what makes you happy?
postcard 55: on turning 25, things that make me happy, and chasing that elusive frontal lobe development
prelude
[This is post is too long for email, so please view on your desktop or the app! I included a few quotes from books that I love revisiting on my birthday in the postlude, past the email cutoff, so keep reading!]
I turned twenty five on Sunday, and spent the first five minutes my birthday on a swing set at a neighborhood playground, giggling and drunk off of five gin and tonics from bar hopping with my friend. It felt comforting and strange all at once doing this at the precipice of turning what is arguably the first serious age of my life, like an intersection between growing up and getting older that I didn’t know really existed. I always keep things lowkey on my birthday because I already get easily overwhelmed and sad, but this year was close to my definition of a perfect birthday (Sunday crossword, a long walk, browsing around bookstores, eating dinner at a near empty restaurant, blowing out birthday candles at ten).
Twenty five seems like a real adult age, and reminds me that I have probably already lived through my quarter life crisis. I can tell you my top ten guesses for what that crisis might have been, or the last two years of my life may have been one long and continuous existential crisis. Either way, age is something that has growingly begun to weigh on me like a towel that needs to be wrung out at some point. Days bleed into months bleed into years and then it’s my birthday again, and I’m staring into a blank page of my journal, pen in my hand, wondering exactly what changed from last year.
getting older, nothing new
“I act and react, and suddenly I wonder, ‘Where is the girl that I was last year? Two years ago? What would she think of me now?”
On the morning of my birthday, I jokingly asked my friend, who turned twenty five just shy of a year before me, if he woke up on his twenty fifth birthday and just felt his frontal lobe click into place. I had been feeling blue all morning, moping on the couch, wallowing on the floor, and thought that surely, if my frontal lobe had developed, I would start to enjoy birthdays. In return, he pulled out a frazzled book from his shelf and gave me an essay by Jung to read that he had read on his 25th birthday (I cannot for the life of me remember the title or find the pdf online). The essay simply states that adulthood doesn’t really begin until we turn 25—which I guess is true and partly comforting. I haven’t experienced any seismic shifts in my cerebral hemisphere yet, but I think I have been seeing a lot of things differently lately. It feels like double vision almost, but not quite—for those with prescription glasses, it sort of feels like when you pull your glasses slightly off your nose and things get smaller for a second before (if you’re like me), you go legally blind. Some things feel smaller than I thought they were, but other things feel bigger. Everything balances out eventually, I think, even in this case.
There’s a lot of discourse around getting older (physically), I think, that’s contributed a lot to my innate fear of nearing my thirties, although I’m still five years out. Maybe it’s the copious amounts of anti aging skincare that you’re advised to use on the cusp of turning twenty five, or how it seems like the aimlessness of being in your twenties is only allowed until you turn twenty five or six. At one point, and I think it’s this point, age starts becoming less of a number and more of an invoice on what you’re supposed to have accomplished. Every year, I feel like I should know more about myself, about where I want to go with my life; my personhood should feel real and secure and binding. And every year, I realize that I’m going the opposite way. I’m unsure of things I thought I was sure about, I want things that I wasn’t sure that I wanted, or I come to the conclusion that I’ve subconsciously rejected something I thought was the most important thing in my life.
Still, I’m not sure if the frontal lobe development that life promises you at twenty five in exchange for a growing fear of aging, has happened yet for me. I’m not a woman in STEM, but I can tell you a hundred traits about me that I think would have been magically fixed, like bleach on stains on a white shirt, if said frontal lobe had expanded and clicked and locked into place. I think I’m too stubborn and not levelheaded and I get too fixated on something to prove a point; my perfectionist tendencies become an obstacle in my day to day life because I’m convinced that in order to be happy everything has to be perfect and when is anything truly perfect, really? I hate being wrong and regret too many things that have come out of my mouth and live a lot of my life seeing the past with rose colored glasses. I rationalize my decisions too much and am too hyper independent to the point where I feel like Icarus, flying dangerously close to a world where I’ve accidentally pushed everyone I love away.
