Answer

"Losers are those who refuse to get lost."

I was supposed to write a piece about my personal history with food, but I had an emotional breakdown yesterday. So, I’m going to park that piece for now and instead share something more raw.

A couple of days ago, I finalised my About page. In it, I used the word Answer and described times when I feel I’m so close to the answers or truths of life. And then I paused—what do I actually mean by Answer? Do I even believe such a thing exists?

Honestly, I’m not sure.

But I do know those fleeting moments—the ones where you feel so close to the truth, so close to something that makes everything make sense. I’ve had them, and it’s those moments that have shaped the path I’m on now. They feel like walking through fog and seeing a faint light ahead. You can’t make it out completely, but it glimmers just enough for you to think, That’s it. Those moments are sporadic—sometimes I feel lost, and other times I feel right on the edge of clarity.

Two or three years ago, those moments started becoming stronger, more frequent. I felt like I was finally in the right place. I had left a toxic relationship, started a new job, moved into a new home. Covid had passed. I met M. I still don’t fully understand what was happening then, but it felt like something grand was arriving—something that was the answer itself. That feeling pushed me to start searching for it more intentionally.

Here’s how that search has unfolded so far (please be kind as this is actually really vulnerable for me):

I spent some time hoping someone could enlighten me. I thought someone might already know the answer or at least guide me toward it. Not in a spiritual sense, but as if there was a mature tutorial I could follow in the most effective way. I started seeing a life coach, someone with a more holistic approach rather than a focus on career or specific goals. Most of our sessions felt like therapy, but I kept hoping she’d point me toward it. Did she? I’m not sure. Either there isn’t an answer, or maybe I’m just not ready to receive it.

There was a period of time I was saying yes to everything and everyone. I wanted to open myself up to the world. I said yes to most invites—coffee chats, networking events, parties, dinners. I even started a project called Chat with Ting, where I committed to letting things happen without judgment. I made a lot of friends and had many valuable experiences. But in the end, I still didn’t feel fulfilled.

I was also believing financial independence was the key. I thought, If I can save or make enough money, I’ll create the freedom to do what I truly want. I focused on saving (since earning more wasn’t an option) and explored ways to work toward financial independence. That freedom didn’t come, and neither did the answer. But during this time, I read a lot of books I’d previously dismissed because of my own narrow-mindedness. I sorted through many ideas and concepts I had already known, but this time they felt clearer and more convincing. I completely shifted my mindset—letting go of this idea that I was special but broken, or romantic but miserable.

What’s my current stage? This one in essence has two parts: one becoming physically strong and two living a minimalist lifestyle while continuing to create and learn. Why these two? Intuitively and conceptually they feel aligned with my values. I believe a strong body will carry me further, and I’ve always felt peace in the process of creating and learning. It’s not about chasing something external anymore—it’s about clearing space, both within and around me, for what matters most.

Right now, I have a solid workout routine and a growing curiosity about my body, my potential, and the methods that might take me to places I can’t yet imagine. Whenever I have free time, I’m reading, writing, or planning my next steps. I’ve stepped away from social media, especially when I catch myself consuming instead of creating. I only meet up with people who feel intuitively right or whose presence feels meaningful. Don’t get me wrong—I know I’m the last person who could ever become a cold-hearted utilitarian. One of my most deeply held values is love and connection. But for now, I’m focusing on restoring my energy and building the closest connection with myself, so I can bring something real to my connections with the world. I feel good about this—most of the time. But after saying no to so many things, deleting social media, and quieting the noise, I’ve noticed something unsettling.

It’s so quiet.

On one hand, I find peace in this quiet. On the other, it shakes me. I start to doubt. What if no one comes into my life anymore? What if I don’t find anything on this path? What if I’m losing the essence of life?

This doubt exhausts me. Trying to follow this path while constantly questioning it makes me swing between extremes—being overly sensitive one moment, then completely numb the next. Both states leave me caught in this spiral of self-consciousness.

Yesterday, I broke down.

My partner and I were supposed to go to a party (a party themed Cyber). I spent two days preparing—mentally and physically, even crafting the perfect outfit. We ate dinner early and waited to leave. But as the hour came, I collapsed. I couldn’t go. I was exhausted.

Exhausted from waiting for something I knew didn’t matter but couldn’t admit didn’t matter.
Exhausted from being busy with nothingness.
Exhausted from crafting narratives to stay sane, when maybe I wouldn’t need them if I stopped the inner debates altogether.
Exhausted from trying so hard to be with myself while somehow failing to actually be with myself.

I told my partner I couldn’t go. I went to bed and cried.

He hugged me for so long. He didn’t ask questions, just kissed me and told me how much he loved me. He told me how amazing I was.

Then I urged him to go, as that was his best friend’s birthday party. I stayed in, felt so failed, and then I fell asleep.

As today I feel much better, I just read the new post Losers from Ask Molly, a sentence convinced me to post this piece.

Losers are those who refuse to get lost.