An Update -- the shattering of permanence, a new life

I am writing this with my eyes closed. Yes, literally. A recent diagnosis of my dry eye suggests that half my meibomian glands (that produce oil to lubricate your eyes) is dead, the other half is constantly inflamed and unable to function. The doctor projected that in one or two decades, all my glands would be dead, and I would have to rely entirely on outside lubrication to be able to just open my eyes. Sitting in the same room with 80-year-olds who are waiting to get the same treatment, I felt like a piece of shit.

The days following, I felt the worst duality of my life. Sometimes I'm happy, sometimes I'm hopeless. each is a spiral that drags me into a washing machine session of thoughts, emotions, and ideas. at first, the question was: what do I do with my career? Is it prematurely dead? Or am I imposing fear of the future on my perfectly fine present? Then the question became: What do I do with my life? How do I seek joy and accomplishment, how do I construct meaning if I have nothing to do?

I defined many different paths of "courage" for myself: courage in continuing to pursue art, although that led to the cycle of "my eyes get better --> I paint --> my eyes feel like shit --> stop painting --> my eyes get better..." In my next definition, I decided that courage was in not doing anything rather than doing blindly (pun intended). I did nothing. I lied in bed, couches, chairs. I was so bored I ended up on social media which unsurprisingly made my condition worse. My third attempt at defining courage was the courage to do something else. I decided that I'm gonna learn how to do a pull up, I'm going to go backpacking around China, go teach a language in another country...

Every choice that led to my present (which I love so much that I fear an alternative universe), going to this exact college, networking with the exact person that was recommended to me by the cold algorithm of linkedin, finding my mentor and learning digital painting in the right ways, finding like-minded friends and communities online, cultivating joy in art and dedicating my life to being an artist... everything was so, so arbitrary. So arbitrary to the point that a click of a button on a website led to this chain of events.

And my diagnosis was arbitrary. I had blurry eyes when reading for over 3 years, and I was never so bothered by my eye strain to get it checked out. Imagine if I delayed it by another few years, the situation would be much worse.

Life is a chain of arbitrary events linked together by change. Nothing is certain, nothing is for granted, only change is constant. And as flecks of sand living in an infinite universe, the only thing we can do is accept change and surf in its waves.

I like change.

It brings happiness, form new thoughts and connections; I grow up; I meet new beautiful souls that inspire me, I improve my skills and understanding of the world.

I hate change.

It brings sadness, death, the grief that follows; it takes away from you what you always took for granted -- could be as small as my dad's stolen phone, could be as big as health, or loved ones.

But each change brings on a new challenge. It is also due to guaranteed change that we find the hope to face struggles. before, I knew I'll improve my painting, so I take on the challenge to work hard. Now, I know that I'll get better with my eyes, so I take on the immense mental and physical challenge to improve my health. I used to live in the future, I make 4-year college plans, I think about career goals. Now, every day is a struggle, and I live by the hour. Staying away from my screen for the present moment is a battle won.

And, there's no use to dwell in the future. My first year at college, I wanted to get a marketing job so bad, I went to all the networking events, only to lose interest. My second year at college, I discovered digital art, I wanted to finish a self-proposed digital art major so bad, I took all the 3D modeling, computer animation, game development classes, and for what? In my third year, I discovered digital painting. I realized this was it, this was my calling. I painted day and night, I decided to quit college to pursue this career, only for a diagnosis that I can't do it anymore at the beginning of my gap year. Why do I still make plans, when there is so much uncertainty? We can't see ahead of fate. I decide to live by the moments. If I want to experience something, I'm going to do it.

I realized that my suffocating grasp onto the label of being an artist was to escape my anonymous past. When I saw this as a potential career, I was so quick to abandon everything I had -- diploma, community -- to embrace an identity that I started to forge for myself. This identity is built on the obsession of validation and completion. I want to complete paintings, not paint them.

I want to climb the ladder of conventional success, not the ladder of finding myself in art.

I don't love painting at all. I love the idea of finishing a good painting.

I don't want to become an artist.

I want other people to think I'm an artist.

