York City. For the last four years, I’ve increasingly spent more time in this place where I feel highly ambitious and creative. Even though I’m in a different sublet each time, the energetic connectivity and diverse community welcomes me back home.

Returning to NYC with the contrast of SE Asia felt like an F1 driver shifting into high gear. My best days consisted of doing great work followed by a great workout. In theory, writing and exercising can be done from anywhere, so what was special this time? I think it was being in an environment that actively encourages and rewards ambition which amplified my intrinsic motivation. Living in NYC is often associated with an unhealthy (and expensive) lifestyle because of the nightlife and restaurant scene, but I had a different experience. I became the healthiest version of myself in July from hitting the gym everyday, cooking at home, and walking around everywhere.

August was jam-packed with visiting Chicago, a road trip to Washington and Wyoming, and a wedding in Berkeley. Throughout this time, I still stuck with the same publishing cadence of every other week for my climate newsletter, blog, and podcast. This rigid way of working led to competing desires to make the most out of the time in Seattle and Jackson Hole, but also feeling torn on the inside. I remember asking my mom to spend an entire day in Starbucks just to crank out a blog that was “due” the next day. I deeply enjoyed working on my own projects, but I also had trouble stepping away from them. This was especially noticeable when I opted to trail run 20 miles in one day instead of backpack for three days so that I could have more time to work. This summer, I had so much drive, but perhaps at times I was in overdrive.

The theme of execution (along with the lack of deep rest) continued when I returned to NYC and literally hit the ground running. I started to train for my first marathon before even registering. When all the spots for the NYC marathon were already filled, I committed to raise $3,000 which would guarantee me a spot. Marathon training didn’t add that much time since I was already fairly active before, but it certainly occupied more mind share than I had anticipated. Without a job, my calendar revolved around when I would run instead of when I had meetings. As someone who had never ran more than a 5k prior to training, I loved seeing my body adapt. The consistent growth in my physical conditioning was incredibly satisfying and carried over into other parts of my life.

Maybe it was the marathon training or just the principle of compounding in action, but I was feeling more confident in my work. Build in Climate started to grow, but the belief in it was driven more by internal measures of success rather than external metrics. Once I started to believe I was contributing in meaningful ways, I felt more comfortable with cold outreach. This led to several interviews with climate experts, but also other non-climate conversations. I learned that people respond well to genuineness and curiosity. I also learned that how open someone is to talk has little to do with their net worth, status, or job title. If anything, it was the most successful people who recognized the importance of having an uncluttered schedule and being receptive to open-ended conversations with a young guy simply trying to learn.

Working with one’s door closed lets you get more work done per year than if you had an open door, but I have observed repeatedly that later those with the closed doors, while working just as hard as others, seem to work on slightly the wrong problems, while those who have let their door stay open get less work done but tend to work on the right problems!
- Richard Hamming, You and Your Research

Recommended resource: How To Do Great Work by Paul Graham

Parting question: Who can help me and who can I help?

phase 4: Refinement and Return (November onwards)

Ironically, it took an intense burst of travel in November for me to feel grounded and return to a sense of wholeness. First, I went back to my hometown in the DC area to see friends, visit my childhood home, and attend a conference in honor of René Girard. Two days after I came back, I ran the NYC marathon. Another two days later, I went to Boulder for a climate leaders’ retreat. From the retreat, I flew directly to Costa Rica for what felt like the only true vacation of the year. Since I was flying basic economy (and wanting to unplug), I left my laptop in NYC and traveled with only a backpack. It was nice not having the mental baggage of my work, but one backpack for both snow-capped mountains and tropical beaches required some creative packing and strategic choice of airport outfits.

After returning to the city, I had about a month left before leaving for the holidays and ski season. Knowing that I’d miss the energy of the city and its people, I prioritized in-person hangouts, attended community events, and invited friends over for pancakes on a Sunday. In the past when I’ve left NYC, I’ve always wondered when exactly I’ll be back. This time felt different. I only took a carry-on and left the rest of my belongings with my friend, knowing that I’ll be back after a few months in the mountains.