These are the things that I like to think will be magically fixed—one day I’ll wake up and everything will be different. Maybe I’ve put too much of an emphasis on the number twenty five. Numbers that end in 5 or 0 always feel like closure to me in a way—when I was writing books on Wattpad as a teenager, I’d always end the book in a chapter number that ended in 5 or 0. The last time I was one of these ages I was 20 in 2020, and I was celebrating my birthday at home during the height of COVID. That in itself feels like closure for a chapter in my life since I graduated the next year and never went back to my college campus. I keep wondering what 25 signifies for me. I rinse and repeat this thought in my head. What chapter of my life am I closing as the number closes in on me? What’s the reflection, what’s my groundbreaking realization?
I always get hit with intense birthday blues a week before my birthday. I don’t really like treating my birthday like some huge celebration, and I historically have canceled multiple birthday parties through the years either because it always overlapped with exam week or a very hectic work week, which never really bothered me. I’ve never been someone who has a 'birthday week’ or god forbid, a ‘birthday month’. But I do think I make my birthday a big deal in my head because I irrationally catastrophize it in a way, like it’s a big milestone that’s forced on me every year and every year I realize that I’m not where I wanted to be. None of that transformative character development or work development or brain development. I’m just the same person I was last year, albeit a bit circumstantially different, and it feels massively disappointing sometimes. I worry that I’m not a serious person, that I’ll never be a serious person (a la Logan Roy’s I love you, but you’re not serious people). Even as I say this, I have no idea how one can be a serious person or if it’s even a mandatory requisite of adulthood.
However (and I’d like to believe this is frontal lobe development), I’ve been thinking less about success and more about happiness in the last few months. I used to think these two things were synonymous, and deep down maybe I still do, but there’s unequivocally a part of happiness that is not quantitative. Adulthood and the process of growing up in your twenties just seems like accepting and appreciating that life is mostly made up of mundane moments; life roots itself and grows in the gaps and spaces between important life events. In the pretty tumultuous twenty fourth year I’ve had, the things that have grounded me and continue to ground me are these small pockets of happiness that always don’t seem like much until I’m looking in retrospect a month later.
I’m an overthinker and I stress about everything ad nauseam, so as I’ve begun to really ruminate on things that make me happy, I’ve started wondering if I ever realize that I’m happy in that moment. It always seems to be a retrospective rose colored glasses thing, a strain of nostalgia that seeps into your veins like venom. I think that’s what I’d like to change for my twenty fifth year. Finding and recognizing true happiness in that moment. Maybe it means living life more presently, no longer backseat driving the events of my life. Maybe it means having a list of everything that makes me happy coiled into my cells. Maybe it means being a little in love with everything I do. I’m not sure. I’d like to find out.
interlude
If you’ve been subscribed to me for a while (on Substack and my bookstagram), you know that I always ask my friends to write a little something for my birthday post, like a brief anthology of sorts. This year, in the same vein as my multitude of reflections over the past month, I asked my friends to write a list of things that make them happy. Here were their answers—reading these genuinely made my day, so I hope it makes yours too!
I’ve linked Substacks for all of my friends that have them (this post made me realize that quite literally everyone in my life has a Substack! which is very exciting).
almond croissants, sun warming up a cool spring day, paperback books, beach sunsets, handwritten letters, gin and tonics, clean spaces, morning routines, someone remembering something about me and saying “because i know you” because to be loved is to be known, warm bread with butter and flaky salt, new york review book classics, making playlists for people, caramelized onions, art galleries, moleskine notebooks, sharable small plates at restaurants, listening to an album a day, alphabetized lists, my mom’s cooking, good gossip, a very long nonfiction history book i can take notes on, cherries in the summer, bialetti coffee maker, beautiful cinematography, searching up the menu before leaving home, greek yogurt with sautéed dates, dainty gold jewelry, late summer melancholy, the outro of chiquitita, independent bookstores crammed with books, black forest cake, late night calls, having a meal in comfortable silence with someone you love, cotton tea bags, marshmallow notes in perfumes, a very long walk, flower trees, sapphire blue, opening the windows as soon as i wake up, peonies, freshly washed bedding, homemade pesto, rose jam, bon iver in winter, black forest cake, essay collections, birthday candles, scenic train rides, cool condiments, fiction that feels like brain food, hot tea before sleeping, running at sunrise, night showers, special editions of favorite classics, a clear starry night sky.
