7 Life Lessons from 2023
Unlike previous years, this year’s post was both started and completed on the last day of the year. In some ways, the approach to this post is more or less representative of the way the second half of the year has gone for me: a little less planned than expected, yet more authentic as a result.
If last year was about being intentional, this year was about settling into new rhythms. A few months ago, I was feeling a little out of sorts (okay, not quite awake) as I was settling into my regular Sunday morning music gig. Despite having a click track, I just wasn’t getting into the groove of things. It took a little concentration, a little caffeine, and a little time to get me to the point where I could consistently play with the rest of the band. In the same way, this year had multiple moments where I had to recenter, reevaluate, and reprioritize in order to settle into the new rhythm of life.
As with my previous years’ reflections, this end of year reflection post is not about what happened, but instead about what I learned. It’s less about the successes and more about what worked and what didn’t when I felt stressed, overwhelmed, or overcommitted. I don’t want to focus on the highlights, but instead focus on what is hopefully a life journey that is slowly, organically growing in depth and breadth, a pool of wisdom that I can dip into in order to help others to navigate a similar path. (Or… a different path. As Catherine Aird says, “If you can’t be a good example, then you’ll just have to be a horrible warning.”)
And so with that, here are this year’s life lessons. (Note: a link to all of my previous years’ posts are at the bottom of the post.)
#1 Seasons come, and seasons go
A couple of years ago, one of my colleagues left Adobe to pursue an opportunity elsewhere. We had a 1:1 connection conversation via video before he left, and I said to him, “It’s been a privilege to journey with you for this season.”
He responded, “I like that! It’s only a season.”
Seasons move seamlessly one into another, which is why it’s a good phrase to represent another life reality: transitions. And for me, this year was surprisingly full of them. I transitioned one community group I was leading to the leaders I had been training up, and closed the second one. I started a third one when an opportunity arose. I shifted from one social media platform (Twitter / X) to another (Threads), connecting to brand new tech and creative communities as a result.
These transitions have not always been easy; for some of them, I needed to acknowledge the grief that comes with letting go of something that I really loved. And for others, I felt a profound sense of relief that the season had ended. But seasons change, people come and go, and that is the nature of life. I’ve learned to hold a little less tightly to my expectations of what the current season will look like, and instead embrace what comes with curiosity and anticipation.
#2 Long term investment in the next generation takes effort
I’ve been mentoring now for a few years, and it’s expanded to a new generation of leaders in their mid-twenties. At that age, I was given more or less free rein to start new communities, leading my peers into deeper relationships and holding a space for them to flourish together. And I recognize that the investment I had received back then, both in mentorship and opportunity, manifested itself in who I am today. I can draw a clear line between the formational experiences I had as a leader in my twenties and the leader I am today.
What I didn’t know back then was how much of an emotional investment it was to help me to realize this leadership potential. People had to invest time into me, partner with me, listen to my bright (and quite frankly, maybe idiotically ambitious) ideas, and provide resources for me. And as I’ve aged, I realize how much emotional energy it takes to keep up with much younger people whose personal energies are not as sapped with the burdens (and blessings) of older adulthood. I’ve come to more deeply appreciate those who invested in me at that precious time in my life, which has in turn reinforced my own desire to continue this practice of investment in younger leaders.
Through tough conversations, achieving personal goals, grad school applications, and just figuring out who they wanted to be when they grew up, the cost of emotional investment is something I’ve had to consider when I plan out my week. Don’t get me wrong — it’s abundantly worth it. But this long term goal takes a level of commitment and effort that I need to account for.
#3 Invest in your own intellectual growth
In one of the podcasts I follow, the host challenged us to read a book a month to improve our understanding of the world. Reading is one of the ways I relax, but I realized that I read voraciously the things I like, and basically avoid books that are intellectually challenging because, well, they’re work.
But there was wisdom in this challenge, and so mid-year, I began to read books that I would have just put off until I had more time. And… um… wow. I’ve had such interesting conversations based on what I’ve read, and brought one into a mentoring relationship to discuss at depth.
I ended up putting it aside through a busy time around the holidays (and NaNoWriMo), but I’m interested in continuing the practice this year and seeing where it brings me.
#4 Aggressively remove friction to healthy practices
I ran a couple of events at a local regional park this summer, and briefly contemplated getting a membership in order to get free parking. A colleague highly recommended it to me, telling me that at the very least, I’d be supporting the local regional park. I paid the money and got the parking pass. To my surprise, I’ve been to the park more often in just a few months than I had in the previous decade.
