Lately, I’ve been feeling fear.
And sadness.
Not all at once. Not overwhelmingly. But enough that I’ve noticed them arriving sooner—louder, clearer, less hidden than before.
What’s different now is not that I feel more—it’s that I’m becoming aware of what I feel faster.
Sometimes not instantaneously, but quickly enough to pause and ask:
Where is this coming from? What is this emotion trying to show me?
Sadness: A Soft Goodbye to a Life I Built
Right now, I’m on the edge of a final-round interview. A company I admire. A role I want. An inflection point that might, in the most practical sense, change everything.
I should feel excited. And part of me does.
But mostly, what I feel is sadness.
Because if I get the job—and if I take it—it will likely mean leaving San Francisco.
And with it, the quiet grief of saying goodbye to:
The city where I built myself through my 20s.
The friendships that formed not overnight, but through time, tension, and trust.
The routines that became grounding.
The identity I shaped while working at Tesla, growing up through heartbreak, healing, hope.
There’s a heaviness in realizing this chapter might close soon.
And there’s a different kind of sadness in the lives I won’t get to live:
The version of me that chilled out, stayed at Tesla, and found peace there.
The version that became financially free and finally left corporate.
The version that stayed in this city long enough to make it permanent.
The version that healed in time to build a future with my last partner.
Each of those paths carried a piece of my hope. And each of them now lives in the realm of what could’ve been.
Fear: The Double-Edged Sword of Wanting Something Deeply
Alongside the sadness is another feeling: fear.
Fear that I’ll mess up the interview.
Fear that I’ll get rejected.
Fear that I’ll feel lost again, with no next step lined up.
What makes fear so sharp is that it often hides behind desire.
I want this opportunity. I’ve worked hard for it. I’ve visualized it.
And so, to not get it feels like loss.
But I also know this:
The more I attach myself to an outcome, the more power I give it to define my happiness.
That’s the paradox.
Buddhism teaches that attachment is the root of suffering.
And I’m starting to see that this doesn’t mean we shouldn’t want things.
It means we shouldn’t be defined by whether or not we get them.
Investigating Fear (Instead of Avoiding It)
What happens when I lean in to fear, instead of resisting it?
Strangely, it softens.
I begin to ask:
What exactly am I afraid of?
What’s the worst-case scenario?
What would it mean about me if I didn’t get this job?
And slowly, fear becomes less of a monster in the closet and more of a conversation partner.
Not an enemy, but an invitation to look deeper.
I realize: fear often shows up when I’m standing at the edge of something that matters.
And that’s not a bad thing.
It means I care.
It means I’m growing.
Transforming Fear and Sadness into Fuel
These emotions—fear and sadness—are often labeled as “negative.”
But they’ve become some of my most honest teachers.
Sadness is showing me what I value.
Fear is showing me what I want—and what I’m willing to risk.
Together, they remind me I’m alive and human.
By naming them, I no longer have to suppress them.
By feeling them, I’m not held hostage by them.
By learning from them, I become more grounded—not less.
There is nothing wrong with being afraid. There is nothing weak about sadness.
They are simply evidence of presence—evidence that we are alive, and that we are awake to our transitions.
A Note to You (and to Me)
If you’re feeling something today—something uncertain, raw, tender—you’re not broken.
You’re becoming more aware.
And maybe, like me, you’re standing at the edge of a new phase of life.
Maybe you’re grieving not just what’s ended, but what almost was.
Maybe you’re scared of what comes next—or of staying the same.
That’s okay.
The beauty of emotions is that they’re not fixed destinations.
They’re weather. They move. They pass.
And if you listen closely enough, they’ll tell you where you are—and what matters most right now.
So let them move through you. Let them speak.
And then, when you're ready, take the next step. Even if it's small.
Even if you're afraid.
Because sometimes, walking forward with fear and sadness is the most courageous thing you can do.