mangoes, being told I smell good, live jazz, smokey palomas, meeting new people, the herons in my local park, fresh herbs in everything, baths, hard work paying off, miso soup, reading back my old writing and liking it, new friend group combos, Foushée, walking everywhere, Northern English accents, short stories, pistachios in savoury dishes, drinking white wine and playing scrabble with my bf, listening to albums start to finish, realising how far I’ve come, planning trips meticulously, ice cream, when substack friends become irl friends, Goldfrapp, autobiographies of women from the 60s, artistic integrity, cannoli.
watermelon and white wine in the summer on a picnic blanket in the grass, house parties, swimming in the lake, laying down in the grass, looking at the sky, play-doh, nice pens, old books, thick fonts with serifs, acoustic albums, live jazz, big band jazz, expressionist paintings, cold brews, trees of all shapes and sizes and the way leaves look on them, the sound leaves make when the wind comes calling through, finding shapes in the clouds, dreaming, fresh baked bread with soup, conversations with the moon, physical media, crt tvs, coffee and cigarettes in the morning, open skies in the country when the sun is setting, meditation, reading on the floor, banjo, zine collections, tangents, etceteras, cicadas, bad paint jobs, hardwood floors, this small rotund dog my friend encountered three years ago while hiking the camino in spain:
literary magazines, gossiping about literary magazines, talking to Americans about their small regional cultural differences, frozen fruit, having a good reason to feel sad, making my friends laugh, saying something out loud that makes me realize I sound like my mom, being cynical, a truly great essay, wearing blue jeans and just a bra on top, righteous indignation, the fancy pharmacy near the Met, frizzy undefined long curly hair, kissing, no makeup, receiving signs, steak.
fresh laundry, cats purring, salty air at the beach, the musk from new leather, a spritz of angel’s share. sunlight pouring through blinds on a slow morning, the weight of a good hardcover book, silk pillowcases, the soft crackle of a fireplace, buttery croissants from a quiet corner café. the feeling of slipping into a cashmere sweater, perfectly warm bathwater, worn-in hotel slippers, a record playing in the background. long car rides at night, the glow of old film photos, handwriting from someone you miss, the rustle of wrapping paper, a familiar song from childhood, the hum of a favorite old movie. flipping through thick fashion magazines at the airport lounge, discovering a new restaurant tucked into a side street, trying a dish i can’t pronounce but love anyway. business-class upgrades, bottomless brunches, a stiff espresso martinis, walking through new cities with no plans, spring collection releases in soft pastels, the crispness of new pages in a travel journal. that one perfect mug, rain tapping gently against the window, and the scent of something baking just because.
niña
pistachio ice cream, a full moon, the sound of walking on crunchy leaves. quiet friday evenings, slow saturday mornings. a good book that leaves me feeling full rather than empty. writing long, drawn out emails. the smell of fresh laundry on the walk to my favorite cafe in the morning. the barista knowing my name. remembering important dates – big meetings and family reunions and their doctor's appointments. belonging in someone's calendar. their perfume on my skin. the intimacy of a life shared. hearing the same story over and over again just to see the storyteller's face light up every time. christmases with my family around me. catching 11:11 on the clock. sharing a meal. having the space to be uninhibited with my affection. consoling a friend. taking care of someone i love. being taken care of by someone i love. having my heart feel always close to bursting because the love i carry is bigger than even my 5-foot frame.
scent of perfume on your collar. how gooey clouds look at sunset. clouds. sunsets. good morning texts, morning walks, good banter, beautiful brain dumps on substack. when spotify gives a really good recommendation. impressive cinematography. the mountains! skiing. beautiful cafes with beautiful friends. mountains. hiking? crisp, crisp, crisp air. jotting things down in my notes app in the office bathroom that later become full-fledged essays. water when you’re thirsty. mountains. log cabins. bergamot. amy winehouse. making a bonfire with people you love. pine against fog against the creamy sky. how the bright the milky way looks you’re from the nearest town. the purest kind of love.
