A big snowstorm came through last Sunday and New York City more or less halted for the day. The anticipation alone was exciting, especially because the kids were overjoyed. I was excited for them: sledding, snowball fights, simply being in the snow.
But more than that, I love the inevitability of a storm. The palpable feeling of there is nothing I can do but be here and relax. It's a strange mix of feeling completely out of control and completely at ease because everything that normally demands attention is allowed to take a back seat. Not just for me, but as a collective, we're experiencing something together. We're forced to pause. To breathe.
This storm brought back a feeling I hand't felt in a long time.
In my 20s when I was traveling for work, I was constantly stressed, working grueling hours and always being "on". There was always something that was due yesterday. And just as you were finally getting to bed, factories across the world were waking up, demanding answers to questions that they needed in order to make the collection happen.
I had a very hard time turning off. I loved my job. My entire identity was built around being a fashion designer. It was my whole life. And as a "good" girl from a Korean immigrant family, achievement was everything. If you achieved, you were worthy. If you didn't, you were a failure. Simple as that.
The only time I was truly able to shut off was when I was on planes for work trips. Thousands of miles in the sky, I felt peace. No one could reach me. No questions about buttons or chiffon, current or past collections. The anxiety melted away in my seat, somewhere between the TV screen and in-flight service. The longer the flight, the more peace I felt. All I had to do was be there. In the here and now.
At the time, I didn't understand why I loved flying so much. If I could talk to my younger self now, I would tell her that a job is a job, and a fabric color coming in 20% darker than intended is not the end of the world, even if it feels like it. I'd tell her to take the learning and discard the stress. I didn't know it then, but I got quite sick from carrying all that pressure.
Since 2026 began, I've been putting myself under tremendous pressure again. The storm helped me realize this. As I anticipated its arrival, I noticed I felt the same way I used to feel before those flights – relief. A forced relief. One that said: hey, you don't have to be responsible today.
Literally, millions of people were stuck last Sunday. Nothing could move forward. So why not relax?
It's easier when I don't have to make the decision myself. When stopping is imposed, not chosen. When responsibility is momentarily lifted.
I guess what I'm getting at is that adulting is hard. Sometimes I wish someone would just tell me what to do. That way, the responsibility wouldn't be mine. If KAEIU fails – whoops, not me, the storm did it.
Wouldn't that be easier?
With love,
Maria