12.30 | Permission to Grow: 10 lessons from my travels I'm taking with me into 2024

It's not New Year's Eve unless you cry. How a year that started with a panic attack turned out to be one of my best yet.

This time last year, I was experiencing the worst panic attack I’d had in years.

The setting might surprise you. I was on an incredible family trip to the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in real life: a teeny island barely a mile in diameter in the Indian Ocean. The sun was setting on 2022. And it was a magnificent sunset — the sky was streaked with orange and pink and red. Around me sat the people I love most in the world, my immediate family, all happy and healthy. I was on a vacation of a lifetime. I had an exciting year ahead: I’d see my sister get married, take on new projects at work, and plan five months off for the journalism fellowship I’d received a few months prior, somewhere new in the world.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, my airway constricted. I directed my gaze to the placid green sea and willed my eyes to focus on the water, but spots filled my vision instead. My heartbeat drummed in my ears, blocking out the happy chatter from my family as they took in the otherworldly scenery. Negative thoughts boomed through my mind, startling me with their intensity. The thoughts don’t deserve airtime here. But they were awful. Sinister. Intensely mean. I excused myself from the festive table and ran to the bathroom as the tears started to fall.

No New Year’s Eve is complete without some tears. Here I am, post-panic attack on the eve of 2023, convinced that the year would be a bust before it even started.

I was overwhelmed by the uncertainty of the year ahead. The 12 months that follow every New Year’s Eve, when lived — divided into quarters, months and days — whizz by. But before the clock strikes midnight and it all begins, the year ahead is an eternity of uncertainty.

Isn’t every new year a question for all of us? Even those who plan meticulously and stick to scrupulous routines, will be in for at least one surprise in 2024. A triumph. A tragedy. A miracle. A loss.

Uncertainty leaves room for excitement. For growth.

But the Chloe hunched over the sink in the restroom of that tropical resort didn’t know that. I glared at my reflection, worn down by the disparaging thoughts running through my mind. To the version of myself that existed on December 31, 2022, the unknown of the year ahead was too much to bear. As grateful as I was for the fellowship opportunity, it was one thing to look forward to it, and another to actually live it. The thoughts in my head told me I’d fail before I even tried.

Before 2023 started, I had myself convinced that the year would be a disaster. But it turned out to be one of my best: This was the year I learned to live with uncertainty.

As I look ahead at all the question marks in 2024, I’m feeling that familiar mix of anxiety and dread. But as I learned this year, some of the best things happen when you let yourself sit in the unknown.

November 2023 Chloe has a lot to tell December 2022 Chloe. Here I am, awaiting the best cheeseburger I’ve ever had at Le Chardenoux, one of the most incredible (and beautiful) restaurants I’ve ever dined at, during a spontaneous weekend trip to Paris with my best friend, Jonny. Another lesson: Always say yes to Paris.

Here are some lessons I’ve learned that I’ll be clinging to in 2024. I hope they bring you some solace and inspiration next year.

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Chloe’s 10 Commandments for the new year:

1. Procrastination will not save you.

   Do the thing, because if you don’t do it, you’ll beat yourself up, and the longer you procrastinate doing the thing, the more you’ll regret not having done it sooner. I say this from experience. Of the five months I spent accountable to only my self-imposed fellowship deadlines, I wasted a lot of time procrastinating tasks that made me nervous: asking sources difficult questions, soliciting favors, bothering people, pitching my story, to name a few. I couldn’t procrastinate forever, but the more time I waited, the scarier the tasks seemed. I had to do them eventually. And I did. Once I completed these tasks, they were nothing; I was annoyed I hadn’t started earlier. It doesn’t get easier. Try anyway.

2. You really don’t need that much stuff.

   If you give a hoarder a single suitcase to live out of for five months, chances are she’ll see the light. And that’s just what happened. I only packed two pairs of jeans for my trip’s entirety. And…guess what? It was fine. Could I have used a third pair? Definitely. Was it necessary? Nope. I also didn’t engage in online shopping while I was overseas. No random items from Amazon. No Black Friday deals. It felt glorious — even to me, someone who used to make impulsive online purchases regularly. Now that I’m back stateside in the land of excess, with a closet stuffed with clothes and a medicine cabinet overflowing with products I barely use, I’m overwhelmed by choice. Have I adopted a monastic lifestyle and shunned materialism entirely, as a friend recently joked? Absolutely not. But I’ve grown more selective with the things I acquire. The few things I bought while I was away — a graphic t-shirt from an independent shop in Glasgow, a vintage trench coat from a reseller named Cornelius in Shoreditch’s Brick Lane Vintage Market, a pair of black kitten heels I thrifted in Florence, a handcrafted wooden tray from an adorable boutique in Primrose Hill — were quality purchases I will treasure forever.* (*my restraint did not and likely never will extend to European pharmacies. I checked a second suitcase on the way home to contain my bounty.)