As my first year on sabbatical comes to a close, things are finally starting to settle down and I can begin to see the throughline that connects everything. Some of the seeds that I planted at the start of the year are finally starting to bloom, while others have since wilted away. The thing is, there is no way to know which seeds will sprout. Like Rick Rubin said, “Sometimes the smallest seed grows into the biggest tree.” The only way to find out is to plant multiple and tend to them daily with water, sunlight, and love.

On the surface, it might seem like not much has changed and yet so much has. What I am doing may remain in continuity, but the way in which I move through life has forever changed. In many ways, I have come full circle. A year later and I am still researching climate, writing this blog, and entering ski season. I am refining my craft and returning to what has always been here. I am both the sculptor and the sculpture, forever chiseling away to find the essence of what makes me ‘me’.

The sculpture is already complete within the marble block, before I start my work. It is already there, I just have to chisel away the superfluous material.
- Michelangelo

NYC marathon → Boulder for retreat → views from our Airbnb in Costa Rica

Recommended resource: Mastery by Robert Greene

Parting question: What if you have to travel full circle in order to find the path that was in front of you all along?

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context

After recapping the year with a timeline format, I recognize that many of you may not understand how I actually spent all my time and what actually was my “work”. Before jumping into the key themes, here’s where everything stands:

🎙️ On the Rise
Abe and I launched our podcast on the first day of the year and have since published 23 episodes before deciding to put the pod on hold. My favorite episodes included learning about the gut microbiome with biotech founder Philip Strandwitz, riffing on writing, beauty, and privilege with writer Sherry Ning, and jamming on unconventional business tactics with smoothie tycoon Matt Shook. I learned how powerful conversations with inspiring people can be. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that after we recorded three episodes with endurance athletes, I ended up running my first marathon.

🌱 Build in Climate
Since launching in January 2022, I’ve published 23 long-form newsletters and remain deeply committed to this project. The intentional decision to publish less frequent, longer pieces is a disadvantage when it comes to growing an audience, but has also been a strength. Readers of BIC are experts in their respective domains and collectively have an outsized role to play in solving the climate crisis. In October, after ten months of consistency, the newsletter started to grow noticeably faster. In 2024, I’m excited to double down and experiment with new formats.

🏠 The Subletter
Jake and I met over Twitter in September and during our first call we realized we’re both passionate about better ways of living. In my case, I’ve been living without a lease for four years. In his case, he had just finished working on charter cities with Balaji and was also interested in subletting. Our approach to starting a marketplace for sublets has both obeyed typical startup advice, but also completely thrown it out the window. To get our first paying customer, we took “do things that don’t scale” to heart and manually made group chats.

But we also haven’t been working on this in the typical venture-backed way. For now, this is part-time for both of us. Even the way we work challenges the norm. I still have never met Jake, seen his face, or even know his last name. We’ve worked together for countless hours now and honestly I don’t mind audio-only calls. It gives me the freedom to pace around or get a breath of fresh air. One time, I even ran a few miles (at a decent pace too) while we were “working”.

✍️ Game of One
I’ve wondered before if I should still consider this blog a project of mine. At some point, I realized that I will be writing for the rest of my life. Having this channel to transmute thought into writing feels more like an extension of myself than something external. I intend to write this blog indefinitely as a curiosity vehicle for refining my ideas.

work

What even is work?
I found myself asking this question even before I quit my job. At the beginning of the pandemic, when the time spent commuting got converted to more Zoom calls, I questioned why the rigor of a job could expand without my consent. On the flip side, when I checked Slack messages and responded to emails from a chairlift in the middle of the workday, I wondered how I could be getting away with this, while acknowledging my partial productivity. Now, I’ve stopped viewing work and non-work as a binary and embraced working with multiple modalities. I prepare for interviews with climate founders by listening to a podcast on a leisurely stroll. I ski with “professional connections” (whatever that means) and we talk shop while riding the chairlift together.

