In journalism, they teach you that when somebody dies, the proper words to use are just that: "So-and-so died," and here's what you need to know about their death. No need for "passed away" or any other euphemisms of the sort. Just say what they did, what happened to them: they died. 

We were taught this in our journalism classes. I was told this over and over again at NPR, where I spent the final few weeks of my internship cataloguing and updating obituaries. I was reminded again at MSNBC as we reported about tragedy after tragedy until I finally reached NBC and was the one telling the younger reporters just that: Just say what they did, what happened to them.

But despite all of that, I have always struggled with it outside of my former profession. In 2015, when a good friend from college died, I sent an email to our former newspaper colleagues to let them know of his passing but couldn't bring myself to use the word. In 2018, when one of my best friends died, I found myself again in a position where I was telling people the news – but that word continued to elude me. And for the last couple of days, I'm once again scared of that word because it's so final, so real: another person who I loved so deeply and so completely is gone.

Just say what they did. Here's an exhaustive, yet still non-comprehensive, list:

• Greg had a respect for work that began in college (and probably even before that): I met Greg in 2010 when I interviewed and hired him for a staff job at the New University. He walked into the interview wearing a suit and we made fun of him for it later because what 20-year-old kid shows up to a college newspaper in a suit? Greg did. 
• Greg painted pictures with words: Greg was quiet and reserved, but the first time I edited one of his articles, I knew he had so much to say. "A world of color unfolds behind the museum’s drab brown walls. On their individual platforms, the clay blends a thousand times over: red, green, brown, purple, blue and yellow cease to be separate, mixing into a single entity as each person leaves their mark." I loved it and loved it beyond college, even when I was mercilessly editing out his descriptions of tumbleweeds years later in an NBC feature I sent him to Manzanar for.
• Greg was the life of the party: The life and, more often than not, the source of chaos. I won't go into the exact details (if you know, you know), but after the infamous Night of the Living Groog, we knew there was no going back. A party without Greg (and Groog) definitely felt more boring. Years later at a bar in New York, we were cleaning up spilled popcorn off the ground and I was slightly annoyed, but then I looked over at Greg's face and he was grinning and laughing, and it instantly made me laugh too.
• Greg made time count, even if time wasn't on anyone's side: I graduated in 2011 and Greg stayed at UCI a fifth year. One morning in DC, I was up and getting ready for work and saw a Facebook Messenger message pop up from Greg, who was pulling an all-nighter across the country. I called him and we talked for less than 10 minutes, but it was nice to hear a familiar voice before I began my commute. It became a regular thing when he'd pull all-nighters to hear from him as I was waking up, but I think it was one of the things that kept us close when we were 3,000 miles apart. 
• Greg didn't just make an effort; he always made the effort: No matter how far Greg needed to drive, he did it to see and to help the people he cared about. In 2013, he drove almost 200 miles (and that's just one way) to visit with me when I was in Albuquerque and he was in Farmington. If that isn't an expression of care, I don't know what is.
• Greg loved journalism: He loved writing the news, reporting the news, reading the news – and even in those times he was exhausted by it, he never doubted it was his calling. Some of my favorite parts of my visits to his cities were seeing the newsrooms he called home. He was so proud, and I was so proud of him.
• Greg loved Los Angeles: Greg is Los Angeles. Even when he was living away from it, the two were so intertwined. When I was re-learning how to drive, I was in a car with Greg panicking about the 101 and he kept pointing at the buildings and the sky and saying, "Just look! You can see the city! Look at LA!" And I screamed at him, "I CAN'T, I'M LOOKING AT THE ROAD." (Today, I drove down the 101 in the car Greg helped me choose, and I looked at LA and I saw Greg in the beauty of it all – and I know that will always remain.)
• Greg loved people. Full stop. If you knew him, you felt it.

"In the words of the Russian poet Boris Pasternak, 'Let’s scatter our words as the garden scatters amber zest, absentmindedly and generously bit by bit by bit.' I hope now that as I scatter my words, they blossom and bring me into a world beyond my imagination — a beautiful flowering of the infinite." 

 

We're almost eight months into 2022, and I never set a "new year's goal" for myself. Not a "resolution," per se – but every year, for the past few years, I've picked a word to live by for the year as a sort of philosophy for how I wanted to approach life. Last year was "encourage" with the goal of maximizing the ways I show up to support others. 

As this year began, I thought a lot about what word I wanted to "live by," and I came up with ... well, nothing. "I'll think about it later," I told a friend who also did something similar. 

Later came and went, and I still didn't come up with anything. It's now July, almost August, and I still have ... nothing. And "nothing" is not a good word to live by: it's a feeling, an emotion, a state that I've been finding myself in lately. I can't figure out if I haven't been able to come up with anything because I'm burnt out or tired, or if there's something greater at play here: my own mental health.

