Anvi C.
Photography by Satya Yalamanchi
If you’re reading this, take the time to get to know yourself.
I think one of the coolest things about life is time—the more you live, the more you experience. And what’s cool about time is that once you’ve lived through an experience, you will have experienced it. Yes, that’s a circular statement, but I think that’s the point. The “living” is what’s so cool about life. And the more you live, the more you have your very own set of unique experiences; the more you become unique, the more you become you.
As cool as time is, it’s also scary.
We’re always battling time—whether it’s not having enough of it or losing it—so much so that we get addicted to filling it up. It’s easier to work all the time, or sleep, or go out, or just do shit in general. It’s easier to do shit than be shit. It’s easier to run, but no matter where you go or how far, you’ll always run into yourself. The you in the present is all you’ll ever really have.
The present is a time of reconciliation—a meeting point of who we grew up as and who we want to be—and it’s scary. In a way, just existing in the present can feel like both losing yourself, a past self, but not being able to catch up to yourself, a future self.
I remember during quarantine, especially the beginning, I was all over the place. I had so much time and nothing to do. So I did everything. Movies, shows, podcasts, books, social media, music—I was so overstimulated from “doing.” So at the end of the day, I’d lie awake in bed for no reason whatsoever. By “no reason whatsoever,” I mean no productive reason. No “doing-related” reason. Really, I think I’d lie awake because I needed to do nothing. My mind had been buzzing around all day, and this was finally a time to turn it all off. Sleep didn’t count; I just wanted some time to spend with myself and my thoughts.
So I began journaling. In some ways, it started out as a “doing” activity. I felt like someone was looking over my shoulder and judging. I was writing for someone else. But the more I did it, the more my journal became synonymous with my thoughts and feelings. It was less “doing” and more “being.”
If I’m being honest, none of this writing was newly written for an “if you’re reading this” letter. These are little pieces of my journal that I’ve strung together.
It’s not perfect or even refined. I don’t journal every day, and even when I do, it’s not pretty. I don’t sit down at my desk every night or meditate before I write. I don’t write down five things I’m grateful for or five things I’m looking forward to. I don’t have any sort of structure, at all, whatsoever.
For me, it’s more just about talking to myself and getting my thoughts out. I’ll admit, there are days when my journal looks more like a to-do list than anything. There are days of trivial rants, of hyper-self-criticism, of irrationally meticulous schedules of tomorrow. And then there are days of experiences, of storytelling, of feeling. I get to write about something and work through it in real time—an event, a conversation, a feeling. And I really do get something out of it. A new idea, a new perspective, a new emotion—a new present.
I don’t really know if journaling has made me a better person, but I know that it has made me a better friend to myself. I have my back now, because I know myself a little bit better. I know more about how I think, how I grow, and how I exist in time.
Anvi C., Duke University
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