   

   A downside of reducing one’s wardrobe: On unexpectedly frigid days, you might find yourself layering like never before (read: two pairs of pants, four shirts/sweaters, a headband AND a beanie) to mitigate the absence of proper winter gear.

3. Make friends with your past and future selves.
   Forgive them. And then try to be a little kinder to your present self. She’s all you have today.

4. Change begets growth.

   Routine is comforting. But too much of it is stifling, and will keep you locked in your current state. And there’s always room for improvement. Try one new thing a day. It can be tiny. Switch up your coffee order. Smile at a stranger in a bar. Sit at a restaurant for a meal alone, even if you’re married or have dozens of friends. Take the stairs instead of the elevator. Learn about a new culture or community. Cut through the park on your walk home from work, even if you’re in a rush. Sleep on the other side of the bed. Taste a food or drink you think you hate. The disquiet that might accompany trying something new — especially if it’s a challenge — will help you to grow. After all, “life is all change.”

5. NO. ONE. CARES.

   Ask yourself what you’d do if you weren’t afraid of what others might think. And then try to do it. It’s like what my mom used to tell me about my acne when I was going through puberty: a pimple always looks worse to you than it does to anyone else. No one is keeping track of your every move. No one is dissecting your failures. No one is whispering about your awful Italian. No one is judging you for promoting your writing. No one is staring at your pimple. So try to stop worrying about what everyone might think of you and just live your life.

6. Comparison is the thief of joy.
   I’m 27 years old. I’ve no money and no prospects….Name that film! Single women, especially those in their late twenties and up, have been scorned by society for centuries. And today, thanks to social media, we twenty-somethings can easily fall into the trap of self-loathing by way of comparison. This applies to everyone. But for the single woman approaching 30 whose feed is flooded with happy couples and wedding dresses, it’s easier to fall into said trap than avoid it. It sometimes feels like I’m in a game of musical chairs with all the other twenty-somethings in the world, and the music’s stopped, and everyone’s blindly grabbed a chair to date, or marry, or procreate with, and there are no chairs left for me. (I cannot confirm or deny that this is one of my recurring nightmares.) And I say all of this as someone who is contently single, forever grateful for the opportunities and adventures that my singledom affords me. It still gets me down! Comparing yourself to anyone else is never, ever helpful.

7. This, too, shall pass.

   Nothing in the world is permanent, least of all your thoughts and feelings. You may be overcome with despair, or anxiety, frustration, guilt, or sadness — but eventually, the clouds will part, and you will smile.

   These things always make me feel better, and might help you:

   Waaaater! Especially a swim. A shower or bath will do fine.
   A snack. Feeling anxious? You might just be hangry. Eat something.
   Human connection. Call a loved one. Ask for a hug. Compliment a stranger.
   Write. Putting pen to paper and just getting the thoughts out can work wonders.
   Move. Go for a walk. Work out. Stand up and stretch. Yes, you do have time.

8. Your gut will not steer you wrong.

   It’s easy for one’s core desires to be drowned out in the cacophony of “shoulds” from other sources (see #5, on comparison). But if you can’t isolate your voice from those of others, you’ll lose your way. If you trust your instincts, you will never guide yourself astray. Remember my disastrous room rental situation back in August? I moved out after a few days, but in truth a part of me knew the whole situation was off from the moment I stepped inside the flat. I spent a month unsuccessfully chasing a story in Italy I had a feeling wouldn’t work out weeks earlier. Looking back at my time abroad for my fellowship, my gut sense guided me better than anything else (except, of course, my lord and savior Google Maps). Sometimes, you’ll just get a feeling. Trust it.
   

9. Success is trying. Failure is not trying.
   We’ve been taught the wrong definitions of these two terms. I’ve lived most of my 27 years in fear of failure. All that did is close me off from opportunities. Not trying something at all might feel safe in the moment, but it’s the surest path to failure. Be scared, and do it anyway. As long as you’ve tried, you’ve succeeded.

10. Time is running out. So say yes.
    The days will pass regardless of how you spend them. The clock doesn’t stop when you’re wasting time on your phone. You can rot on the couch for an hour, scrolling on TikTok, or spend the same amount of time on a walk around your neighborhood, where you’ll breathe fresh air and feel the sun on your face. You can order takeout or say yes to a dinner plan with a new friend. If you’re lucky, tomorrow will come either way. That’s not to say I don’t love myself some unproductive alone time. But there comes a moment where the screen time starts to feel gross, when hibernating in your apartment in the same pair of pajamas brings more pain than pleasure. So put your phone down and get outside.

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Thank you, dear reader, for spending time following along here. Every subscriber, comment, or acknowledgment of Permission Slips over the last few months has meant so very much to me. Your kind words encouraged me more than you’ll know. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

So what’s next?
Your guess is as good as mine. For now, I’ll be taking a temporary step back here as I finish up writing my fellowship story (yes, I’ll let you know when it’s out in the world!) and return to my job in New York.

I’m wishing you a happy wonderfully uncertain new year.

Until next time.

All my love,
Chloe