A few years ago during a leadership program, we took these tests to determine the types of birds we are in the workplace. The goal was to understand our own strengths and weaknesses, and also understand the strengths and weaknesses of our colleagues (while also recognizing that the strongest ecosystem is made up of a diversity of birds). We took these long tests, and were presented with results that reflected both the type of bird we were in the workplace, as well as the type of bird we were in our non-work lives. I was identified as an eagle and a dove, which I was told at the time was an odd combination. It made sense though, when I really thought about it: I'm decisive at work (by nature of the work I've done, I didn't have a choice), and could also carry a bit of a temper when my expectations wasn't met. But outside of work, I tended to be a dove: introverted, a team player, a peacemaker – the perfect reflection of a Type 2. 

The challenge was to find a way to melt the positive attributes of both sides into all parts of my life, and while I think I've been successful in being more dove-like at work, I am pretty sure I have no idea now to be an eagle outside of the office.

I have this weird sort of insecurity of never having fit into cliques growing up. My alopecia, as a child, made me withdraw from the world quite a bit, and by the time I hit high school and was actually making friends, I was always worried that people wouldn't stick around ... so I focused on quantity over quality. When I look back at the friends I made in high school and who I'm still friends with today from those days, it's clear to me that I should've invested more in maintaining those relationships at the time.

But because of all of this, I can see where my dove-like tendencies stand out. I try to be a peacemaker because I don't want to upset people, but sometimes that comes off as being apathetic – which also can upset people who assume I just don't care. When I sense I've upset people, I am pulled back to those times as a child where my dad would yell and we'd be encouraged to apologize rather than stand up for ourselves. It was always easier, I was told, to just say sorry and accept I was the problem. 

All of those things have re-enforced bad habits in me as an adult. I find myself, especially lately, shrinking to the point of disappearing – all while wondering how I should ask for someone to be a witness to my life (or whatever is left of it). And then I think: maybe that's it. Maybe "witness" is the word to live by – how do I move through the world in a way that would make it impossible to disappear? At the end of the day, isn't that something we all sort of wonder? Who will be there to witness my life? 

I don't have an answer right now.

“Why, when you look at news about our communities, is it all just so negative these days?”

When we launched José's show in 2014, I recall a meeting early on where he was adamant about his sign off: "Thank you for the privilege of your time."

"Why are you thanking them?" I asked. Isn't he just doing his job? Shouldn't the viewers be thanking him?

He shook his head. "But without them, I wouldn't have a job and an opportunity to bring them the stories that deserve to be told."

That conversation is one of those moments that sticks out in my mind as a significant lesson I've learned in my career: that no one person can exist in a vacuum, even if you find yourself in a position of authority where you get to call the shots. Without the people around you, you cannot succeed. If you keep that in mind, then you will always be the kind of person who leads with empathy.

I’ve carried that conversation with me, no matter where I’ve gone. Recently, the content of my character came into question, and as a result it’s caused me to think a lot about the kind of person I am — the kind of person others know me to be, and the kind of person I know I pride myself on being. 

“You’re harder on yourself than any other person I’ve ever known,” someone said to me the other day. “It’s how I know you’re self aware, almost to a fault.”

I know how hard I am on myself. I've always been that way. I had an ex once who told me he thought I was too ambitious and that I needed to "be realistic." At the time, I believed him (I was young); in the immediate aftermath, I was angry. I wanted him to apologize, to regret it, to admit he was wrong. 

But what I really needed was time: time away from the situation long enough to know I didn't need anything from him, or from others who looked over or past me as somebody who deserved to have a voice.

What I needed was to stop shrinking myself to fit into other people's boxes of who they thought I should be. And at the end of the day, despite all of my flaws, I know there’s one thing about my character I am confident in: that I will never apologize for speaking up for myself or for championing, supporting, and defending the voices of those who may not find themselves in the position to speak up. 

This self-reflection is one that has also been made possible because of time. Over the last decade, I've had the opportunity to do all of those things, to be that person, and to build the kind of reputation that I — and the people who really know my character — know cannot crumble with a single setback.

When I turned 25, I asked friends and family to share wisdom for that "quarter life crisis" everyone jokingly told me I was about to enter. I created a Google Form and sent it out to people to tell me what I should know about being in this "new" chapter of my life.  I took some of the responses and wrote them on pieces of paper that decorated my bedroom walls in New York: They were reminders at a time when I was feeling particularly lost and just a little bit sad.

Recently, I came across the Google Form in the depths of my Drive and went through the responses again. There were letters from people I still talk to every day, and letters from people I haven't spoken to in years. The advice is filled with humor and love and kindness – and if there's one thing I've really been blessed to have learned, it's that people are just so inherently kind.

"Let life come to you as much as you strive to live."

"Be kind to strangers!... No matter how often the city feels brutal and rude, I never feel like I'm contributing to it. And that's a great feeling."