Work as a form of self-expression
Work can mean many things. For some, work and play are antonyms and time is exchanged for a paycheck, just like any other transaction. For myself, work is an act of self-expression. I contain multitudes and my multiple projects reflect that.

The goal when I’m working is not to reach the end of my to-do list as quickly as possible so that I can clock out and grab beers with the boys. For me, work is not a means to an end, a series of stepping stones, or even an actual object. Work is a continuous process of getting closer and closer to the intersection of my skills and interests. With this orientation of work, making progress means that over time, work becomes more enjoyable, more fulfilling, and more impactful. It’s common to assess our performance based on job title and compensation progression. But that’s just a story that we tell ourselves. The story that I tell myself now is that as I get better at my work, I will enjoy it more and find more fulfillment in it, even if that means it gets harder or the financial rewards remain the same.

I wish someone told me that meaning is a far more powerful motivator than money. It is a lot easier to work hard on things you care about than work on things you don’t care about, even if the the former is pro bono and the latter is well compensated.

It may not be the most efficient or cost-effective process, but working on your own stuff for free is a great way to figure out what you’re interested in. By avoiding external incentives and doing someone else’s job, you will naturally follow your curiosity. I mean, how silly would it be to work for free on something you don’t actually care about?

Redefining impact
Crucially, the work must be your own. Not only is this important so that work becomes an act of self-expression. Ownership is also a prerequisite for making an impact. Knowing what I know now, it’s hilarious how so many people (including myself) walk into interviews saying that they want to “make an impact”. What does that even mean? For me, impact is something that’s felt, not measured. I learned this early on during my sabbatical. Writing a blog post and receiving messages of gratitude from random strangers on the internet felt more impactful than improving profitability for a business that moves billions of dollars. It fascinated me that improving the life of a single individual with my own work felt more tangible to me than affecting millions of users with A/B tests.

When faced with choices about what we want to do, most of us miss one important piece of the equation. We factor in all the risks and tradeoffs, but we completely discount how differently we will show up when we’re truly energized about something. When our whole being is fully invested, we tap into a superpower, and we can sustain that for a long time. You won’t tap into this power as long as you’re living someone else’s dream.
- Graham Weaver, How To Live An Asymmetric Life

Related essay: #48: The Future of Work is Intentional

money

Prior to quitting my job, I planned my entire sabbatical (and maybe even life) around money. Just like the Ptolemy thought the Earth is the center of the universe, I thought my life revolved around money. Earning, investing, saving, and spending money crowded my mind. Once I was actually living off of savings, I had my Copernicus moment and realized that money is just one of the many factors orbiting in my life.

This financial detox has reset my money microbiome. In the past, gluttonous splurging temporarily made me feel better. Now, I employ money for nourishment. Even though its relative importance has decreased, I appreciate money more now. I still want financial wealth and the safety and security that comes with it, but now I view it as an inevitable byproduct of following my curiosity and helping people.

You need less than you think
Leading up to quitting, I conservatively estimated that I would spend $5,000 a month. I based this off of my pre-sabbatical lifestyle which was the best approximation to anchor to at the time. In reality, this year, I’ve spent around $3,000 per month. I spent $500 during my least expensive month and $5,000 during my most expensive month with no noticeable correlation to overall happiness. This unexpected frugality happened without forcing my lifestyle through the constraints of a budget. I simply reduced spending on things that I no longer value and kept spending on things that I do value. As a result, my perceived quality of spending improved without any noticeable decrease in quality of life.

Value is assessed individually
I’ve never been drawn to fancy cars, designer brands, or lavish hotels. That doesn’t mean I’m allergic to anything with a high price tag. Even though my overall spending decreased, I still spent in ways that felt worth it to me. I dropped $700 on ski boots, but not without hours of research, price comparison, and precision boot-fitting. I bought $500 big-mountain skis after years of riding on the same all-mountain skis. In both cases, they were on sale.