My inability to see into the future (pun intended, all my puns are freakin' intended) is a curse but also a blessing. I am unable to make long-term plans, or dwell something that is not the present. To keep myself occupied, I have to live in the present. I have to feel everything in a particular moment in order to fill up my vacant mind, now free of the shackles of a idealized future. My emotions become more specific and intense, my love and empathy grow.

I think about the majestic waves of a woodpecker's spotted wings, or the sunlight shining through the vines that sound like a sea of crystals in the wind.

I realize that I love art。

I love it when I'm obsessed with figuring out what's the most beautiful solution to the curvature of someone's cheeks.

I love it when I communicate with people over the world who live utterly different lives and don't speak the same languages as me, when they can feel the same complicated wonder and loss that occupy my days.

And I love it when I work with a team of friends to make one piece of art in unity. No matter your race, gender, religion, beliefs, I can understand your art。

I can feel your longing for beauty and your flavorful emotions.

I love you,

and I have never met you.

Life slips too easily between chasing your dreams and facing your struggles.

The purpose of life itself is to live, and joy and suffering bloom from the fertile soil that is life. To live is to accept change and turmoil, and by finding solace and balance in constant change, you have truly lived. And by finding the courage to face changes and spin my life in a new direction, I realized, I have never truly loved living so much.

我写下这些文字的时候，眼睛是闭着的。是的，真的闭着。

最近被诊断出干眼症。医生说，我大约一半的睑板腺（负责分泌油脂、润滑眼睛）已经坏死，剩下的一半则长期处于炎症状态，无法正常工作。医生推测，再过一二十年，我所有的睑板腺都会坏死，到那时，我可能只能完全依赖外部的润滑剂，才能勉强睁开眼睛。

坐在一个和我同处一室、等着接受同样治疗的八十岁老人中间，我感觉自己像一块狗屎。

接下来的日子里，我感受到了人生中最强烈的矛盾感。有时候我很快乐，有时候我又觉得毫无希望。每一种情绪都会变成一个漩涡，把我拖进一场由想法、情绪和各种念头组成的洗衣机。

一开始，我问自己的是：我的职业怎么办？它是不是提前死掉了？还是说，我只是把对未来的恐惧强加在一个其实完全没问题的当下？

然后问题变成了：我的人生怎么办？如果我没什么事情可以做，我要如何寻找快乐和成就感？我要如何创造意义？

我给自己定义了许多不同版本的“勇气”。

第一种勇气，是继续追求艺术——尽管这会让我陷入这样的循环：

“我的眼睛好一点了 → 我画画 → 我的眼睛糟透了 → 停止画画 → 我的眼睛好一点了……”

在第二种定义里，我决定，勇气不是闭着眼睛硬做，而是什么都不做。（这里的双关当然是故意的。）

于是我什么都没做。

我躺在床上、沙发上、椅子上。我无聊到了最后只能刷社交媒体，而这毫不意外地让我的情况变得更糟。

我第三次尝试定义勇气时，想到的是：勇气也可以是去做别的事情。

于是我决定，我要学会引体向上；我要背包走遍中国；我要去另一个国家教语言……

回头看，我人生中的每一个选择——那些最终把我带到现在这个位置的选择（而我又如此热爱现在的生活，以至于害怕另一个平行宇宙里的自己）——去这所大学，和 LinkedIn 那个冰冷算法推荐给我的“某个人”建立联系，找到我的导师并以正确的方式学习数字绘画，在网上找到志同道合的朋友和社群，培养对艺术的热爱，把自己的一生献给成为一名艺术家……