elle’s substack, this post, leaving windows open all day so every room smells like fresh air, warm cinnamon rolls, trinkets, long wandering walks with the world as a soundtrack, little birds, opening mail, flowering trees, the smell of a bookstore, unpacking, lists, real maple syrup, diners, new cities, philly sports, snoopy, a good sandwich, sundress weather, popcorn at the movies, bloopers, laughing so hard you can’t get air in your lungs, picnics, a very ripe peach, museums, organizing, apologies, baking cookies, little shops, a good long article, restaurants and cafes and bakeries, boston, train rides, scented candles, disposable cameras, milky coffee, bakeries, alice’s adventures in wonderland the first warm day of the year, always books.
jen
seeing the moon while it’s still light out, handmade ceramics, the sound of bugs at night, warm buttered toast, a packed calendar, rainy days at home, rainy nights, waking up early without an alarm, moleskine notebooks, going out for breakfast with my family, tea and anything tea-flavoured, getting into bed on a cold night, autumn hikes, handwritten postcards and letters, giving gifts, going to the bookstore alone, when the plane descends at a holiday destination, manicured nails, a good sweat after a workout, movies at the cinema, collecting postcards, gelato, slowly walking around a new city, tasteful independent stores, film scores, home-cooked food, lightbulb moments, baseball caps, the smell of freshly baked pastries, grocery shopping, hand creams, getting told, 'saw this and thought of you', cold fresh air, stunning cinematography, forests, lakes with a mountainous backdrop.
citrus trees, rehashing old stories, postcards (by elle), prose that sings. long train rides. long car rides. stacks of hoop earrings on my ears, stacks of books on my floor, waiting for a shelf. ambient playlists on in the background, a fat slice of cheesecake, the unexpected photo of my cat back home from my dad. the manic, delighted panic of football season’s start. walking around a museum with someone you love pointing at this one and this one and that one. when everyone on the tube smiles at the same baby at the same time. the sun of summer, the snow of winter. pens that run smooth, flowers that last longer than a week, a cup of tea with the right ratio of milk and sugar. my brothers and my sister across the ocean. a big breakfast. swans. planning a trip with friends, then another one. watching the light fade over the sea after a long day.
seo
daily walks, the way the sun looks when it filters through tree branches, notifications from my friends, the scent of freshly squeezed limes, miffy, my impulse-purchase couch, painting my nails with laufey playing in the background, prequel vitamin c serum, tretinoin, the sound my cat makes when she wakes up from her nap, inside jokes, houseplants, scented candles, my fridge post-meal prep.
how the sunlight reflects on sea waves, art i don’t understand, sunny breezy days that aren’t humid, my morning black coffee, songwriting that feels like it was written about me and for me, going to the movies, when my cats are affectionate and i don’t expect it, long distance friends traveling to see me, discounts, planning future trips on google sheets, when someone cooks for me and didn’t ask for it, spending time with my mom, miso soup with lots of scallions, starry nights, baked goods, video calls with my sister, how excited my dad’s dog gets when i visit their house, thrifted clothes that feel like they were made especially for me, dinner dates with my girl friends, mentoring youth, the last five minutes of my therapy sessions when my therapist shares details about her personal life, elaborate breakfasts, the silence of dawn.
olivia
freshly squeezed orange juice, waking up with the birds at 5am to catch an early morning flight, my grandparents, walking around the city listening to dance music with noise cancelling headphones, magnolia season, fresh mangoes, spending all afternoon reading a book in the met in that one room filled with rembrandts with the blue velvet couch, watching people finish marathons, watching people accomplish their dreams, giving compliments to strangers, a stiff cotton baby tee, skiing fresh tracks with my friends, chrysanthemum tea with honey, receiving developed film photos, a hoodie with a big neck hole, funnel cake.
ema
a clear night sky where i can see stars at their full potential - and when i find Orion’s belt, when i try something new out (cooking, makeup) and it comes out so well, when my friend’s dogs choose me over her and decide to climb/sit/rest on me, a damn good matcha latte, guinness cake, buying things with deal so good i basically earned money, buying things that i’ve spent so long thinking about/looking for, pretty sunsets, when i try to tan and it comes out really well, mum/grandma’s home cooked meals after a long time away, dumb jokes between friends that make absolutely no sense but will put us into fits of laughter, when i can’t tell if im having a solo concert alone in my room or cleaning said room (abba!), that sense of extreme cleanliness when you have a clean set of bedsheets, towels and pyjamas and you go to bed after the shower, sunny spring/autumn days when the weather is just perfect, reenacting an incredibly emotional scene and atmosphere in the shower whilst singing (are these my tears or the shower??), exploring random parts of hk with my mum and finding the spot (local restaurants, dessert cafes, shops) in essentially the middle of nowhere, writing and drawing cards for my friends.