My money beliefs were truly tested when I was in Chicago for Lollapalooza and Fred Again announced a last minute after-show. After securing two face value tickets for $75 each, we needed one more ticket. I debated sitting out so we could avoid shelling out on the resale market, but I’m ultimately glad we irrationally paid $350 for the third ticket. The concert was so good that I went in cold and sober and came out drenched in sweat (and still sober). I will never doubt Zumba as a legitimate form of exercise.

In November, I attended a two-day conscious leadership retreat in Boulder for folks in climate. I was hesitant to pay the $700 fee because it didn’t include transportation or lodging, but also because I didn’t know how to assess its value beforehand. The experience turned out to be transformational and brought me clarity in areas of my life that I didn’t know needed clarifying.

This year I also spent $300 to run 26.2 miles. That doesn’t include the gear, donations I made to my own fundraiser, or all the additional food I had to eat during prep just to recover sufficiently. I used to be skeptical about why people would spend so much time, money, and energy just to run many miles, but after running the NYC marathon, I get it. I felt so connected to the city and its beautiful people as I ran through the five boroughs.

It will be hard at times
I’ve been able to live how I want, but it’s not easy. In lapses of presence, I find myself fixating on the temporal nature of this period. Even if every day this year was perfect, I wouldn’t be able to live this way forever. Although I have enough runway to not worry about money for a while longer, I’ve wondered if I should look for jobs or consulting opportunities. In hindsight, these feelings of scarcity came when I was overwhelmed, distracted, or scared. Recognizing that my worries around money rarely ever have to do with money itself, I have begun to pay closer attention to my emotions and thought patterns. In the past, I’d numb myself with remedial spending in the form of drinking, shopping, and eating. Now I try to spot the wobbly domino and center it before it sets off a chain reaction.

A rich life doesn’t have to be expensive
This year, I skied over 60 days and traveled to Hawaii, Costa Rica, and Southeast Asia. I also visited Jackson Hole twice, first in January to ski and then in August to hike. People refer to it as the town where the billionaires are moving out the millionaires. I also lived in New York City, the most expensive city in the world, for four months. I could’ve bopped around hostels the whole time but that wasn’t the point.

My objective with my sabbatical is to maximize doing what I want given financial constraints, rather than minimize spending. Living this way necessitates tradeoffs. I got to see the fall foliage of Acadia National Park and microwaved hard-boiled eggs in our Airbnb’s garage for dinner. I skied in Salt Lake City for a week and brought my own coffee maker and oatmeal ingredients. I get to meet amazing people in NYC and I suggest we hang out at parks or hotel lobbies instead of restaurants. To the untrained eye, I might appear insufferable and cheap. I’d like to think I’m just getting closer and closer to what I actually want.

Related essays:

• #32: The Art of Spending Money

• #39: Reversing the hedonic treadmill

• #47: Types of Wealth & Debt

• #50: A rich doesn’t have to be expensive

uncertainty

Prior to satellite imagery, Google Maps, or the year 1492, cartographers labeled unexplored lands as terra incognita, or “unknown territory”. So much of my sabbatical has felt like navigating an inner map of myself. When I left my job, I was riddled with uncertainty. I didn’t know what to do, how I would make money, or even where I would live. Despite being steeped in uncertainty, things have so far unfolded far better than I could have predicted.

Uncertainty is not inherently bad, and yet we often mistake its property of obscurity for danger. It takes deliberate practice, but it is possible to become comfortable with not knowing. Wandering without a destination and working without a set schedule have shown me that great things can emerge without self-imposed boundaries.

Mapmakers also interchangeably labeled unknown regions with “Here be dragons.” Marking terra incognita with potential dangers of mythological creatures seems like a fitting analogy for what we often do to ourselves. We don’t know, so we tell ourselves fictional stories. We don’t know, so we don’t go. I still don’t actually know what will happen, but at least from one year of uncertainty, I still haven’t encountered any dragons.

Related essay: #46: Luck Emerges in Positions of Uncertainty

curiosity

Whenever I’m stuck wondering what to do next, I let curiosity be the tie-breaker. When deciding between one thing that sounds more intellectual with greater financial potential and another thing that I’m more curious about, I choose the latter. I stopped consuming investing-related content and instead read about mantis shrimp. This year, I haven’t touched my stocks, but I have touched a lot of grass.