Addressing this one tiny bit of friction — removing the need to hunt for street parking outside the regional park — opened up a door for me to do something I really wanted to do: get outdoors more, both for my mental and physical health.
This makes me wonder what else I could remove as a barrier to the healthy practices in my life. What would I need to do in order to go to bed earlier, spend more time with friends and family, or achieve my creative or physical goals? Do I need to lay out a towel, set out some workout clothes, and fill the water bottles the night before in order to improve the chances I’ll work out first thing in the morning? I’m looking forward to applying this lesson more frequently in the future.
#5 Batch process as much as you can
In 2023, I got into a social media production cycle for two different non-profit organizations related to martial arts. I soon found myself trying to juggle two accounts, my own social media presence, my 6-day-a-week physical training schedule, mentoring, playing guitar for 30 Sundays, writing, running events, serving on the Board of Directors for one of the nonprofits, all on top of a full time job.
The only way I was able to survive was batch processing. Instead of setting up my recording gear every week to get a weekly video out the door, I recorded 4–5 weeks of content at a time and edited as frequently as I could. I created static content a few weeks at a time. Doing so cut down on the switching cost between the many things I’m investing in.
This batch processing expands to other areas of my life as well, such as meal prep.
#6 Settling into new rhythms takes time
2023 was the first full year of going back to a lot of in-person things, which came with the switching cost of commuting. Whether it was martial arts, work, friends, events, or more, I struggled to get into a sustainable cadence of work, sleep, exercise, nutrition, and relationship, without feeling like I was cheating one area of my life to give myself enough space to do something else.
What I learned from this year was that I needed to extend grace to myself throughout the process. I can’t just snap immediately into a new cadence of life; every new thing that I added to my plate, even temporarily, was a disruption to the momentum I’d previously built up. Instead, I needed to build slowly and be okay with failure as I did so.
#7 Recognize cognitive and emotional overhead
Most of this year was also trying to get my act together to hire and schedule some home improvement projects. I really didn’t gain traction until the last quarter of the year, and I continually felt like I was failing. Why was it so hard just to get one thing done?
In retrospect, I had to come to terms with not just the fact that I was busy, but the practice of settling into new rhythms itself took some cognitive overhead. I couldn’t just get to the various home improvement projects because I was juggling a number of other things, both personally and professionally. Family demands, investing in friendships and in mentees, financial management and event planning for nonprofits, and even my own creative pursuits weighed me down to the point where I just couldn’t do more. I’d found my limits…
… and that was okay.
I had forgotten, in the midst of my emotional self-flagellation, that my entire life, including these home improvement projects, was a holistic system, and I had prioritized something else instead of these specific projects. I had made the explicit choice and had selectively forgotten those choices when it came time to addressing another area of responsibility.
(For those of you who are concerned, I have most of the projects scheduled now.)
This year, I’ve gotten to know a number of new people, many of whom are dear to my heart now. One of them in particular lives life with a particular fierce tenderness that I not only have come to admire, but also deeply want to integrate further into my own life. How can I be passionate about the things that matter, and let go of the things that don’t? How can I be compassionate and tender with everyone I encounter, including myself?
As I look back on this year, I see many of us struggling to keep our metaphorical feet underneath us in a world ravaged by division, war, hurt, blame, brokenness, helplessness, politics, and a 24-hour social media and news cycle. All of us, perhaps, will still be struggling with balancing the needs of the world around us with our own emotional needs this upcoming year. Detaching seems like a betrayal of our corporate responsibility to witness and address larger systemic issues in our society. Laughter seems like a sin in the midst of the depth of suffering in the world and the tragedies that bombard us every day.
And yet here, on the precipice of a new year, we hope.
Tomorrow will just be another day, but a lot can happen in a year. And so we hope for, and work towards, and for some of us, we pray that, the world can be a step closer to the future we imagine, both for ourselves and for the next generation.
May 2024 be a year filled with learning, connection, and more importantly, hope.
- 2022 — being intentional
- 2021 — noticing
- 2020 — paradox of blessing and suffering
- 2019 — people over process
- 2018 — reaping the rewards of investments made
- 2017 — growing pains
- 2016 — transformation
- 2015 — pivot
Elaine is a principal product manager at Adobe. You can find her on Threads at @elainecchao. All statements in this essay are her own and do not reflect the opinions of her employer.
Photo credits
- Metronome by Rachel Loughman on Unsplash
- Tomato plants by Markus Spiske on Unsplash
- Barbell by Delaney Van on Unsplash
