Dipping Point

A dipping point is that remarkable instance where, almost magically, life is devoid of bliss. Meaning is yanked out of your hands before you realized what you were in possession of. Gone. It’s remarkable because it can literally happen in an instance. Here you are minding your own business, when all of a sudden, a bit of memory popped up. Something you haven’t thought about, in a while, or maybe ever, which escalates the effect, for what business does this memory hope to achieve by showing up at this random point in time? One time in class, somebody made a pun between “thinking” and “sinking”. I laughed politely like everyone else, and then something combusted, and it was as painfully shocking as if a large woman came and slapped me in the face. I imagined if you had been watching my expression, you would have seen it: a smile, a split second where I seem to be looking into a distance, a flicker of fear, and then I was gone. Physically you can see me in the room, but that was it in terms of presence. Emotionally, I was sinking, in that abrupt way where one might say, “Wait, what jus–“

There is not, to my knowledge, a cure for this. I’m experiencing it right now, and I can confidently say that writing, though productive, does not lead to alleviation. It’s awful, and I don’t know what else to do but to write about it.

Example. There was one day, in Bangkok, where I felt surrounded by pretty things. This may be a good thing for a better person, but in my case, everything just led to feelings of ugliness and inadequacy. Like these BEAUTIFUL skirts I saw in the streets of Siam Paragon. I mean they are so, so beautiful that it hurt not being able to afford them. Or maybe it hurt because I *could* afford it, but it doesn’t make any sort of sense to purchase them.

I came home and the TV is on, and Sarah Jessica Parker and Rachel Zoe showed up, two warriors most responsible for the Invasion of Indulgent Fantasy Land in early 2000s, leading others to believe it’s actually a habitable space for everyone. I had just came home after having visited Khao San Road, for the sake of reliving fond memories, and it’s crazy how the place has become a tourists’ heaven. The place is now full of lights, music, drinks, free wi-fi. It’s like the travelers’ idea of Khao San Road has completely matched Khao San Road’s idea of the travelers. And there’s really nothing wrong with a perfect match of ideas if you are one of the contributing party. If, like me, you were an unwelcome third party with a weak grasp on expectations, you’d be left feeling confused. What is wrong with me that I don’t get this?

It’s a horrid tendency to gravitate towards negativity, like how a beautiful skirt reminds me that I can’t afford it. Or that a wonderful match, like between Khao San Road and tourists, forces everyone to fit in the typecast, or else. Seeing people happy reminds me that I’m not. Bangs. Shoes. Well-toned arms. Fancy houses. Glamour. They’re all there, seemingly so accessible. You see them everywhere, so it must mean that if you don’t have them, there’s something wrong with you.

There is negativity in everything, if you look hard enough. And it seems to be my unconscious quest to Invade the Realist Land.

Though I’ve had dipping points before, I’ve begun to identify it while traveling earlier this year. The journey was physically and emotionally draining, and being on the road means your support system is not within immediate reach. Nobody but yourself. This is pure self-leadership learning with all its experiential glory.

This is about knowing what you can and can’t take. I remember being in Singapore, arguably the most convenient place in the entire South East Asia, and I was anxious about connectivity. Not having internet at home. Mapping all the internet spots and negotiating your way into them (all those user registrations). Trying to set up all these meetings through email and instant messengers, which means constantly worrying whenever you’re not online. I had three meetings back-to-back today, and during the first two I was anxious about the next one. Not being online is hard to take. In terms of energy spent, it felt like that journey was 75% emailing/texting and 25% meeting. Maybe also 4% sightseeing and 6% reflecting, because let’s be real, we all give 110%.

At the end of each day, I feel drained but I would feel guilty about not doing any of the big pieces of work, and the guilt would continue to eat the little energy I have left. And so on.

Booking a one-way ticket into Singapore and not having a place to sleep up to the day before flying in, on the other hand, I can handle easily.

Anyway, whether one can take it or not, things will continue to happen. And when it feels like nothing is going right and you’re very tired, and you have to decide the next course of action, is that not the ultimate leadership test? When you’re alone without anyone to help, blame, or brainstorm with, everything becomes ultraclear. This is the situation. This is what you’re feeling. This is you under pressure. Alone or together, followers or none, the truth is the same. You’re still you.