Making $0 for an entire year is not something I’d recommend, but one of the benefits is not having to justify going on side quests and going down rabbitholes. When you can calculate your salary in dollars per hour, it’s easy to feel bad about doing things that you think are interesting, yet “useless”.

I’m here to tell you that you don’t need to suppress parts of yourself that you cannot assign a monetary value to. You can do whatever you want and you don’t have to be good at it or tell anyone. A hobby can just be a hobby - rather than something you mimetically puruse so you can add it to your “Skills & Interests” section on the last line of your resumé to impress interviewers. Rather than resist the invisible forces, lean into the gravitational pull of your curiosities. You’ll never know if a side quest turns into a main quest or if going down a rabbithole will lead you to Wonderland.

Recommended reading: The Mystery of Curiosity by Tom Morgan

health

I already prioritized my health and it’s even more important to me now
I came to this realization from experiencing the full spectrum. When I couldn’t move my left shoulder after a ski injury or when I strained my back and couldn’t even bend down to tie my own shoes, there was nothing I wanted more than to be healthy again. On the flip side, during marathon prep, I saw how the discipline and consistency of logging miles carried over into other parts of my life. Doing hard things in one pursuit has co-benefits for other domains.

Having good health is the ultimate resource
I used to think money was more important, but then I gave up my salary and not much changed. On my first day on sabbatical, I woke up and did the same thing as I did on my last day of work. I skied. I’m biased because most of my hobbies require physical movement, but even something sedentary like reading a book is more enjoyable when you feel well rested. When I look at my fun goals, being healthy is often a prerequisite and money is just a nice-to-have. You can’t ski wearing Moncler if your knees are busted, but you can still rip it even in hand-me-downs.

Psychological health is a type of health
When I was living in Hawaii, I had all the tools at my disposal to become the healthiest version of myself. I rose with the sun, practiced yoga, and surfed several times a week. I might’ve been physically healthy, but I also lacked a sense of direction. Without meaningful work, I didn’t feel whole. I learned that you can’t downward dog or surf your way out of a misaligned career. Leaving a job isn’t usually seen as an act of self-care, but if you consider doing meaningful work as a key pillar of wellbeing, it certainly can be. I might not stretch or surf nearly as often now, but I can confidently say I feel healthier than before.

Related essay: #49: A Painful Reminder

relationships

Quality > Quantity
Sharing online has shown me it’s not as hard as I thought to meet new people. When I was still doing landscape photography and making travel montages, I thought it would be cool to be an influencer so I could get brand deals and travel the world. Although the work I’m producing can still be considered content, I don’t label myself as a content creator because growth has never been the primary objective. I’m not trying to build an audience. I’m just taking the long and complex route to find fascinating people. I’ll take intimacy and privacy over virality and fame any day.

Some existing friendships drifted, which made room for new ones
I changed a lot this year. As I learned more about myself, it became clear who I wanted to spend more time with and sadly, who I didn’t vibe with anymore. On a positive note, the combination of floating around in no man’s land and embracing my quirk led to meeting like-hearted people interested FAFO is a proven strategy to finding the others.

Work friends can be just friends. Friends can help with work.
I have met people through professional origins and then we became friends afterwards. Conversely, friends help me with my work. When you work at a company, it’s nearly impossible to like all of your coworkers. When you work on your own, you can choose who to work with. Everyone can be your colleague. Every colleague can be a friend.

People want to help
For the first few months, I reached out to zero people, but also took over a dozen inbound calls. I didn’t realize you could just message random strangers and ask to talk. At first, I didn’t want to bother people with big audiences or successful careers so I started asking people who I thought wouldn’t turn me down. It turns out none of that matters. Even the most successful people will be glad you reached out and will be happy to chat if you approach them with genuineness, openness, and curiosity. Most of their calls are for pitching, selling, or investing. A meeting for learning is a refreshing switch up.

identity

Multiple projects to nurture multiple interests
Growing up, I was never in one singular friend group. I had Chinese friends, neighborhood friends, friends from sports, and friends from school. I was both confused and jealous of kids who had one core friend group. My friendships resembled a disjoint constellation and theirs looked like a neatly drawn circle.

