2024年终总结 2024 Year-End Reflection

2024年我跨过了三十岁， 渡过了波澜起伏的一年，在和世界的碰撞中成长了很多。在2025年伊始，我想简单记录一下2024年的一些重要时刻。

1. 眼泪

2024年的第一个月我带着我的存在主义危机去了遥远的智利寻找答案，即便旅途是如此美好，我并没有找到我想要的答案。在我回到纽约后没过多久的一个周六深夜，我抱着小猫宝，在急诊室里嚎啕大哭，而在泪水里我找到了一点答案。

小猫宝是我23年底在公寓楼下的奶茶店门口捡到的，我回家路上遇到了她，小小黑黑的一个，声音却格外响，每遇到一个人，就扒着腿喵喵叫。我走到她跟前，她也走向我，然后我就把她带回了家。我知道自己没能力再养一只小猫，却找不到合适的领养人，最后前夫哥带走了她。前年跟前夫哥分手后，我坚持留下了邓紫茄和甘道夫，把这只小猫给他，也算是我的补偿。转眼到2024一月，小猫宝已经是个漂亮小姑娘，不是那个一点点小的煤球了，前夫哥要去波士顿过个周末，他便交给我带。然而周六早上，我发现小猫宝吐了好几段头绳出来，也不肯吃饭了。我火急火燎带她去做检查，医生说情况很不妙，肚子里还有好多异物，需要住院观察然后做手术取出来。而我和前夫哥也因为这件事情再次起了争执，夹带着从前的桩桩件件，相似的无法共同面对的困难，一起被翻了出来。

【小猫宝图片】

那天夜里，医生给我解释了下面需要做的手术，大概率要给小猫宝开膛破肚，医生说完离开，我抱着小猫宝，眼泪瞬间模糊了视线。小猫宝曾经那么热烈地走向我，期待我给她一个家。正如三年前，我如一只淋了雨的小猫，被前夫哥从前一段感情的泥沼中拯救了出来，我也以为我找到了家。诺大的急症室，深夜里只有零星几个医护人员，我无依无靠，在这深夜里，和小猫宝紧紧抱在一起，小猫宝承受着不该承受的痛苦，而我却什么都做不了，反而是小猫宝柔软的小身体和轻微的呼吸声，给了我慰藉。那一刻，我好想有一个人可以陪在我身边，来美国八年了，我自以为可以独自面对很多事情，可是还是难免有这样脆弱的时刻，想着，如果有这样一个人，可以抱抱我，说别怕，有我在，一切都可以解决的，该多好啊。而曾经我以为会有的那个家，早已如海市蜃楼，烟消云散。我哭了很久很久。

这一年的经历，让我终于明白，这个我苦苦寻找的家就在自己的脚下。

2. 探索

2024是充满冒险的一年，一月去了智利徒步，三月去了罗马尼亚和巴黎，六月去了缅因，七月去了坎昆考了潜水证，十月去哥本哈根开会，十一月底去了日本旅居了一个月。

2024年也是向内探索的一年，不知不觉尝试了很多新的东西，一月份开始学习爵士钢琴，学习乐理和即兴，进步即便缓慢也掌握了一些有用的工具让我享受创造音乐的乐趣。年初在健身房认识了一个很好的攀岩老师，本来我是一个完全乱爬的小白，在老师的点拨下算是入了门。今年还开始主动组织一些聚会，约朋友见面，扩大社交圈。在探索中，我在努力让自己活在当下一点。

【徒步和潜水照片】

这两年，事业停滞不前，曾经充满激情的工作渐渐变得索然无味，于是我从前年开始就积极地寻找工作以外可以停靠的载体。我是一个容易想很多的人，这些想象，有时令我兴奋，有时令我畏惧。曾经这个特质让我获得了很多优势，我很有主见，在学业和人生选择上，我从来都很知道自己要什么。我很有想法，在工作中是解决问题的好手，许多同事需要不断试错的棘手设计问题，在我这里只要脑子里过一遍，就能出现很不错的解法。我在生活里也是能给别人出主意、对世界很有自己见解的有趣的人，因此也吸引了很多有趣的朋友。