"Scream into the pillow but always turn around and rest on it."  

I've been thinking a lot lately about those moments in my life where I was sure I had it all "figured out," or I had agonized about how I would never be certain of who I was or where I wanted to be. It's always been hard for me to recognize when I'm happy because I've lived my whole life under a cloud of anxiety and fear. There was always something waiting around the corner to remind me of who I was and where I belonged (or, rather, didn't belong), and so moments of joy never stood out to me as something to hold on to. 

Every "coming of age" story Hollywood tells us takes place in middle or high school, but I'm about to be 33 and I still feel like I have no idea what I'm doing.

Which is...fine. It's right. It, oddly, makes sense. Because I am comfortable now, more than ever, in admitting when I don't know something – no matter how big or small. By admitting I know nothing, I've learned to become open to everything. 

* * * * *

Finally, a check-in on 10-Years-Ago-Me (that photo to the right is from 2012!): 

1. I will sleep more. I think I'm sleeping less.
2. I will walk slower. Unless I'm midtown. By nature of not living in New York anymore, I definitely walk slower. All bets are off once I'm back in the city though.
3. I will not let social networks define relationships. I've pulled way back on personal social media use (although the pandemic did suck me back in).
4. I will smile more, despite the annoyances of day to day life. Did this, still doing it (or at least trying to).
5. I will close my ears to potential negativity. I will not take things so personally. I still take things personally, but less so than I did back then. I've also learned that not all negativity is intended to be a personal attack. I think there are layers to that, and sometimes criticism is warranted and worth learning from.
6. I will do more of what I say and say less of what I do. I'm working on this, every day. I want to continue to be someone who acts and spends less time telling the world what it is I'm doing. Not all actions need to be broadcast.
7. I will network (ugh). 23-year-old me would roll her eyes pretty hard. I network all the time, but I do think all the negative associations with "networking" needs to be removed. Networking isn't a bad thing, especially if you can truly build connections that are both personal and useful.
8. I will focus more on the positive. Always working on this!
9. I will read more, and I will read slower. I will take time to digest words. Yes, yes, and yes.
10. I will learn new things and new skills every day. Yes! Learning new things is great.
11. I will drink from the glass, rather than analyze whether it is empty or full. I've always had a hard time "seizing the day," and so this is a continual work-in-progress. I don't think I'm there yet, and I'm still quite the overthinker. 
12. I will pick up my phone more often. There are too many spam calls.
13. I will not impose my thoughts on others, and vice versa. What did I mean by "impose"? Because I have a portable soapbox for the things I care deeply about, and am not afraid to use it.
14. I will spend less time on the outside looking in. The pandemic has made me forget what I was like in my social interactions before 2020, to be honest.
15. I will not force myself to be somebody I think I should be. This continues to be my superpower: constantly throwing my authentic self in people's faces.
16. I will let love be louder than my emotions. I have. I've lost too many loved ones over the last 10 years to let my love for others be kept behind closed doors. 
17. I will not keep reopening doors that closed themselves for a reason. Phew. Yeah.
18. I will let go of those who have let go of me, or are in the process of doing so. Yeah x2.
19. I will not be scared to speak up. YEAH.
20. I will celebrate others as much as I can. Last year, my resolution word was "encourage," and I do remain committed to it. I continue to be grateful for the privilege to support my friends and community in their work.
21. I will apologize. I will forgive. I will always forgive. Forgiveness does have its limits, and I recognize that. Forgiving doesn't necessarily mean forgetting, and so drawing the line between those two things has been important.
22. I will put my dreams into words and I will pursue them harder. I think I'm doing this. I feel like I am – or at least trying to.
23. I will actually believe in myself. It's a process. We're getting there.

This is incredibly overdue, but I've been having conversations with friends and new connections about the process of job hunting, particularly in a virtual world, and it reminded me that I've been meaning to share my own experiences from last year. I don't know how helpful this will be, and my experiences aren't going to be the same as yours or anyone else's you might talk to, but hopefully this can help someone out there going through the stress of finding that next role.

When the effects of the pandemic began to set in in the U.S., I knew the job hunt I was anticipating would only become harder. My fellowship was ending in May, but I had begun applying for jobs and speaking with potential hiring managers in March – but that all came to a stop by the end of March as hiring freezes took over. All through the last 2 months of my fellowship, I continued to apply for jobs, but it was rare to hear back from anyone. I was convinced throughout the second half of 2020 that I was going to be out of luck until 2021, so I focused on freelancing instead, hoping it could keep me afloat until companies started hiring again.

Part of it is that I don't think I had a clear idea what it was what I wanted to do next. I thought I did thanks to fantastic guidance during my fellowship, but the pandemic really threw that off. I got to a point in applying for jobs last summer where I was willing to throw my hat in for anything. Looking back, I do think that was a mistake though because I wasn't really thinking about the skills on my resume as key building blocks to my career journey. I was throwing those skills into a box and shipping it to companies with a note that just said, "Hey, hire me!" But there's more to the application process than just that.