joe
reading at night, travelling, watching people walk their non dog pets, watching people walk their dog pets, good food, anything hk, finishing the first book of a massive series (and liking it), cooking, board games, video games, games, puzzles, fixing things that have been broken a while, learning stuff, being able to help people out.
obscure books, early mornings, Brutalist architecture, impossible geometries, sunlight tangled in the leaves, long days spent writing, oversized sweaters, campus in the autumn, the sea, metaphysics, literary puzzles, drunken nights, questions that can’t be answered, black tea, vintage books, the blue hour after twilight, language, love, learning new things, deserts and other kinds of wide open spaces, the golden ratio, afternoon storms, mid-century furniture, dinner parties, late night philosophical conversations, silence, stargazing, knitted socks, metafiction, autumn leaves, fresh bed sheets, time to think, strange dreams.
jean
stepping on fresh snow, the smell of winter, christmas music, the scent of new books, yellow mangoes, hugging my parents, reading a book so good you can’t stop reading, takeout with crappy reality tv, sandalwood candles and perfumes, fresh cut flowers, the scent of a laundry room, going inside a warm bed after being in the cold, vanilla cupcakes, sentimental letters, realizing you love someone a lot more than you thought you did, korean food, roller coasters that give your butterflies, warm sand on the beach, autumn rain, when the clothes fit better than you expected in the dressing room, tight hugs, brisket pho, seeing bleu (my dog) happy, seeing the perfect shade of pastel pink, seeing loved ones you haven’t seen in a long time at the airport, cuddling after a long day, light reflecting on water, laughing so hard you grow abs (you don’t), petrichor, birds chirping in the morning, spring picnics, hot showers that melt away the pain, farmers markets, long walks that clear your head, soft summer breezes, the waves tickling your toes and running back to the ocean, cashmere cardigans, fruit loops, a good workout, writing about things i love and realizing you have a lot more to love in life than hate.
living by the beach, vanilla scented anything, fresh strawberries in summer, petrichor, driving with my favourite music on, leopard print, blonde hair, simple gold jewellery, a floppy paperback, my tote bag collection, iced caramel lattes, winter beach walks, rewatching my comfort shows, candlelight, finding new favourite songs, baggy jumpers, the square of sunlight on the carpet in the mornings.
peanut butter and banana on toast, colorful knits, cold sunny days, unselfconscious prose, mood rings, yellow ladybugs, jam biscuits, windows, dark blue summer evenings, black ballerina flats, the fishbowl scene in romeo and juliet, the neapolitan novels, squirrels, layer cake, the perfect thrift find, arriving in paris, “don’t delete the kisses” by wolf alice, first glass of wine on an empty stomach (shoutout tom wambgams), my stuffed animals, summer, small ice cubes, trees with flowers, catching the last train home
birthday cakes, long walks, vanilla bean speckled whipped cream, laughing so hard my stomach hurts, olives, negronis, watching movies on the plane, crisp sheets, live texting, crushes, the first warm day after a brutal New England winter, matcha, dancing, scream-singing, and optimism.
sue
nice weather (is spring finally here?), rooftop bars, sitting on an outdoor patio sipping wine, sunsets, east coast/new england summers, summer nights, the smell in the air after rain, making new memories with old friends - and laughing your ass off while doing so, unexpectedly being on your friend’s gratitude journal, planning cute dates and get togethers with friends, a good pistachio rose croissant, a good matcha latte, or a good gelato. Cherry blossoms!! Walking in the park & cute neighborhoods - if the sun’s out and the temperature is above 25 degrees Celsius, I’m happy.