而随着我成长到了三十岁，在和这个世界的不断碰撞中，也许是遇到的困难越来越复杂，我发现自己经常在过度思考中踟蹰。在岩壁上迟迟出不了手，在工作中畏惧改变。有一天我录下了自己的一段钢琴即兴想记录一下我的学习成果，弹完一曲我本得意洋洋认为自己弹出了一些挺好听的段落。而在我看到视频时，我发现我的手指依然在琴键上犹豫地挪来挪去，本来以为流畅的旋律也在视频中显得如此单薄无聊。那是一首并不复杂的歌，明明和弦已经非常熟悉，我的手指还是把我内心的恐惧展示地一览无余。我回顾过去努力做的各种事情，看不到我满意的成果，一下子觉得自己什么都做不好了，于是我的朋友发来消息说“你这是什么做题家思维”。

是啊，我骤然发现长久以来，我的努力并不是为了我自己，而是为了赢得他人的喜爱，我的成就越是多，我心中的越是不安。我曾经以为，我是一个异见主义者，并且极度讨厌精英主义那一套，而回看自己的成长轨迹，我确实依然做着“好学生”该做的事情。我好好学习，不是因为我对读书有多么渴望，而是如果我不是成绩前列的班干部、三好学生，我就会觉得很丢脸。我来美国留学，不是因为我多么喜欢这个国家对这个学科多么热爱，而是我知道优秀的人都在走这条路来美国做体面的工作，我不加入这些人我好像就不够优秀。前几年我拼了命的工作，出了车祸脖子肌肉痉挛还是要坚持出差，就是为了给老板留下好印象，让同事和领导看到我是“合格的”，而不是一个侥幸因为公司被收购而加入这个公司却能力不够的累赘。

我真的喜欢我的工作吗，喜欢弹琴吗，喜欢攀岩吗，喜欢写作吗，还是我只是觉得可以做这些事情的自己，才值得获得他人的喜爱呢。

写到这里，也许我对自己太过残忍了，我回想无数个夜晚我一个人弹着琴，远处灯火阑珊，我随着节奏摇摆，即便我在不知不觉中丢了好多个和弦，进拍子时快时慢，我还是会自顾自笑出来。我从小学就开始写作，即便断断续续，有时候好几年提不起笔，在我陷入低谷的时候，我还是会走向写作，不是吗。

所以享受过程吧，2025年，我想要放手，少思考，多行动。

English Version Translated by ChatGPT, Edited by me

In 2024, I stepped into my thirties and navigated a year filled with ups and downs, growing through my collisions with the world. As 2025 begins, I want to take a moment to record some of the most important moments from the past year.

1. Tears

In the first month of 2024, carrying my existential crisis with me, I traveled all the way to Chile in search of answers. But even though the journey was breathtaking, I didn’t find what I was looking for. Not long after returning to New York, on a late Saturday night, I found myself in the emergency room, holding Sesame in my arms, sobbing uncontrollably—and in my tears, I found a glimpse of an answer.

Sesame was a tiny black kitten I found in late 2023, right outside the bubble tea shop near my apartment. She was small, dark, but had an unusually loud voice, meowing desperately at every passerby, clinging to their legs. When I walked toward her, she walked toward me. And just like that, I took her home. I knew I wasn’t in a position to care for another cat, but I couldn’t find the right person to adopt her. In the end, my ex-boyfriend took her in. After we broke up in 2023, I had insisted on keeping Tomato and Gandalf, so giving him this little kitten felt like a way of making amends.

By January 2024, Sesame had grown into a beautiful young cat, no longer the tiny ball of coal she once was. My ex was heading to Boston for the weekend, so he left her in my care. But on Saturday morning, I noticed she had vomited several hair ties and wasn’t eating. Panicked, I rushed her to the vet. The news wasn’t good—there were still foreign objects in her stomach, and she needed surgery. This incident led to yet another argument between my ex and me, dragging up old wounds—those familiar, unresolved difficulties we could never face together. One by one, the past resurfaced. 

That night, the vet explained the procedure to me—most likely, they would have to open her up. After the vet left, I held Sesame close, my vision blurring with tears. She had once run toward me so eagerly, hoping I would give her a home. Just like three years ago, when I was like a rain-drenched stray cat myself, rescued from an emotional swamp by my ex. I, too, had thought I had found a home.