I don't need to bore you with my resume or past work (you can find all of that yourself here and here), but I don't think it's arrogant of me to say that I've worked hard and built a substantial career in the last decade. I've done a lot and I feel like I've accomplished quite a bit, but that doesn't make me immune to the struggles of job hunting. Here are some numbers, just to add context...

• Jobs I applied for between March and October: 118
• Interviews I got: 24 (that's a 20% interview rate)
• Rejections received: 51 (this includes auto-generated emails where I didn't get an interview, and there were a number of interviews I completed where I've still never heard back)
• Places that ghosted me after 1 or more interviews: 7
• Hiring processes I withdrew from for various reasons: 7

I kept track of all of this in a very detailed spreadsheet (the template for that is available on my website for free). 

Before I continue, I just want to say: I am thrilled to have landed at Sony. Throughout my entire job hunting process, Sony was one of the only companies where I felt like they had actually read my resume and cover letter before talking to me, and not once during any interviews was it unclear why they were talking to me and what their vision was for the role I ended up accepting. The entire process took about 6 weeks in total, and they were transparent every step of the way about how long it would be before I would hear from them for the next step. Sony was also one of the very few places where I got an interview where I had just applied through the website and had no other connections. 

When I say all this to people, they're surprised because that feels like a normal interview process, right? Well if you've been applying for jobs lately, you know that's not always the case. So... let's talk about what else happened, featuring 5 different interview processes...

Story #1: At the start of June, I applied for a digital role at a very well-known magazine. It was a role that I knew I fit the requirements for, as it was listed on the careers site, and 2 days after applying, the hiring manager reached out to schedule an interview. We chatted, they mentioned that they felt my experience was more senior to what the role was, but that having the magazine on my resume could also be a bonus if I was looking to grow in that area of journalism. I said I was, and I wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to be considered for a role at a company I had long admired. After our interview, they told me they would send an edit test that was expected to be returned within 48 hours. The test would take about 3 hours to complete, they estimated. I set aside a weekend to do it and the test, which had 3 parts to it, took me 4 hours. I sent the test back, they confirmed receipt and said I'd hear from them soon. After 2 weeks, I followed up with no response. The following week, I followed up again and was told they were still reviewing. I continued to follow up in 2-3 week increments, but never heard a response again. As of today, 1 year later, I still technically haven't received a "no" from them. 

Story #2: I reached a point at the end of May where I was casting an enormous net, even outside of journalism. I ended up applying for a project manager role at a company that was well-known in its industry, and the job description indicated they were searching for someone with an editorial background. Although I had no professional experience in that industry specifically, I had a deep personal interest in it and was familiar with the space. I applied and heard back a few days later to set up an interview. I did my usual research and prepared some talking points, but when I got on the phone with the person representing the company, it became very clear to me that they had misrepresented the role in their listing (they described what sounded like an executive assistant role), and then I was asked the question: "What trends have you been following in [this industry]?" I listed a few based on newsletters I was subscribed to and YouTube videos I'd been watching, and was interrupted to tell me what answer they were looking for – an answer that was, frankly, problematic and slightly racist. Before I could push back, the person on the phone said to me: "You sound very poised and experienced, but you don't have a lot of vision. So why don't you do some research, and then email me and we can reschedule and try again?" After we hung up, I thought about it for a day and then chose to withdraw my application entirely.

Story #3: Mid-June, I received a LinkedIn message from someone who was hiring for an editorial leadership role at a start-up news organization and asked if I would be interested in applying. I asked some questions about the role and the company, and decided to apply. I did an initial interview with the hiring manager, and then was asked to send a "memo" outlining my interest in the role and my vision for the organization. After sending it, I was scheduled for a 2nd interview with the hiring manager a few days later. I had a 3rd interview a couple days after that with two additional members of the hiring team, followed by a 4th interview round that consisted of two separate group interviews. (I didn't note this in my spreadsheet, but I think somewhere along that process, I was also asked to send story pitches.) Two weeks after the 4th interview round, I saw on LinkedIn that the person who had initially reached out to me had updated their LinkedIn title to reflect a promotion to the role I had been interviewing for. I sent an email inquiring about any updates, but didn't hear back. A week later (this is now August), I sent another email and was told that they were making an offer to another candidate but that it wasn't finalized, which is why they hadn't responded to me yet, but that they wanted me to apply for future editorial roles that would be coming up. I considered the job closed, and put it out of my mind, but then mid-August received an email from the hiring manager saying they were rethinking the job description and hadn't made a decision would "get back to me soon." I didn't hear from them again.