cherrien
terrace cafes, green awnings, laundry on clotheslines, flowy linen curtains, flowers by mapplethorpe, stacks of books on wooden floors, vintage paperback books, giant canvases, georgia o’keeffe, tiny picture frames, dark wood, crown moldings, chrome details, vanilla candles, woody scents, perfume stacks, looking through friends’ perfume stacks, tekla bedsheets, soft bathrobes, bathroom tiles, striped towels, pool patios, flowers above water, sunrise by the sea, sunsets by a bay window, morning coffee, cucumber gin tonics, walking around town, outdoor reading, unexpected kindness from strangers, indie rock, girl bands, sad pop, my cats, the smell of my cats’ foreheads, daydreaming, terracotta vases, vintage ceramics, real matcha, pistachio green, olives, summer martinis, orange wine, cherry coke, the cure (the band), fleetwood mac, fall leaves, winter sun.
meredith
laying in fresh sheets after shaving your legs, perfume, the smell of laundry right out of the dryer, back scratches, head scratches, vampire weekend, iced almond milk matcha lattes, thoughtful gifts, a perfect spring day, fraiser fur candles, chinese takeout, eating at a new restaurant on a whim, dogs, audible, binging a tv show, the smell of new books, curly fries with ketchup, vanilla iced cream cones dipped with chocolate (only from mr.softee trucks), drives on the pacific coast highway, montecito, cooking something new (when it tastes good), going to the movies, blue raspberry icees, old friends, new friends, good gossip, a comfortable pair of shoes, traveling, my childhood bedroom, kacey musgraves.
gabee
reading poetry in quiet corners, walking around a new city, every single dog in this universe, vietnamese food, franz kafka’s melancholy, just-hot-enough tea, yogurt with fruit, teaching wide-eyed kids, a statement bag, contentment over the chase, amsterdam by gregory alan isakov, scrolling through photos in the hotel room after a long travel day, coffee dates where time doesn’t matter, blushing cheeks, the feeling after a gym session, prague's cobblestone nostalgia, well-curated playlists, genuine friendships, notebooks filled with half-finished writing, ballet flats, secondhand bookstores, early mornings full of maybe, peonies, a deep-cleaned room, spring, soft-spoken confidence, slice of life vlogs, making lists (and the thrill of checking off every single thing), grocery day, a paul mccartney bass line, eating a meal alone, laughter that bubbles up, my mom.
olivier
to be honest my brain is fried, many things make me happy and i guess the first coming to mind is those stupid funny reels (why my brain is fried), especially those sent from your close friends or family group chats, yes my mum has sent me some out of pocket ones, similarly cute dog reels (cause I don’t get to always see my baby girl dog), and of course seeing my dog in person is even better, playing football, casual hang outs with my close friends, being by the beach, being with my family, playing a game of FIFA with my mates, getting randomly complimented (yes it’s rare for guys), to be honest there is so much but I can’t be bothered to think with my fried brain, travelling, I just want to feel lost, or found, somewhere new and just feel alive exploring new things new people new places etc, spontaneous trips for me are so incredible , literally just went on one of the most spontaneous trip last month (booked it less than 3 hours before my supposed flight time) and went to Melbourne to watch F1. This paragraph makes no sense, well so do I, and so do things that make me happy sometimes.
postlude
favorite quotes i revisit for every birthday:
she belonged to the sky, and the sky belonged to her.
—kira kira, cynthia kadahota
i realised my life would be full of mundane physical suffering, and that there was nothing special about it. suffering wouldn't make me special, and pretending not to suffer wouldn't make me special. talking about it, or even writing about it, would not transform the suffering into something useful.
—conversations with friends, sally rooney
i may never be happy, but tonight i am content.
—the unabridged journals, sylvia plath
and i love that about humanity, and in fact it’s the very reason i root for us to survive—because we are so stupid about each other.
—beautiful world where are you, sally rooney
it isn’t possible to love and part. you will wish that it was. you can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it of you. i know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.
—a room with a view, e.m forster
there will be a spring and a summer. it's almost excruciating. but then comes autumn, short as a wink, before winter is finally upon us again. life does not go on, it starts again, everything is possible again. anything can happen, all the best and all the most beautiful and all the greatest adventures on earth.
—the winners, fredrik backman
i see the sun, and if i don't see the sun, i know it's there. and there's a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there.
—the brothers karamazov, fyodor dostoyevsky
simply one of the loveliest posts i’ve ever read
en mayo cumplo 26 años y creo que necesitaba leer este post, hay muchas cosas que me cuesta expresar pero las leí en tus palabras y me sentí muy identificada, feliz cumpleaños btw :) me encantó la lista, también haré la mía❤️