In the vast emergency room, past midnight, only a few medical staff lingered. I felt completely alone, clutching Sesame as she endured a pain she never should have known, and I—powerless—could do nothing for her. Ironically, it was her soft little body and the faint rhythm of her breathing that comforted me.

At that moment, I wished so badly that someone could be there for me. I’ve been in the U.S. for eight years, thinking I could handle everything on my own. Yet moments like this still caught me off guard. If only there were a shoulder to lean on, someone to hold me and say, “Don’t be afraid, I’m here. We’ll figure it out together.” But the home I once thought I had was nothing more than a mirage, long gone.

I cried for a long, long time.

And through everything that followed this year, I finally understood—the home I had been searching for was right beneath my own feet.

2. Exploration

2024 was a year of adventure. In January, I hiked in Chile. In March, I traveled to Romania and Paris. In June, I visited Maine. In July, I went to Cancún and got my scuba diving certification. In October, I attended a design conference in Copenhagen. At the end of November, I spent a month living in Japan.

It was also a year of inward exploration. Without realizing it, I tried so many new things. I started learning jazz piano in January—music theory and improvisation. Even though progress has been slow, I’ve picked up enough tools to truly enjoy creating music. Early in the year, I met a great climbing coach at the gym. I used to climb completely blindly, but with his guidance, I finally found my footing.

This year, I also took the initiative to organize gatherings, meet new people, and expand my social circle. In all this exploration, I was learning how to live more in the present.

For the past two years, my career has been stagnant. The work I once felt passionate about has gradually lost its spark. So, starting two years ago, I began actively searching for something outside of work to ground me.

I tend to overthink. My imagination excites me sometimes, but other times, it paralyzes me with fear. In the past, this trait gave me an edge—I was decisive, always knowing what I wanted in my studies and in life. I was creative, a natural problem solver at work. Many design problems that my colleagues struggled through with rounds of trial and error—I could usually solve them in my head within minutes. In life, I was the one offering advice, the one with my own perspectives on the world, attracting equally interesting people into my life.

But as I entered my thirties and encountered increasingly complex challenges, I started hesitating—overthinking on the climbing wall, fearing change at work.

One day, I recorded a video of myself playing an improvised piece on the piano, hoping to track my progress. I had been proud of myself, thinking I had played some decent melodies. But when I watched the video, I noticed my fingers hesitating, moving cautiously over the keys. What I thought was smooth and expressive sounded thin and lifeless. It was a simple song—chords I knew well—yet my hands had betrayed my fear.

Looking back at everything I worked on this year, I couldn’t find a single result I was satisfied with. For a moment, I felt like I wasn’t good at anything.

Then a friend messaged me and said, “Why are you thinking like a test-taker?”

And they were right. I suddenly realized that for so long, I hadn’t been striving for myself—I had been striving for approval. The more I achieved, the more insecure I felt.

I had always thought of myself as a nonconformist, someone who rejected elitism. But looking at my life, I was still following the “model student” script.

I studied hard, not because I had a deep love for learning, but because I couldn’t stand the thought of not being a top student, not being the class leader, not being someone people admired.

I came to the U.S. for grad school, not because I loved this country or felt passionately about my field, but because I knew that’s what “successful” people did—come to the U.S., get a prestigious job. If I didn’t follow that path, would I still be good enough?

For years, I worked myself to the brink, even after a car accident left my neck in spasms—I still forced myself to travel for work, just to prove to my boss and colleagues that I belonged here, that I wasn’t some lucky accident benefiting from a company acquisition.

Do I actually love my job? Do I love playing piano, climbing, writing? Or do I just love the idea of being the kind of person who does those things—because that person is worthy of love?

Maybe I’m being too harsh on myself. Because I remember those nights, playing the piano alone, the city lights twinkling in the distance, swaying to my own rhythm. Even when I hit wrong notes, even when my timing was off, I still laughed at myself.

I’ve been writing since elementary school, on and off. And whenever I hit a low point in life, I always find my way back to writing. Isn’t that proof enough?

So in 2025, I want to let go. Think less. Act more. Enjoy the process.