Story #4: In August, I saw two job listings at an extremely well-known (and well-funded) national media company for editorial leadership roles that I was interested in, and felt confident I fit the requirements listed in the descriptions. I applied for both, and a week later found the listings in the AAJA Careers Center portal with an email address for the recruiter who submitted the listings. I reached out to them via email, and they responded saying they would pass my resume and cover letter to the hiring managers. At the same time, I also reached out to someone who tweeted about the job openings from the company and scheduled an informational. By the start of September, I hadn't heard anything back, so I sent an email follow-up with the recruiter and didn't hear back. Mid-September, the recruiter emailed to set up an interview... but when we got on the phone, it felt like they hadn't looked at any of my materials. I had questions about both roles, but every question was met with the response: "I'm not sure. I can look into it and let you know." At the end of the "interview," they said they would pass my information along. I followed up twice by the end of September, but never heard back. In mid-October, suddenly, I received an email with an edit test for one of the roles. I emailed the recruiter to ask them for more information and ask if I could speak to the hiring manager for the role because that would help give me a better idea of what they were looking for and what the role was (especially since the recruiter hadn't actually given me information about either role when we spoke). They responded and said this was how the process was, so I did the edit test and then got an auto-generated rejection email mid-November after I had already accepted and started my current job.

Story #5: At the start of 2020, before quarantine measures began, a recruiter from a national news organization had reached out to me about an executive role. At the time, I said, "Thanks, but no thanks," because the role would've required a move and I wasn't looking to move cities at the time. By July though, I saw the job was still open and decided to give it a shot. I applied and emailed the recruiter, letting them know that my situation had changed (I was open to moving for the right role at that point), and a few days later I was scheduled for an interview. On the day of the interview, I got myself ready and clicked the video meeting link that had been emailed to me a minute before the interview was scheduled to begin, but when the video meeting popped up, the recruiter was in the middle of talking to another candidate. I quickly left the meeting and sent an email apologizing for joining early and asking them to let me know when they were available for me to join again. I waited a few minutes and they didn't respond. I joined again about 10 minutes after our interview was supposed to begin, but the video meeting was empty. I waited and sent another email letting them know I was on and ready to chat. It wasn't until about 15 minutes later that they responded to let me know they were on another call and asked to push the interview an hour and a half. I agreed, but when I was about to get on at the new agreed time, they emailed again to push another half hour. We finally spoke, but the whole thing felt rushed. In the middle of my second answer to their question, they interrupted to ask me to give them a moment, and either they forgot to mute or intended to do this, but they answered a call on their cell phone that was clearly a personal call. After they hung up, they were texting almost the entire rest of the interview. I did follow up twice throughout August with no response, and then eventually received a rejection email at the end of September.

I will say that I did have a number of positive experiences and encounters, so it's not all doom and gloom out there. But I shared those 5 stories as examples of some of the types of interviews and recruiters you might encounter during the job hunting process because, unfortunately, not every experience is going to be positive. There are going to be moments where you feel frustrated and broken and like you don't even belong in the industry you spent so much time and effort working for or working toward. You might spend hours preparing for interviews and talking to people and completing edit and pitch tests (I did so many of those), and then it might all just go...nowhere. But don't let that discourage you. It just wasn't meant to happen at that time, and I firmly believe that.

So what can you do then when it all feels like you need luck to even make it to the next round? There are things you can control – namely, how you're representing yourself online. And I do think that the pandemic has forced people to be more active and creative online when it comes to job hunting.

1. Update your LinkedIn. Although you've got your resume saved on a PDF or DOC, sometimes that won't be enough to get your info seen. But your LinkedIn profile is searchable if someone were to Google your name. Having an updated LinkedIn that reflects all of your skills and background that maybe didn't make it to your resume can also be helpful too because you never know what a hiring manager might actually be looking for. 
2. Use your networks. I used to be stubborn about this because I had this need to prove to myself that I could "make it" without connections. But throughout the last year, I was very fortunate to have former colleagues and peers put in good words for me with various companies which led to interviews. LinkedIn is a great resource when it comes to reaching out to potential recruiters or hiring managers. Don't feel shy about taking up someone's offer to DM them about open jobs. At the end of the day, the worst thing that can happen is someone just doesn't respond. But that doesn't mean you're out of the game. I know "networking" sometimes gets a bad reputation, but there's a way to do it where you're not taking advantage of someone's time or kindness. (That might be a future post though.)
3. Don't just say your skills; show them. Instead of just telling people what I could do, I did my best to put that into practice. I kept my website up-to-date, with links to my best work and a "reverse job listing" where people could learn everything about me (and see possible references) filled with stories about projects I've done. I created a video resume where I could talk directly to the camera and explain who I am and what I could bring to a role (in case a recruiter or hiring manager felt like they didn't have time to talk to me). I had multiple versions of my resume ready to go in different formats – which brings me to my last point...
4. Have multiple versions of your resume ready to go. A design-heavy resume might look great, but is it ATS-friendly? Unfortunately, many companies are using applicant tracking systems that filter out resumes at a high volume. I had moments last year where I reached out to a recruiter or hiring manager (or they reached out to me) and it turned out my resume had been filtered by an ATS. If I hadn't spoken to a recruiter directly outside of those systems, my information would never have been seen. (That's why reaching out to recruiters and hiring managers is always worth it!) I made sure to always have an ATS-friendly resume and a very-designed one that I could send directly to recruiters and hiring managers, when necessary. 

