2022 year in review

I can’t believe 2022 is over. These past twelve months confirmed my previous suspicion that each year goes by faster than the last. I suppose that shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise since our perception of time is relative. We experience each moment in the context of all previous moments. Each incremental year represents an increasingly smaller proportion of the sum of all years prior (e.g. one year is 20% of a five-year-old’s life, but 2% of a fifty-year-old’s life).

Arithmetic aside (for now), I found myself spending much of this past year grappling with father time and his pesky, inexorable march forwards. Throughout the course of the year, my attitude towards time has wavered between hopeless despair, cold indifference, spirited optimism, and a few other states I don’t particularly care to recount.

I used to view some of these more desirable attitudes towards time as destinations to one day arrive. I now see them as gears to shift into (or out of). In the same way that a year of exercise does not ensure everlasting fitness, sustained triumph over life’s existential forces requires considerable maintenance and dogged persistence.

I’m not going to lie, there were a few times in 2022 when I thought I had it all figured out. Needless to say, each short-lived victory was followed by a healthy dose of cosmic humility. Sitting here today, hopelessly removed from those faux-triumphant perspectives (as fleeting as they were enjoyable) I don’t feel defeated.

Over the course of this past year, I was afforded a glimpse into the possibilities that lie within the spectrum of existence. All I can hope is that along the way, I managed to glean some of the wisdom and humility that will be required for me to achieve those same modes of being with more consistency and stability. And if I didn’t, it wasn’t for a lack of trying.

I found time to be at the core of much of what I strived for, failed at, and succeeded in during 2022.

I didn’t intend for this essay to turn into a “list of well-packaged wisdom.” Partly because I find those sorts of things to be hollow and unhelpful, but also because I don’t consider myself to be particularly wise (yet). That being said, I couldn’t figure out a better way to visually organize my reflections (and, beyond that, being a hypocrite doesn’t make you wrong).

So without further ado, here are some ways I tried to upskill my relationship with time in 2022:

I tried to be more immersed in each present moment.

A key aspect of present-moment immersion is letting experiences come and go as they are. This means resisting the temptation to try to put them in a jar (taking videos at concerts) or sweep them under the rug (going on your phone when you’re bored or agitated). I still have lots of room to improve in both of these realms, but I am trying my best (and having my phone set to black-and-white mode this past year certainly didn’t hurt, although it did garner its fair share of haters).

Achieving success in this domain will certainly be a journey of a lifetime. I have enjoyed the continuation of my foray into the world of mindfulness. And while I have undoubtedly made progress on this front, I have never been more aware of how far I still have to go.

I tried to internalize the finitude of my existence and let it guide my decisions.

Or as Drake once put it, "I'm really tryna make it more than what it is, 'cause everybody dies, but not everybody lives.”

I understand why most people choose not to keep their own mortality top of mind. Thinking about the fact that you will one day no longer inhabit this world doesn’t exactly fall into the category of “pleasant ways to spend time.” That being said, I believe that the fears these thoughts evoke have much to teach us about ourselves and the ways we choose to lead our lives. At the core of each fear is usually a “what if?”

One example could be: what if I spend my limited time and energy in this world in the relentless pursuit of money and status, only to realize later on that both are wholly unfulfilling?

These “what if’s” are indistinguishable from regrets waiting to happen. I refuse to accept endless regret as a feature of life. I would contend that the majority of regrets-to-be are far from inevitable. With the right blend of agency, intentionality, and authenticity, I believe regrets can be mitigated pre-emptively. And what is this mortal life if not the pursuit of regret mitigation (and nostalgia creation)?

To be fair, this sort of approach to life can become a slippery slope. Regret mitigating can turn into yes-manning which can turn into people pleasing faster than you can say “sure I’ll come with you to the bar I hate with the energy I don’t have to socialize with people I don’t like.”

Everything in moderation, including moderation.

Sometimes staying up until 4:00am waxing existential with friends of friends is just what the doctor ordered. But I believe this to be the exception far more often than the rule.

This year has been an exercise in not only finding the voice of my internal compass but also listening to it. If you asked me last January what I would call this approach to life, I might have said something along the lines of “letting the hindsight of my future self be the foresight of my present self.” If you asked me today, I would probably say “authenticity” or “trying my best.”

Tomato tomáto.

I tried to make time my friend rather than my enemy.

I view time as the mediator between actions and outcomes. It makes good habits our friend and bad habits our enemy. Each day is riddled with choices, usually between what is easy and what is beneficial. In 2022, I made it a point to optimize my choices. Mostly by reducing the number of choices to be made (optimizing my environment), but also by trying to ensure the ones I made were good.

