Languishing is a sense of stagnation and emptiness. It feels as if you’re muddling through your days, looking at your life through a foggy windshield. And it might be the dominant emotion of 2021.

Adam Grant, in The New York Times

If left untreated, languishing can be a predictor for depression. It’s a helpful term that can help us diagnose that in-between feeling, where you’re not depressed, but not happy either.

The remedy to languishing? Enter a state of flow. Become so focused on the task at hand that other things become secondary. The unpleasant things about life disappear, because it no longer matters. You are challenged, but in control. You could be working against a tight deadline, embarking on a passion project, or simply watching Parasite.

I personally experience passive states of flow whenever I’m immersed into a soul-sucking novel. My mind is completely immersed, my body limp on the couch. For those hours, nothing in the world matters. I gorge down a fast meal when I remember to do so, my lips are dry from lack of hydration, and the sky turns dark before I can look at the clock.

It’s easy to enter a state of flow when doing something a hobby that you know you enjoy. I try to steer away from potentially harmful activities like video games, as I never feel good about the hours spent in front of the screen. I also try not to start any binge-worthy shows (though I don’t always succeed), as they can prevent me from focusing on any task other than finishing all the episodes of all the seasons.

I find active states of flow much harder to accomplish, as it requires the removal of any distractions. Namely, the other tabs on my screen, my phone, and my stomach. I often think about how much easier it must have been 10 or 20 years ago, when screens were still a luxury and jobs weren’t dominated by the tech industry. But it’s futile to compare. Innovation rarely comes with its downsides.

To induce a regular state of flow, I set aside my mornings to completely free myself of any external demands. I block all sites but the ones that I write on. The anxiety about having emails and Slack messages to check at the start of my work day never leaves the back of my mind—but until then, the world can consider me asleep. I revert back to analog activities: eat breakfast, journal, stare at the clouds, and do what I need to do to sit down and write each morning. I pretend my laptop is typewriter.

Ultimately, I think flow is about pushing your mind to do its best work. Active flow states leave us more energized than passive ones, and for good reason. We feel best when we are challenged, focused, and creative. You don’t need to do important work; you just need to do what is meaningful to you. What matters to you? What makes you want to jump out of bed, even with few hours of sleep? What keeps you going when all sense of hope is gone?

I have been reading a lot this year, and I’ve made some strides in how I approach this pastime.

I primarily read purely for the enjoyment of it. A good book can pull me right into a state of flow, where my mind inhabits the narrative for the days that the words live in my mind. It’s an exhilarating feeling, one that I have to time carefully. Once I enter this state of flow, few things matter more than getting to the last page.

I’ve been sticking to mainly 2 genres this year: fiction and autiobiography. Both introduce me to the life of an individual from a parallel reality across every imaginable timeline. I love seeing the world from their eyes, experiencing life vicariously through them. The autobiographies offer a source of inspiration for me, but the fiction novels are the ones that make me fall in love with life. As different as the characters may be, they all seem to be pieces of the same puzzle.

I had a stint of reading self-help books for the few years where I felt completely lost within myself. But after a couple of them, you’ll learn that you’re reading the same thing. So now I only pick up those that delve into a very narrow field of study, and often not intended a self-help. I’m trying out more philosophy books. The purely philosophical, textbook-y ones are hard to digest, but I oftentimes come across those masked as sci-fi (The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy) or literature (Atlas Shrugged), and I don’t end up disappointed. It’s not about agreeing with any outlook on life, it’s about opening yourself up to them.

I’m also looking forward to rereading some books. Whenever I read a book a second time, I’m always surprised by the details that I either missed or forgot from the first read. It’s like watching your favorite childhood film, years later. Watching Grave of the Fireflies at 7 left a somber aftertaste in my mind, and rewatching it at 22 left me sobbing for the same reasons that I finally understood. It’s those details that you brushed off the first time, that strike a chord when you pay attention to them next time.

In order to enjoy the reading process as much as possible, I will easily stop reading a book that does not pique my interest in the first few pages. It can have rave reviews and be hailed as a 21st century classic, but if I can’t insert myself into the narrative, it’s off my bookshelf. There’s not enough time to read all the books in the world, much less the books that I will not enjoy. If I only read the books that others deem to be great, then I might as well be illiterate. I choose the books. I choose your worlds. Never the other way round.

Another realization that I’ve had in the past year is that I don’t really like audiobooks. Admittedly, I have gotten through some amazing stories with it, including Stoner and Conversations with Friends, but I prefer listening to music and podcasts when I commute. I don’t like being cut off when I’m about to get off the subway. I don’t like not being able to reread passages at my own pace, and I hate not being able to look at the words that I want to ingrain in my mind. I also have to say that audiobooks are a lazy person’s way to “read.” You may be able to listen to an audiobook at 2x the speed in half the time it takes me to read it, but honey—you didn’t read the book. You listened to it. If you can’t make time to read and only read, then you’re too busy doing nothing.