Since 2017, I've picked a word to inspire the coming year – a philosophy, if you will. In 2017, it was "create," which led to weekly blogs, a podcast, and a burst of creativity across my professional career. "Reclaim" was 2018's word, which served as a reminder to be attentive to my own needs and desires, and not to sacrifice my mental health to please others. I chose "align" in 2019 to try and re-center myself after a year of personal pain, and in 2020, the word was "build" because I wanted to focus on building better and healthier habits, and also building a present that would transform my future.

As chaotic as 2020 was, I hope I did my best to hold "build" in my heart while walking through such a tough year. I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be a good person as an adult because I grew up with the idea – as I'm sure many others did too – that adulthood was something entirely removed from adolescence; that being an adult meant the child I was and the lessons learned were put into a box and set aside as a memory once I crossed that magical bridge into "independence." 

Maybe it's more obvious to others, but it took me awhile to see it: growing up isn't about the things we leave behind, but rather about the people, places, and moments that've helped build us, and learning how to carry those things wherever we go. As I packed up my apartment to move last month, I thought about the devastation associated with the space where I lived for 3 years – the corners I cried, the ceilings I stared at, the places I sat to receive bad news. 

But I also thought about the hope I found that was built by the people and the things that have changed my life in both big and small ways: the mirrors where I learned to love myself, the rooftop where I gathered with friends, the card on my dresser sent by a friend at my lowest point. Those are the things that helped me build in 2020 and see that my "word" for the year didn't have to be something I took on alone.

So for 2021, the word I'm choosing is "encourage." I want this year's personal philosophy to be less about myself and more about others. I jokingly tweeted the other day that I wanted to exude "best friend character" energy to the rest of my friends, but there's absolutely truth in it: I don't think I have the energy and charisma to be the main character right now, but I damn well can put whatever I have into hyping up the people around me – especially the ones who've been there for me too. 

I also want "encourage" to serve as a little "note" to myself to continue being gentle with my head and my heart when I'm struggling, both personally and professionally. If I'm going to live my life believing in others, I should remember to also begin the day with believing in myself first.

Happy New Year, everyone. Thanks for being on this journey with me in whatever way you have.

My grandfather liked beautiful things. As a kid, I would follow him around the kitchen while he cooked, watching the way he'd assemble plates. "It has to look good," he would tell me in Cantonese. See, the green bell peppers were too bland because they blended in with the other vegetables. The yellow ones (or "gold," as he liked to call them) looked the best.

Every memory I have of growing up and running around my grandparents' house involves me trying to get yeh-yeh's attention – and he always gave it to me too. We'd watch the laundry dry on the clothesline in the backyard. We'd walk around the backyard while ma-ma gardened. We'd sit in the living room and watch Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune. On weekends, he'd take my sister and me to the grocery store, and sometimes we'd get on the bus and go to the mall. At Macy's, he would point out the clothes that were the best quality and he would pick out new shirts and pants for ma-ma too. 

Our conversations were limited due to language, and I always wondered what our relationship could be like if I knew more Cantonese or if he knew more English. He spoke English better than ma-ma because of his years working in kitchens, but it was never enough for us to have long talks about anything substantial. 

Thirteen years ago, yeh-yeh had a stroke. It was my first year in college, away from home, and I remember getting the call about it. It was the first time I ever really faced the idea that he may not be around anymore. For my whole life, he was always there – stoic and dependable in his armchair with me sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him. During commercial breaks, he would tap me on the head and laugh when I batted his hand away. Sometimes he would sneak me extra snacks ("shh" he'd say, raising his eyebrows) or a quarter or dime from his pocket. We sat like this even well into my teens and 20s.

That Christmas, after surviving the stroke, he greeted everyone who came into the house with a hug and a smile. It was unusual for him, but it was clear that he was grateful he got to see everyone's faces again. For us, we were grateful it was at least one more dinner together. 

We'd have many dinners again after that. Every health struggle, he battled – and won. "All you need to do is change out his batteries, and then he's good to go," my dad joked after yeh-yeh – at 98 years old – recovered from pneumonia and a COVID scare in the spring. It would take a couple days, but then he would be back to his old self, laughing and teasing. 