With how modern society is constructed, most of us have one full-time job. Assuming that you actually like your job, the rest of your interests get distributed across your ‘non-working’ time. Compared to my friend groups and learning preferences, work felt like choosing one and deprioritizing the rest. In theory, I had plenty of time to nurture my hobbies, but in reality, I often didn’t feel like doing much after a long day of work.

Rekindling childhood joys
This year has led to a rediscovery and integration of previously neglected parts of me. I rekindled my love for the Food Network channel and experimented with new recipes this year. I restored my competitive drive by running my first marathon. I was competing with myself, but also, a friendly Strava rivalry never hurt anyone. Art used to be my favorite subject, but I stopped taking it because I thought I had to focus on other subjects. This year, I revived my creative side through reading, writing, and podcasting.

Integrating the many parts to feel whole
On the outside we might look like individuals, but we’re really a composition of interests and a family of parts. This requires tending to our passions and welcoming all parts of ourselves. Doing Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy led me to identifying parts of myself that have been acting out or feel neglected. I’ve learned how the part cares for me and how I can teach them new ways to exist.

When I quit my job as a product manager, I unconsciously repressed that part of me. I was actively running away from the past and didn’t want to return. I stopped reading Lenny’s newsletter and told people that I don’t think of myself as a PM anymore. However, in recent months, I’ve come full circle and realized how valuable the product skillset can be. Now, when I interview climate tech founders, I ask technical questions that probe deeper beyond what the typical tech journalist asks. Now, I’m more aware of the product skillset that I possess and am also more appreciative of my prior experiences. Rather than trying to bury the PM in me, I am now trying to give him a seat at the table.

Perhaps this is a pattern with career transitions, but maybe even broader in life transitions. When we depart our past life and are in the liminal period, we reject the old identity out of fear that we will return back to what we just left. Then as we make strides and gain clarity on the new chapter that we are stepping into, we no longer need to push away the past parts of ourselves. Instead, we can integrate them into this newer version of ourselves.

Related essays:

• #33: I'm not who I said I am

• #37: Authenticity is the compass

• #3: My struggles with Identity

looking forward

What served me before doesn’t necessarily have to serve me now. I am trading deadlines and schedules for trust and intuition. I’ll have to continuously create the conditions for great work to emerge rather than fixate on it directly.

When something doesn’t feel right, I intend to mix it up more often than staying stuck in my ways.

I intend to become an apprentice. Being an employee doesn’t resonate anymore, but neither does being a lone wolf forever. I could try to make it on my own, but my long-term ambitions call for upfront humility.

I will diligently treat healthy habits like sacred rituals.

I will balance focusing on existing projects and keeping the door open for serendipity.

I remain committed to helping solve the climate crisis.

I intend to travel less, but rest more.

I want to make money, but it’s different now. Instead of wanting to be rich, I want to support myself so I can keep living the way I want.

I am working towards becoming a kinder, more powerful version of myself.

Conclusion

This blog is titled “A Year of Zero” instead of “The Year of Zero” for a reason. This was the first, but it may not be the last year where I go without income. While this year did not come with financial reward, I received many gifts in other forms. I learned more about myself and what I want in leaps and bounds. My mom says I grew more this year than all of college combined.

I can’t say that I would encourage everyone to take a sabbatical. For many, it’s impractical and I am grateful to have had the opportunity. That said, if you’re already considering it, remember that the downside is capped and the upside is limitless. But take it all with a grain of salt. My story is still being written.

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If you enjoyed this or are interested in taking a sabbatical for yourself, check out my How To Quit Your Job guide. Let me know what ya think and if you have any ideas on how to make it better!

P.S. A BIG thank you to Cissy, Joe, Anant, Yash, Ketty, and Mom for editing 🙏