A trip home and a shift in plans

Thinking 30 years ahead

I hadn’t planned on going back to Shanghai (my hometown) this spring, but alas — my momma had broken her leg, and quickly needed someone by her side.

I scrambled to get my visa and other affairs in order, which included putting all my projects on pause. “I’m so sorry,” I kept telling people. “I know we just started, and that there’s a lot to do, but I’m not sure yet when I’ll be back.”

Fast forward a month, two surgeries, and too many chicken soups — my mom is miraculously back on her feet, and I’m back in New York with plans to scrap all of my previous plans.

Springtime in Shanghai is a sight to behold, with the tenderest of pale green buds bursting forth from the concrete chill of the city’s humid winter. Although I didn’t have much time to visit my favorite city sights, I thought about them a lot from my mom’s bedside.

The crackle of Shanghainese breakfast frying in the morning air, the all-day chatter of the birds in the parks, the sway of the wu tong trees. The humble quiet of my grandma’s home. The sheer spectacle of the Bund at night.

The way the food holds everything about how we live and how we relate to the world around us.

Whenever I felt the jetlag sinking in, I dragged myself outside for a run — heart racing alongside the mopeds that dashed past; head nodding respectfully at the uncles gazing disapprovingly from inside their warm puffer jackets.

你冷不冷呀？

I hadn’t realized how much I missed my city.

I hadn’t understood how fast I’d been moving since I left her nearly 15 years ago — to discover a new path in the U.S., weaving in and out of unfamiliar spaces, getting to know the complexities of the world around me. Was I running towards something? Or afraid of what might happen if I slowed down?

The last time I spent quality time at home was probably before the pandemic, and we’ve both been through a lot of change — Shanghai and I.

I told her about the people I’ve met, the things I’ve seen, the stuff I’ve done, and the thoughts and feelings that were weighing on my mind. She told me about how the city has transformed, in both infrastructure and culture. She showed me the new subway stations replacing once-familiar corners, the shiny new structures, the well-paved roads, and the strict new composting system.

But some things still felt surprisingly the same, comfortable and familiar. With the extended time and space together, I could feel my anxieties about feeling foreign in my own home start to fall away.

lol aggressive as always, NYC

Similarly to New York, Shanghai holds a glow about her that no amount of extreme density, gloomy weather, xenophobia, or relentless pragmatism can eclipse. There’s a strong culture, no doubt — but also a uniquely inviting space for those in a constant state of becoming.

Something settled inside my heart while I was home.

Perhaps I remembered what it felt like to belong to a place, even for a moment. Perhaps there was some long-awaited healing. Some vulnerability, acceptance, and forgiveness.

“I’m so glad you came back,” she told me. “It means a lot to me.”

“I think I understand you better,” I replied, “because I had a chance to leave.”

My mom made some jokes about her broken leg — “It must be a sign to slow down, right? I’ll be 60 soon, a ripe retirement age. You’ll see, when you’re me in 30 years.”

Pfft. A whole 30 years.

Wait.

Only 30 years?

30 years feels both unfathomably long and frustratingly short.

Because in the grand scheme of time, or even just a short chapter of human history — one human lifetime is a speck of glitter. It can take generations to build things that last for generations. So how much can one person reasonably do with one 30 year-long career?

Yet 30 years is also… all the life I’ve lived so far — from Shanghai to New York, and everything in between. A lot has certainly happened in that time, so many beginnings and endings, and I’ve seen how even the smallest of actions can seed lasting impacts.

I pictured the next 30 years, and suddenly felt — if I could have 30 more years to build something that I care about, with people I care about — it would be one of the greatest blessings I can imagine.

I’d really like to…

Carve out a little corner of the universe
where myself and my people can create together
making work that is beautiful, useful, and meaningful
doing the best we can with the resources we have
taking care of each other
enjoying our time on earth together

And if we only have 30 years to do it, shouldn’t we get started now…?

So, after much deliberation for far too long, I’ve decided to start a new company. :’)

It’s called “Chores” — a collaborative slow fashion studio.

I’ve asked some of my very kind and talented friends to build it with me, out in the open — trying new things, messing up, learning as we go, sharing our journey, and inviting you to come with us. We’re not really sure what we’ll make and what’ll happen along the way, but we’ll trust our hearts to guide us.

And if we’re lucky, maybe we’ll get to do it for 30 years.