The last few years in the nursing home changed him. Before, he was so independent and strong; but seeing him confined to a wheelchair was hard. Whenever he saw his grandchildren or great-grandchildren, though, seemed to light him up. He liked the staff at the nursing home and they liked teasing him right back. "This is my granddaughter," he would say to everyone we passed while I chaotically wheeled him around in circles through the lobby. A volunteer who came to take residents out for walks around the building outside stopped us once to say hello. 

"Mr. King's gotta lot of energy!" he said to me. 

"I hear he's a troublemaker," I responded. Yeh-yeh scoffed and told me to shut up while I poked him in the face. 

Over the last few months, since ma-ma passed, my uncle set up regular Skype calls through the nursing home so my cousins and I could see yeh-yeh and say hi. Every session, yeh-yeh would tell us not to waste time or money calling him, but I think he was secretly happy he could see us all. 

We buried yeh-yeh this morning, the majority of us via FaceTime. With him in his casket was a green vest he wore regularly over the last few years, one of ma-ma's knit hats, and the UCI baseball cap I bought him one year. 

Today would've been ma-ma's 97th birthday. I guess he just couldn't wait to see her again to celebrate. 

The first time I made a direct hire at work was in 2015 – and there's a moment during the process that I still think about a lot. 

I had been working with a wonderful recruiter at NBC who had identified the resumes and cover letters of about a dozen candidates to interview. She did some screening calls and then set up in-person interviews for me with the candidates (and phone calls with those based outside of New York).

There was one day we set aside where most of the interviews were scheduled to happen. That morning, with my makeup and hair on point, I pulled on my royal blue Calvin Klein dress I wore for my most professional encounters and a pair of nude pumps. Because here's the thing: I was 26 years old, and I knew I looked – on average – 5 years younger than that at first glance. But here I was with an important job and title and looking to hire for an important second-in-command. I wanted to make a strong first impression. 

The interviews were going well, and the recruiter and I were winding down in the conference room we had booked. There was just one person left and the recruiter went to get them from the guest area of the lobby. 

The interviewee walked in. I stood up to shake his hand and then sat down while the recruiter sat down next to me. 

I began my job interviews the way I always try to begin them: a little bit of small talk ("Did you find your way here OK?" "How's your day been?") before diving right into the interview part. 

"So let's get started with your most recent job experience," I said. "Can you walk me through what you've been doing?"

The person looked at the recruiter and then back at me. "Wait, who are you again?" he asked.

I looked at him, confused. 

He looked at me, confused.

I re-introduced myself the way I had when we first shook hands: my name, my title, the fact that I was the hiring manager. 

"Ohhhh," he responded. "So you'd be my boss?"

I didn't immediately react. But the way they had said it – "you'd be my boss?" – told me everything I think I needed to know about him. 

The recruiter jumped in and took over from there, trying to shift the focus back on the job itself – reiterating what the position was, what the expectations were, etc. But I could see that his body language had changed from when he had initially walked in and sat down. Now, he was slumping and not really making eye contact. As the actual interview went on, he didn't really give full answers. It was like he suddenly wasn't interested. 

After he left (and that was the last I heard from him), I turned to the recruiter and asked her what she thought happened. Was it my age? My gender? But we had interviewed a lot of people that day who varied in age and gender. In fact, this person wasn't that much older than me. (He may have even been my age, or just a year or two older.)

I thought about that interview for a long time, even after I ultimately hired somebody for the role. Part of me wanted to sit down with him again, ask him off the record why he checked out after he took one look at me. I wanted to call him out. 

But I also knew that wasn't productive. "I think we've just gotta let this one go," the recruiter had said to me when I ranted to her about it. "There's always going to be one in the bunch that we miss the mark with."

I got where she was coming from, but I was still mad. "We didn't miss the mark," I said. "He did!" 

There were already so many people inside the building who didn't think I deserved the job and didn't think I was capable. People I looked up to as mentors who told me I didn't "look" the part and that I didn't have the right kind of name recognition to get respect. And suddenly there was a stranger in front of me, looking at me and reminding me that I was out of place. I hated it.

And I know I've let it continue to get to me, even to this day. It's a lot easier to shake my confidence than people might think. On paper, I've got this career that people tell me is great, but I've always had a hard time seeing it that way because of moments like that interview. For every step forward I've taken, it's felt like there's been a dozen hands that have pulled me further back. (In the case of this pandemic, it's more like an entire ocean has washed me away.) 

I guess I'm putting this out there, not to give some pep talk or life-changing piece of advice about how "everything ends up working out!" – but instead to say: if you've ever felt knocked around in your career because of things out of your control, you're not alone. I'm right there with you. Let's keep trying to figure out how to get back up together.

Last year, I began my dive into the world of K-pop – something I'd been curious about for so long, but also had been intimidated by. I started a newsletter, but unfortunately let it fall to the side while I became so busy with other projects.