这一切的一切，都太过偶然了。

偶然到什么程度？

一个网站上的一次鼠标点击，就足以开启这一连串的事件。

而我的诊断也是偶然的。

我已经有三年多的时间，在阅读的时候眼睛一直模糊，却从来没有因为眼睛疲劳到不得不去检查。想象一下，如果我再拖几年，情况会有多糟。

人生就是一连串由变化连接起来的偶然事件。

没有什么是确定的，没有什么是理所当然的，唯一恒定的只有变化。

而我们不过是生活在无限宇宙中的一粒粒沙尘。我们唯一能做的，就是接受变化，在变化的浪潮上冲浪。

我喜欢变化。

它带来快乐，产生新的思想和连接；我因此长大；我遇见新的、美丽的灵魂，他们激励着我；我的技能提升了，我对这个世界的理解也更加深刻。

我讨厌变化。

它带来悲伤、死亡，以及随之而来的哀痛；它会从你手中夺走那些你一直视为理所当然的东西——可能小到我爸爸被偷走的手机，也可能大到健康，或者所爱的人。

但每一次变化，也都会带来新的挑战。

而正因为变化是不可避免的，我们才有希望去面对那些艰难。

以前，我知道自己的画技终究会进步，所以我愿意接受努力练习的挑战。

现在，我知道我的眼睛也会慢慢好起来，所以我愿意接受巨大的心理和身体上的挑战，去改善自己的健康。

过去，我一直活在未来。我会制定四年的大学计划，会思考职业目标。

而现在，每一天都是一场挣扎，我按小时生活。

此刻能够离开屏幕，对我来说，就是赢下一场战斗。

而且，沉溺于未来本身也没有意义。

大学第一年，我特别想找一份市场营销的工作，于是参加了所有能参加的社交和职业交流活动，最后却渐渐失去了兴趣。

大学第二年，我发现了数字艺术。我那么渴望完成一个自己设计的“数字艺术专业”，于是修了所有3D建模、电脑动画、游戏开发的课程。

然后呢？

到了大三，我发现了数字绘画。

我意识到，这就是它。

这就是我命中注定要做的事情。

我没日没夜地画画，甚至决定退学去追求这份事业。

结果，就在我 gap year 的开始，我被诊断出自己已经不能再这样做了。

既然未来有这么多不确定性，我为什么还要不停地制定计划？

我们看不见命运前方的路。

所以我决定活在每一个当下。

如果我想体验某件事，我就去做。

我意识到，我对“艺术家”这个身份的紧紧抓取，其实是为了逃离那个默默无闻的过去。

当我把艺术看成一种潜在的职业时，我如此迅速地抛下一切已有的东西——学历、社群——去拥抱一个我开始为自己打造的身份。

而这个身份建立在对认可和“完成”的执着之上。

我想完成一幅画，而不是去画一幅画。

我想爬上传统意义上的成功阶梯，而不是沿着艺术这条路去寻找自己。

我根本不爱画画。

我爱的是“完成一幅好画”这个想法。

我并不想成为一个艺术家。

我想要的是让别人觉得我是一个艺术家。

我无法看见未来，（双关再次成立——我所有的双关都是故意的，真的全都是故意的）这既是一种诅咒，也是一种祝福。

我无法制定长期计划，也无法沉溺于那些并非当下的事情。

为了让自己有所寄托，我必须活在现在。

我必须在某一个具体的瞬间感受一切，才能填满那颗空荡荡的脑袋——它如今终于摆脱了那个理想化未来的枷锁。

我的情绪变得更加具体，也更加强烈；我的爱和同理心也在增长。

我会去想啄木鸟斑驳翅膀展开时那壮丽的波浪，或者阳光穿过藤蔓洒下来的样子——风吹过时，它们发出的声音，就像一片水晶组成的海洋。

我意识到，我爱艺术。

我喜欢那种为了寻找“一个人的脸颊曲线最美的表达方式”而陷入痴迷的感觉。

我喜欢与世界各地的人交流——他们过着与我截然不同的生活，甚至不会说和我一样的语言——但他们依然能够感受到和我一样复杂的惊奇与失落，那些情绪填满了我的每一天。

我也喜欢和一群朋友一起，为了同一个作品共同创作，让一件艺术作品在我们之间汇聚成形。

不论你的种族、性别、宗教或信仰是什么，我都能理解你的艺术。

我能感受到你对美的渴望，以及那些充满你个人色彩的情绪。

我爱你。

而我甚至从未见过你。

人生太容易在“追逐梦想”和“面对苦难”之间悄悄溜走。

生命本身的意义，就是活着。

而快乐与痛苦，都从生命这片肥沃的土壤中开出花来。

活着，就是接受变化与动荡。

而当你能够在持续不断的变化中找到慰藉与平衡，你才真正活过。

当我找到面对变化的勇气，并让自己的人生驶向一个全新的方向时，我才意识到——

我从来没有像现在这样，如此深爱着活着这件事。