By Kat Sewon Oh

For someone entering the workforce, recent news induces anxiety. Inflation rates have skyrocketed. Big tech companies have had mass layoffs in succession. Health experts churn out new articles citing the detrimental effects of stress from unsatisfying jobs. With the Great Resignation in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic, more and more young employees are engaging in “quiet quitting.” 

As a 26-year-old master’s student in my last semester, I used to look at the job market with increasing hopelessness. So many questions clouded my mind – what if I get laid off months after getting hired? What if I hate my new job? What if I don’t find a job at all?

The doubts about my career then morphed into existential doubts. Am I doing too much or not enough? Am I too sedentary, and should I sign up for a gym class? Are poor eating habits indicators of a bad lifestyle? Am I living life correctly?

Since my aunt’s passing, I’ve given up on finding the so-called “right” way to live.

I lost my aunt on October 2, 2022, at the beginning of my third semester of graduate school. My aunt had raised me for most of my childhood, and she was the crux of my extended family.

She was smart, strong, and stubborn. Despite barely knowing any English, and despite being undocumented and living in constant fear, she managed to navigate life in the United States with confidence and determination. She scoured information from other Korean families to convince my family to move near a higher-ranking public school, to give me better opportunities.

Most of all, she was a free spirit. A devout Buddhist, my aunt valued being one with nature. She always told me she wanted to be free from society’s demands and fly away.

One day, my aunt felt sharp pangs in her abdomen, and my relatives took her to the emergency room. After one week of being hooked to an IV drip, she was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer and given a prognosis of one year. I immediately made plans to give her the best year of her life. I promised to take her to graduation and show her my accomplishments.

The next day, my aunt took her last breath.

My dream to take her to graduation was shattered. My ideal future, where I envisioned my aunt playing with my children just like how she played with me, was no more.

The following month passed in a blur. I watched my classmates stress over midterms while my brain played on repeat like a broken tape recorder: “she’s gone.”

As I slowly recovered from my grief, I realized something changed.

I used to burden myself with all kinds of stressors: getting perfect grades, attending every networking opportunity, and scheduling hangouts with all of my friends. My Google calendar was a color-coded mess with almost no breaks.

I planned out my entire future. I would pursue public relations in the human rights sphere, move into a two-story house with my partner and parents, raise two or three children, and make enough money to give my children all of the opportunities I never had.

With these grandiose plans, it’s inevitable that I was plagued by fear. If I don’t get a high-paying, prestigious job matching my education, am I not trying hard enough? If I don’t do my best, if I slack off, then am I a failure?

I wish I could say this problem is unique to me. After attending a New York specialized high school and two Ivy League colleges, however, I’ve learned that this problem is endemic to a hyper-capitalist and merit-based society like ours. 

In an elite institution like Columbia, it’s too common to see all sorts of people driven by productivity, where any mindless downtime chips a notch off their self-worth. Everyone wants to land their dream jobs and have fulfilling social lives. When juggling both limited time and energy, people are all the more susceptible to burnout.

There are plenty of how-to guides for leading better lives. Set boundaries with your boss, take a walk every day, eat more fruits and vegetables. But those guides are rigid templates providing instructions on how to live the right way. 

I’m done finding the right way to live. Finding a healthy work-life balance is important, but I’m done trying to find the best ways to achieve that.

Whenever I cried in school, my aunt was always the first one to comfort me. She always said, “I don’t care how well you do in school or what job you get. I’m just happy that you are living with joy.” So I keep her words close to heart, and I focus on filling my life with joy. 

I’ve let go of all my future expectations. Sure, I have dreams and goals, but I’ve destroyed all the blueprints of the paths to take me there. I focus on the present and not look past the current day. I’ve learned from my aunt that I will never know what will happen the next day.

I scrapped all of the pretty motivational goal-setting planners I used to buy as retail therapy. I recycle an old school notebook and only write the tasks for that day; all pages after are blank. I stopped researching the best workout routines; instead, I count my walks during commutes as sufficient physical activity. I no longer plan my meals or count my calories; I eat whatever I’m craving at the moment. 

I’ve stopped actively searching for jobs for the time being, instead letting occasional LinkedIn alerts trickle into my inbox. I’ll table the job search for after graduation, and maybe I’ll travel in that downtime. Where, I haven’t decided. 

My Google Calendar is much more empty now. I no longer spiral into anxiety when deadlines approach. I give myself time to spontaneously chat with whoever I run into in the school cafe. I no longer feel guilty for missing parties and networking events, opting to instead catch up on TV shows with my partner or bake desserts for my friends.

Perhaps I’m too lackadaisical, but living this unconventional way has made me happy just to observe each moment unfold. From the accumulation of experiences, both good and bad, I believe life will take me to the future that fits my needs. Whatever that future may be, my aunt would be proud of me regardless. 

49 days after my aunt’s passing, my family had our final Buddhist funeral rites for her. Our monk burned the ritual paper and prayed for my aunt to move on to the next stage of reincarnation.

As soon as the monk finished her prayers, a strong gust blew the ashes away. That was my aunt flying away with the wind, finally free from society’s chains.

And now, I am free, too.

Kat Sewon Oh (MIA ’23) is studying Human Rights and Humanitarian Policy with specializations in Technology, Media, and Communications, as well as East Asia.