On My "Growth Year" Thus Far — Collectively Chloe

I wasn’t sure how much growth would really happen for me in this gap year, or “growth year,” in between college and medical school. On the one hand, I was moving to a new place (Boston), for a new job, with new roommates, ready to build new relationships and explore. On the other hand, COVID shifted the possibilities available to me in this new environment. For the most part, I work from home. This looks like a 50-dollar Amazon desk, my slowly dying Apple laptop, and my continuously worsening posture as I hunch over my knees to work, sitting in my 30-dollar Walmart desk chair. The cynic in me thought: how much can I really grow in these nine months, sheltered inside, spending a good portion of that time working or applying to medical school?

I’m happy to say I’ve found a bit of light during this COVID/growth year.

I thought at this point in my life, my hobbies were relatively set. I played tennis, violin, guitar, and piano. I wrote occasionally when I found the motivation. I binge watched shows. I regularly consumed entire bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos (yes, I qualify this as a hobby at this point). But I’ve found myself trying lots of new things recently, and I’m not sure if it’s the growth year, the COVID situation, or the combination of the two, but I’d like to share some of what’s been making me excited recently.

I am, within the next week, a yellow belt in jiu jitsu. I hadn’t touched any sort of martial art since I promptly quit taekwondo in elementary school after learning I needed to take a test to get my yellow belt. My philosophy, or attitude, for this year has been to say “yes” to things, even if they sound uncomfortable. A friend of my boyfriend’s, who I’d consider a friend now, happened to be in Boston this year as well. When I first arrived in September, she reached out and asked if I wanted to try out this jiu jitsu class she had been going to. “The first class is free,” she said. At first, I resisted the idea. I politely declined and said that I would maybe think about it. But in each conversation we had after that, she would get so animated whenever she talked about the class. The teacher was great, it was safe to do, it’s good exercise, there’s some nice people there. So, I did the trial class.

I had a great time. The sensei, Nick, was energetic and encouraging the whole time. Even though he singled me out a few times in front of the 15 or so seasoned students, I felt a good kind of discomfort. I mean, it didn’t feel good at the time to have the whole class stare at me while I was clueless, but now I see that it motivated me to pursue something new.

After the trial class, my friend convinced me to sign up for a month of training. It’s just a month, I thought. If anything, I’ll just quit if I don’t enjoy it. A month passed. I wasn’t entirely sure if I should stay, but it was nice to get out of the apartment at least once a day, move around, and see new faces (behind masks of course). Whether it was my fear of saying “no” to someone that made me stay, or the joy I started to feel from learning new things, I’m not sure. I slowly felt stronger and more confident, even outside of class. Now, five months into it, I look forward to class twice a week. I try to squeeze in a third when my friend is able to drive me.

I am a runner now. I can’t describe how awkward and fraudulent that feels to write. For the first time in my life, I can run a few miles without cramping up or needing to stop and walk. I can actually carry a conversation with someone while running. I ran ten miles for the first time ever.

At present, I have a bit of a stress fracture situation happening in my tibia, but before that I was really running. And I even got injured from running. I think that alone qualifies me as a real runner.

I’m not saying I’m the fastest, nor can I run a marathon, but I enjoy my time running. Whether it’s with my 60-mile-a-week running mother, or with my roommates, or just me and a solid podcast, I cherish that thirty minutes I spend outside. It's a great way to break up my day, clear my head, or explore Boston and people watch.

I am, very slowly, learning how to crochet thanks to my patient roommate. I won’t lie, my wrist and hand hurt from my clumsy stitching motions, but I can eke out stitches at an okay pace. Crocheting strikes the perfect balance between mindlessness and focus. What I mean is, it’s the type of activity where I can get tunnel vision and literally count my stitches out loud for thirty minutes straight; it’s also the activity where when I’m on an easier section, I can chat or watch a movie. It’s the right amount of satisfying, where after I finish a row, I can either feel accomplished and stop, or set out with a goal to finish four more rows before taking a break.

The last time I felt a similar way was with a paint by numbers I did in the fall. I could mindlessly paint larger sections while listening to a podcast or music, or I could do detail work with my face inches from the canvas, painstakingly and delicately placing my brush on the surface while trying to keep my hand from shaking.

I think the satisfaction from these activities has something to do with creating while being semi-active.

After trying and enjoying all of these new hobbies, learning new information through work, and spending some of my time tutoring/teaching, I actually feel satisfied with my growth year so far. As a self-proclaimed perfectionist, it’s not often I feel proud or accomplished with my activities and achievements. Sure, I didn’t publish in Nature, nor did I complete all of the self-projects I set out to do, nor did I learn Korean with all of my “free” time this year, but taken as a whole, I’m happy with where I’m at right now. At least in this moment writing. I’m sure doubt will creep back in when more medical school rejections roll in, or when my job ends in a month, or when I’m feeling lonely, but for now I’ll enjoy this feeling of growth.