Joy at Work. From Life.
I found myself falling into a crafting pattern -- the stir of interest happened once a year. I'd find it healing but abandon it soon because it's impractical. Usually at the end of the year, my creativity peaked and I'd pick up something for a few days, convinced that it would help me decompress. Better yet, it would become my passion and even a side gig income. Cross-stitching, embroidery, knitting: I had a drawer full of tools and materials that I used once a year and also kept as a collection.
They served a good purpose when I needed them the most in my life.
In 2020, I was upset and sad because I had left my two then-one and three-year-old children in Taiwan because we were worried about uncertain childcare availability due to covid. Handing them to my husband and my hometown family was the best option, freeing us from further damaging our pursuit of graduate degrees. Sewing all of my frustration and misses into the sheer piece of cloth, a heartfelt creation was born.
In 2021, I cross-stitched another one, this time featuring my lab members who played an important presence during my PhD program. I also started coloring almost every day, which coincided with the approach of the around-the-corner defense. Following my defense, all tools were, predictably, put away and were nowhere to be found.
Work made from 2020 and 2021.
The chase of handcrafting persisted for as long as I can remember, whether through DIY or attending classes. I wasn't sure what I was looking for. For the name of a hobby that could be shared with a group of new strangers. A passion that I could nurture outside of my formal career. Or a side gig that I hoped would click, generating income and I could call myself an artist or a business owner.
This year, or since the end of the last year, this pattern started to shift. More precisely, the way I see and feel about it shifted.
A long-needed deep quieting
During the end-of-year holidays, when things at work calmed down, I'd have the brain bandwidth to process my thoughts, and feelings, and shape the future me. I'd also become active on my social media -- this newsletter was created during this phase in 2023! This mental clearing week was particularly satisfying and recharging for me. I even wrote in my journal, "I'm worth and want to get a week away for every quarter day of working. Every corporate soul should do that."
Last December, I first started coloring. Ignoring the various styles of coloring pens I already keep, I instead purchased another fine set of water paintbrush pens and a cute animal coloring book. Almost every night for half an hour, I immersed myself in coloring, allowing my thoughts to come and leave. Like the more the merrier, soon I dug out the boxes of floss and needles, prepared to spend hours on the embroidery just to fill a corner of textures.
Now that it's the end of January, when the ritual usually disappears, I'm returning to formal working mode. Only this time, the routine lasted a little longer. I had no desire to stop and wanted to continue growing, and I felt bare pressure to pursue such an impractical and non-skill-building exercise.
Last December happened to be the time I settled down the decision to resign and pursue another career path. Between the old and new jobs, this annual routine became a carrier of refreshing my fear and faith. I found myself having been burned out for a while.
A portion of pen collections that I have no intention of giving up but to increase the capacity.
A page of coloring on the cozy animal life that I envision for my future self, integrated into whatever the 'real' formal professional life may be.
Hidden rules and hidden joy
As my previous article alluded, I feared the unforeseen 'consequences' of the change of identity, even though I believed it's a much-needed step. Stepping away from lab bench work was not something I randomly decided. I have been navigating a path where I feel fulfilled, dynamic, challenged, and comfortable for at least a year or two. And this is merely the life and career decision I made after PhD. Previously, the decision to pursue another advanced degree after working in the engineering industry, living in a foreign country, and the changes of becoming a mom, the seeking to be a journalist. Every identity shift came with challenges and hurdles, but also with tons of joy.
But I slowly lost the ability to enjoy -- the big achievements and the little things. I could feel that, but I refused to acknowledge it, which led to tears, blame, and indifference. At the point when I constantly talked to myself like this, I knew there's a problem.
"The sun feels warm outside. Why am I not out there but to be confined and to work until it's time," when I used to pack myself to take a quick break but I lost interest in taking action.
"This thing has no impact. It probably doesn't matter to the leadership. And I probably won't care whether it's done or not done," when 'the thing' used to get me pumped no matter the external label of impact and reach.
"You need to inspire and influence, take on complex responsibilities, gain visibility, and network harder. More. More so you can advance!" while I believed I had already brought these to the table.
When it hit reality that the path and rule forward were pretty much set, it felt like being handed a shovel to dig yourself into a pigeonhole. I was puzzled and felt funny.
The balance between looking for certainty and excitement, risk and pivot, and framework and freedom is on a fine line. There's no right nor wrong answer to which path you take or let go. It's actually OK to many decisions and changes.
A joy of work worth tens of hours of making. I framed this up and to serve as our family reminder.