Recently at work, I’ve been called “sir” more times in the past two days than I have in the last six months. New year, new masc energy?
I was joking with my coworkers that I don’t think I’ve done anything differently, other than allegedly looking like my coworker Brian, who is… a totally different kind of Asian than me. Honestly, I don’t know who should be more offended. Me or Brian. 😂
I joked to my boss that maybe I’m just exuding a lot of big D energy lately. To which my boss, a gay man, immediately replied, “That’s why I’m so attracted to you.”
Honestly. Iconic.
No one ever says, “For my New Year’s resolution, I’m going to be less active, gain 30 pounds, and really commit to being cruel and insensitive.”
Probably because we already spent most of the year perfecting being tired, busy, overstimulated, and occasionally unfeeling jerks. Uncomfortable, but not inaccurate.
I’d like to think that, in my own small existence, I try to be a better person every day of every year. I don’t need resolutions to be unhealthy or mean. That happens effortlessly. Being kinder, healthier, more present, more loving, more intentional, more courageous? That actually takes effort. It takes work.
So maybe we stop waiting for January 1 to be better humans. If we want to be happier, healthier, more connected, more mindful, more grateful, more useful in the world, the best time to start is always right now. At this very moment. Let’s at least try to be more kind. More soft. More gentle.
This last year has been about letting go of old versions of myself and paying closer attention to who I am now. Not in a dramatic rebirth way. More like a quiet recalibration.
For the record, I’m doing well. I’ve been back in Rochester for over a year now, living a familiar life with a very different mindset. Same place. New lens.
A lot of this year has been spent rethinking what it actually means to be friends. Who shows up. When they show up. And how much it matters when they do. Sometimes we find ourselves in people’s lives exactly when we’re supposed to be there. The real choice is whether we tap into the magic of that serendipity or keep moving through life on autopilot. Whether we risk making the unthinkable real or stick with what’s comfortable and familiar.
I read The Alchemist in my early thirties during a period of deep soul-searching around identity and purpose. What stayed with me wasn’t the romance of the journey, but the reminder that the treasure we’re chasing is often where we started. The quest matters, but it begins with us and ends with us.
Along the way, we meet different people. Different characters. Eventually you realize they’re all mirrors. Different versions of ourselves, showing up to help us understand who we are and what we actually want from this one strange, ordinary, beautiful life we get to live.
Life is weird. Growth is quieter than we expect. And sometimes coming full circle is the whole point.
Every day is a new day to do better.
New year. Same you.
Cheers. 🍻❤️
Updated: Dec 29, 2025
I was talking to Kimi on the phone the other night, and she was genuinely excited because she ordered a box of string cheese. In bulk. She’s hoping it’s over a hundred pieces. She swears it’s the best mozzarella string cheese she’s ever had, and the pure joy in her voice was unmistakable. I love this for her.
There’s something quietly beautiful about that kind of happiness. The kind that comes from a simple pleasure, especially for someone who has worked hard, lived fully, and understands that life isn’t always about big milestones. Sometimes it’s about accepting that this is living. Finding joy where you can, when you can.
With the New Year approaching, it reminded me of another New Year’s Eve over twenty years ago. It was 2004, and Kimi and I were at a friend’s New Year’s Eve party in San Francisco. The kind where everyone is slightly drunk, overly sentimental, and pretending they’re totally fine standing in someone else’s kitchen, clutching champagne glasses, waiting for midnight.
As midnight crept closer, Kimi casually mentioned that the woman she had just started seeing was at a club across the city. We were somewhere in the Castro. The woman was at Fairy Butch. Somewhere in the Mission. Because of course she was. That single sentence turned the night into a romantic emergency. Because we were romantics back then.
Suddenly, this was no longer a party. This was a sapphic Mission Impossible, with fewer explosions and zero Tom Cruise. Tess and I immediately agreed that the only acceptable outcome was Kimi kissing this woman at midnight. We started making excuses to leave that were dramatic, unnecessary, and deeply unconvincing. Someone needed cigarettes. She didn’t smoke. Someone forgot something important. I think I finally just announced, “We have to go. Kimi needs to kiss this girl,” as if that explained everything.
We said rushed goodbyes and bolted. I had recently rewatched Notting Hill, which explains a lot.
This was 2004. There was no Google Maps. No calm voice rerouting us. There was only our collective, deeply unreliable knowledge of San Francisco streets and Tess, who drove like a New York cabbie with someplace urgent to be and absolutely no patience for nonsense. She said she could get us there. Trust her. We did.