I asked myself what each (seemingly) small decision looked like iterated across time. Missing one workout doesn’t make you a couch potato the same way as making one workout doesn’t make you a bodybuilder.

We are what we repeatedly do therefore excellence (and laziness) are not acts, but habits.

It is easier to maintain cohesion across decisions with a north star held firmly top of mind. These days, I am optimizing for peace and longevity. I’ll let you know how that goes.

I tried to relate better to other people's time

I don’t mean this in the traditional sense of trying to be more punctual (although I am trying to be better at that as well). I mean it more in the sense of recognizing that every person is a complex accumulation of memories, dreams, hopes, fears, longings, sadness, regrets, and love. It is easy to forget that every rude waiter, aloof friend, and blunt coworker might be having just as rough of a day (or year) as we are.

To be clear, I’m not a proponent of unrelenting empathy. I think empathy (for better or worse) is a hopelessly limited skill. I am however a proponent of making compassion the default setting. You don’t need to deeply internalize someone’s pain (empathize) in order to act toward them with kindness (compassion).

I am not saying that consistently acting with compassion is in any way easy. It is, after all, referred to as “the practice of compassion.” That is because progress (becoming more compassionate) requires work (not to mention a sense of genuine and consistent curiosity).

I am trying my best to be more curious and less judgmental. As with most things, this is easier said than done. Like a tree, compassion must be carefully cultivated. And (unfortunately) like a tree, the best time to start cultivating was 20 years ago, but (fortunately) the second best time is today.

Foliage aside—and I realize this may come as a surprise to many—I did not spend the entire year musing on the inevitability of my mortality. I actually managed to have quite a bit of fun along the way:

• I started and ended the year in Scottsdale, surrounded by family and friends.

• I booked a full calendar year at Tomorrow Health, a period that saw coworkers turn to friends, weaknesses turn to strengths, and ideas turn to action.

• I watched my girlfriend graduate from college (at a small liberal arts school in North Carolina).

• I hiked with friends in Yosemite and Sedona.

• I booked a last-minute trip to watch Duke lose to UNC in the Final Four in New Orleans.

• I spent a few days in Seattle with my cousins.

• I welcomed my girlfriend into the throes of the wonder and wretchedness that characterize New York City. But not before we spent a week in Italy eating spaghetti pomodoro and wandering the cobblestone streets of Capri (amongst other adventures).

• I watched my sister run really far and really fast in Chicago.

• I learned how to cut a watermelon.

• I went on a lot of walks with my mom and dad.

• I drank a lot of smoothies.

• I met some new little cousins.

• I learned how to roast and sauté vegetables (but decided soon after that life is too short to eat my own poorly cooked food).

• I talked to my mom on the phone most days.

• I played a lot of word games (honorable mention for Codenames, my current favorite).

• I went to my first (and second) Yankees games.

• I played a lot of basketball and a little bit of golf.

• I boarded the Pickleball hype train and dusted off my badminton racket.

• I pronounced the first “n” in badminton (much to my friends’ dismay).

• I read a few books and watched a couple of movies.

• I journaled every day, meditated most days, and did a bunch of 12-3-30’s with my girlfriend.

• I published 11 longer-form essays and 52 weekly newsletters.

• I saw Still Woozy, Goth Babe, Hayden James, Tora, Beach House, Odesza, Lost Frequencies, and Fred Again live in concert.

But as is the essence of life, it was not all smooth sailing. I bid farewell to an old furry friend. I had some difficult conversations and subsequent realizations. Most notably: once the glow of the raucous excitement of Manhattan begins to wear off, you start noticing (seeing, but mostly smelling) the garbage on the side of the street.

I learned, lost, persevered, triumphed, laughed, cried, loved, and danced my way through another eventful year. And I know it sounds cliché, but I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I am incredibly grateful for all of the wonderful people in my life that helped make this year so special.

If you subscribe to my newsletter, you will have already heard 52 quotes from me in 2022. If you are friends with me, you will have undoubtedly heard many more. Anyone who knows me will know how difficult it was for me to pick just one of these quotes to sign off my 2022 year in review with.

But alas, I landed on this one from Mary Ann Evans.

It is never too late to become what you might have been.

I chose this quote because it captures a lot of the key themes and ideas I have come to believe have a profound capacity to bolster the human spirit. These include (but are not limited to) establishing a sound sense of agency, fostering an unwavering capacity for optimism, carefully questioning our way to an authentic set of values, and appreciating the fleeting and precious nature of time.

It is a quote I keep coming back to. One that seems to evolve in meaning each time I read it.

I suppose that’s the thing with time. Whether we like it or not, it marches on and in the process, it changes us.

Here is to another year of time well spent.