Now might be a good time to pick it up again, but in the meantime, I've also been toying with whether or not this journey works as a podcast. So here's a rough cut of what that would sound like, for those who are so inclined to listen:

At a socially distant funeral, there are no hugs allowed. At a socially distant funeral, tissue boxes are the only thing that can be shared. At a socially distant funeral, you stand in the sun and watch a coffin lowered into the ground by strangers wearing gloves.

You stand six feet apart from your loved ones, stance wide to avoid stepping on another person's grave.

You leave and go home.



My grandparents have always been the heart and soul of our family. On birthdays, we gathered around cake in the kitchen with the 70s-era wallpaper that never changed; on holidays, we miraculously fit everyone around a long table in the living room for dinner.

As the youngest of nine grandchildren on my father's side, my memories of these moments are a little hazy. I don't remember some of the finer details of what we ate or what we watched or what we laughed about, but I remembered observing: I watched the way the adults sat huddled together on the couch, trading gossip. I watched how my cousins interacted and made little notes to myself about the way they dressed or the way they spoke so I could mimic it later. I liked watching ma-ma watch everyone, smiling because the small house was filled with so much noise.

My favorite thing about ma-ma was her smile. She rarely understood what my cousins, sister, and I were talking about, but she still liked watching us. When she laughed, her whole face lit up. Sometimes, yeh-yeh would make a bad joke and she would shake her head but you could still see her lips tug up in a smile. When it was time to take photos, she always reached out to hold the person nearest to her.

She'd wake up early every morning to do tai chi in the backyard. She would tend to her garden and insist we take the vegetables home. She went to church every Sunday, where she was a leader in her community. When we stayed multiple days and nights, there was always at least one night she'd insist we do something fun like get pizza from Little Caesars or go to the sushi restaurant (that is now a Korean restaurant).

And she also did things that drove us a little crazy. Once when I was a toddler, before my mom had a picture session scheduled, ma-ma decided to cut my hair with no warning (the photos still make my mom sigh). When I was 4, ma-ma threw my favorite stuffed animal into the washing machine and Mom spent a long time sewing it back together (I still have it with me). She always scolded me for not eating enough because I ate fast, so I used to wait sometimes until she was watching me and I would purposely eat slow – and then she'd scold me for eating too slowly.

In 2005, I became the last grandchild still living at home while everyone else was in college or off working. The time I spent at ma-ma and yeh-yeh's house revolved around doctor's visits or errands that my mom drove them to and from. Ma-ma and I would sometimes walk around Kaiser while yeh-yeh waited at the pharmacy. (Once, we found a vending machine and she gave me quarters so I could buy chocolate for us to share.) I'd watch yeh-yeh later at Target picking out new kitchenware. Sometimes we'd go to dinner and then go back to their house to watch Wheel of Fortune or the end of Kings games.

I know I didn't always appreciate ma-ma the way I should have. Looking back, I've realized how lucky we all were to have had ma-ma in our lives. A few years ago, my cousin Mel interviewed ma-ma and yeh-yeh about their lives on tape. At the end of it, she asked them what lessons they wanted to share with everyone. "No matter how many generations," yeh-yeh said in Chinese, translated by my aunt, "remember unity. Don't be mad at each other for little things."

I can see ma-ma nodding her head. It's why she loved seeing us gathered in her house, I think: Unity. Family. Forever.



Only 10 of us were allowed inside the chapel. Three of my cousins, my sister, and I were part of that group. We filed in separately. Yeh-yeh sat in his wheelchair next to the casket, peering in every so often where ma-ma lay with her Bible. One-by-one, we approached for final goodbyes amid the flowers and the red roses placed lovingly to the side (she loved red roses; yeh-yeh always bought them for her). We weren't supposed to hug yeh-yeh, but I snuck in a quick hand squeeze (I had received my negative COVID-19 results that morning) and my cousin Nathanie handed him a tissue.

The funeral home employees suggested we FaceTime family members who were standing outside or who couldn't be in town so they could see ma-ma one last time. We took photos through our tears, then sat in the pews and made small talk until it was time to close the casket.

Yeh-yeh was driven in a golf cart to the graveside, where the rest of us eventually gathered. There were a few chairs out, but no tents or coverings to protect us from the 100-degree weather. My uncle and a few of my cousins spoke, sharing lovely memories of ma-ma.

I glanced over at yeh-yeh in the golf cart occasionally, far away from the rest of us. I had made him a sandwich earlier in the day because he'd be missing lunch at the nursing home. He ate it while everyone spoke and then it was time to lower the casket. We threw flowers in, and then it was time to leave.

So many of the customs and traditions had to be put aside, which included gathering over a meal. Over the next couple of days, we gathered in smaller groups. I know when this pandemic is over, we'll find opportunities to celebrate ma-ma's life. For now, I'm grateful we got the chance to be together in some way: together – as family, forever. It's what ma-ma would want.