We piled into the car with fifteen minutes to spare, watching the clock inch toward midnight, fully aware this could go sideways at any moment. Tess made aggressive turns, treated yellow lights like friendly suggestions, and rattled off street names from memory. We shouted directions based on vibes and half-remembered shortcuts. Left here. No, not that left. Okay fine, this left. Traffic was chaos. Streets were blocked. The city felt like it was actively working against us. At some point we accepted that the only viable plan was to drop Kimi at the curb, shove her toward the club, and let destiny sort it out.
We screeched to a stop outside Fairy Butch with minutes to spare. Kimi and I jumped out and disappeared into the line. Tess and her girlfriend at the time went to find parking and ended up kissing in the car at midnight, which feels right. Kimi sprinted inside, adrenaline fully engaged. Now all she had to do was find one woman in a packed club before midnight.
No pressure.
That night, the universe was on our side.
Against all odds, they found each other. They kissed as the ball dropped. And 2004 became 2005, and in that moment we were absolutely convinced we had personally intervened in fate.
I wish I could say they lived happily ever after, however they were together for eight years. Kimi’s breakup with the woman she once kissed at midnight was painful. As breakups usually are. But now she’s happily single and finding genuine joy in string cheese, which is honestly abso-fucking-lutely wonderful for her.
Time has taught me this, having beautiful memories with someone doesn’t mean you forget why the relationship ended. Sometimes people love each other and still aren’t ready for each other. Sometimes timing matters just as much as feelings. And that’s okay.
What I know now, and what I’m carrying into this New Year, is simple:
Don’t stay where you’re not wanted.
Don’t beg someone to choose you.
Don’t make yourself smaller to be loved.
You deserve to be with someone who cherishes you. Someone who chooses you freely, again and again. Someone who would race across the city just to kiss you at midnight. And who has a best friend who wants that kind of love for you, too.
You are not an extra in your own life. You are the main character. You are the prize. And that person willing to run across the city? They’re out there. Don’t settle for anything less while they’re on their way.
Take care of yourselves and take care of each other!
I stumbled across an old blog post, I wrote back in 2002. When I was twenty-eight and still trying to figure out what love was supposed to feel like. I didn’t know then that I was already questioning the version of love I had inherited, the one shaped by fear, scarcity, and the old idea that you had to earn affection by giving parts of yourself away.
At fifty-one, I see things through a different lens. bell hooks reminded us that “Love is an act of will, both an intention and an action.” But intention and action require vulnerability, and vulnerability is something a lot of people avoid like it’s a global pandemic. We live in a world where everyone is terrified of being seen for who they actually are, terrified of saying “I want this” and risking someone saying “I don’t.” And yes, that feeling is awful. Rejection stings. Judgment stings.
But hiding from connection has a cost too.
Decolonizing love means unlearning the idea that we have to perform worthiness or hide the softest parts of ourselves to stay safe. It means being brave enough to show up anyway. It means choosing people who meet us with clarity and consistency, and letting go of those who only meet us with confusion or fear.
I’m not looking for a love that demands sacrifice or makes me smaller. I’m looking for a connection where two people stand fully in themselves and still choose each other. It’s not impossible, but we’ve been taught to believe love must be all-consuming, binding, suffocating. That isn’t love. That’s manipulation. That’s control. That’s something else entirely.
Love should feel expansive. It should feel like freedom, not containment. Honesty, not mind reading or code-breaking. Courage, not avoidance. Not hiding.
And here’s the thing I’ve learned after all these years, don’t waste your heart on people who can’t hold it. But also don’t let the fear of being misunderstood keep you from offering it to someone who actually can.
We talk a lot about protecting our peace, our energy, our boundaries, and that matters. But protection isn’t the same as isolation. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is step toward the person who makes you feel seen, even if your hands aren’t steady.
Love might not be guaranteed. Nothing is. But if you trust yourself to seek what brings joy, what makes your heart sing, what helps you grow into your best self, the whole world shifts. Love isn’t about ownership, it’s partnership. Two people sharing something magical, mystical, beautiful, and real.
Connection isn’t guaranteed. But if you build your life around honesty, courage, and reciprocity, the right people will recognize themselves in your words, your actions, and your intention.
Maybe that’s what I couldn’t articulate at twenty-eight. Maybe it took living, breaking, healing, and trying again to understand, a decolonized love is one where you choose with your whole chest, not recklessly, not carelessly, but bravely, because some people are worth the risk.
And if it’s meant for you, it won’t need forcing, convincing, or negotiating. It will come in clarity. And it will stay in truth.
As above, so below. Take care of yourselves, and take care of each other.