I’ve always loved reading. I learned English from reading The Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley High series hiding in my school bathroom and every day after school. I lived in these worlds for a long time, before school consumed my life. Then I reclaimed my love for books when I once again found myself lost after graduating high school. I started off reading the books I thought I had to read, but the child in me knew what she was doing when she picked up books for the sake of living in an alternate world. To fall in love with the infinite possibilities that life could play out, with the endless lives I have yet to live, with life itself.

Dreams are terrifying and fascinating. One vile character, one wrong turn, and your life is ruined.

I still get awakened by dreams, panting and horrified at the ordeal I just went through. The vividness lingers in the minutes I lay semi-awake. The images follow me as I go about my morning, my brain foggy from the unraveled mind.

A few months ago, I started to remember my dreams. Before bed, I would give myself a pep talk: type my dreams down on my phone as soon as I awoke. I knew that I just needed a few rambling sentences to insert the dream into my long-term memory. It has kind of worked.

There are instances where I wake up at 3am and I realize that I haven’t finished the dream. I lay down again and will myself back to it, as if softly hypnotizing myself. I haven’t been able to fly nor create my happy ending yet, but I’m keeping an eye on the reality check tips that lucid dreamers offer.

Perhaps the worst thing is when you’re caught in sleep paralysis: that in-between stage where your mind is still awake, but your body frozen. You’re paralyzed from top to bottom, and someone at the corner of your room is going to get you. The same thing every time, it’s ridiculous. But on the plus side, this has become my reality check: Can’t move? Check. Feeling paranoid? Check. Dark human shadow in the room? Don’t look, you idiot.

The 3 words that I live by.

On the whole, it means to live simply. Don’t buy things for the sake of filling empty space. Don’t occupy time for the sake of busyness. Don’t try to run away from yourself, because at the end you will only wish you hadn’t.

It’s about doing forfeiting short-term quantity for quality. I am all about exploring, but slowly and extensively. I mentioned wanting to travel the world, as a slow nomad. I like exploring different sports, one or two at a time. Most recently, I’ve been reading fewer books at a time, so I can live in one world without being interrupted by other narratives.

At a deeper level, this is about being choosy about the content I let into my life. It’s not about traveling to as many countries as I can, but about surrendering myself to a totally foreign space. I might not read as many books this year, but it’s about what I did read. Did I learn from these stories? Did I enjoy them?

Another way this phrase comes in handy is when I’m faced with a difficult choice. When in doubt, resort to my values. Yes, there are many things I want to do, many choices I could make. But the one that I most value is the one I will make, because my values won’t fail me.

I could think of many more examples, but I’ve said enough. The 3 words are essentially a simple reminder of my values. They can mean anything I want them to, so long as they remind me of my core values when I’m in conflict.

My life is simple, and that’s a priviledge.

It’s all about having the freedom to pursue the life I want without having a financial burden. I want to do the things that I want to do now. I don’t want to wait until I’m 50 to realize that I spent half a century living for others. I would have lost my zest by then.

I want to remain humble, knowing that no happiness sponsored by wealth is permanent. I don’t want to inflate my lifestyle, even if my income skyrockets. I don’t want to have so much disposable money that I can buy clothes without looking at the price tag. The moment I start thinking about stupid ways I could spend money, I risk becoming too comfortable for my own good.

I want to be self-sufficient, and empower myself against helplessness. I don’t want to depend on others to create things that I otherwise could do myself. An extreme way of thinking about this is pretending that I’m training to live off-grid in a foreign country, all by myself: How would I protect myself? How would I ration water? How would I keep my tiny house warm during winter?

Of course, the questions that I deal with are nowhere as extreme: Can I borrow instead of buy books? Can I bike instead of bus? Can I cut my own hair? You get it. The thing is, I find these small challenges fun. They reduce choice overload, require me to be creative with the limits I have, and often require a safe level of risk. But I haven’t always felt this way.

Before I started working, before I had any conception of financing myself — I tried to live a frivolous lifestyle, though I was limited in doing so. I wanted to buy everything, because my identity was not yet formed. I was absorbing who my friends were, what celebrities did, and how adults behaved. I was still exploring who I was. I admire those who learn to be frugal from a young age.

I’m sure I wouldn’t give a shit about “living frugally” under different circumstances. I’m sure I would have different priorities if I had kids, or if I were in my mid-70s and retired. I’m sure I would think differently had I been born in another culture, or brought up in a different social class. So I understand that my specific circumstances are privy to the value I hold for being frugal now.