What talking about your life can tell you

Revelations from conversations with strangers and friends

May 26, 2023

In two days, I will board the plane that will take me back to Ho Chi Minh City, back to the cosy apartment I share with my partner, back to my daily routine and HCMC-based friends, back to the gym whose classes next week I eagerly look forward to.

Many subjects have been on my mind this past month in Thailand, sparked by deep conversations with parents and close friends. The newsletter hiatus has given these thoughts the space to breathe, and some—while not newsletter-ready—are slowly taking shape.

Wanting to respect my time off from Val Thinks, I had planned a complete writing break. But with the next Friday deadline looming, I’m finding it difficult to stick to the plan. Let’s get a first draft ready, I tell myself. That way you’ll have more time to revise and get the piece word-perfect.

Giving in to my self-imposed pressure, this morning I pulled up the list of newsletter ideas I’ve meticulously collected over the years. Too early to write about, too complicated to tackle under pressure, not feeling this… then aha!

This one feels just right. It’s an idea that’s been germinating for years, but was never quite ready to sprout. My visit home this time around has finally given me the missing ingredient that will elevate this long-dormant idea into the thought-provoking essay I aspire to send you every Friday.

I give you today’s post, inspired by a handful of conversations five years ago that I could never quite forget.

“What do you do?”

The summer of 2018 was a momentous time in my life. I had been in a doomed relationship that I had deluded myself was going somewhere, but then it abruptly ended and I was left nursing a broken heart.

Hoping to distract myself from the pain, I headed to Luang Prabang in Laos for a holiday of reading and relaxation. I looked up cafés where I could spend long hours devouring the many paperbacks I’d packed. I also looked up bars where I could spend evenings getting tipsy and mingling with strangers. It had been a while since I was part of the bar scene, and I longed once again to feel the buzz of the crowd.

Icon Klub was the quirkiest bar I found and came highly recommended. So I made a beeline for it on my first free evening.

And it didn’t disappoint. I arrived early to find myself the only patron and ended up bonding with the owner Lisa who not only made mean cocktails, but as it turned out was also highly skilled at mending broken hearts.

Every single night for the remainder of my holiday, I returned to Icon Klub for Lisa’s heavenly cocktails and healing conversations. On one of those nights, I would meet the wonderful human who is now my partner (a momentous summer, as I said). On the others, I’d make conversation with the eclectic mix of strangers the bar attracted.

Each time I struck up a conversation with someone new, I’d ask the question “What do you do?” And without fail, my conversation partner would light up as they told me of their work or business venture. I work for the UN. I have my own business in China. I love my work, it’s great. I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

I don’t know what it is about Icon Klub, but everyone I met there over the course of several days was passionate about and proud of what they did for a living. The bar seemed to be a magnet for highly-purposeful, extremely-accomplished individuals entirely satisfied with their vocation.

I, on the other hand, was feeble in my response. “What do you do?” the stranger would ask. “I work in human resources,” I’d reply flatly. “Learning and development” if I felt inclined to expand. And that would be the end of it.

Whereas everyone else seemed to have found their calling and wasn’t shy to tell me about it, I was almost embarrassed by my profession. “Human resources” and “learning and development” seemed dull in comparison to “the UN” or “I run a company.” And I felt no pride and joy talking about it to others.

It sounds silly to say that I realised I needed a change of profession because I didn’t light up talking about my job to some strangers in a bar. But that, truthfully, is what happened. I’m very much a gut and feeling person. And on this occasion five years ago, the two were in agreement: I didn’t care for what I did, and I needed a change.

Those bar conversations in the summer of 2018 planted a seed in my mind, a seed that for the following year would tirelessly whisper “This job is not for you. Move on.” And move on I did in the summer of 2019 to a job that I hoped would be better aligned with my aspirations. The move turned out to be one of the best career decisions I ever made, and I have those Icon Klub conversations to thank.

“So, how have you been?”

This past month in Thailand, I met up with a number of friends who hadn’t seen me for the best part of a year. And understandably, they all asked how I’d been.

And I was never quite sure how to respond. My friends wanted to hear what I’d been up to in the one year I’d been away. And the honest answer was, not much. My life in 2023 is pretty much the same as it was in 2022.

I have the same partner, the same job, the same newsletter, the same friends, the same routine, the same favourite hangouts. I feel the same feelings, think the same thoughts, shoulder the same worries.

And I love it. I love that my life today is exactly as it was a year ago.

For someone who used to crave excitement and newness, who got bored with a job after six months, who changed lovers like sheets, this is a surprising twist.

I never would have thought I’d become someone who relishes sameness, who’s content with doing the same things, seeing the same people, week in week out. But I have become that person.

Maybe this is part of aging. I turn 34 this year. Maybe this is what you’re supposed to be like in your mid-thirties.1

Maybe I’ve been supremely lucky and managed to build a life I’m thoroughly satisfied with. And it’ll never get any better than this.

Maybe I’ve gotten less ambitious as I age. Maybe my bars have lowered and I now want and need less.

Though I can’t definitively explain it, knowing I now enjoy sameness in my life is nevertheless a valuable revelation from the conversations I had this past month. Knowing this makes me treasure the life I’m living even more, down to every last morning coffee conversation and nightly cuddle.

This may well be a phase. I could well get restless and return to Thailand next time with tales of change to regale my friends with. I don’t see it happening, but life has a way of surprising us.

We’ll find out the next time you ask me how I’ve been.

What do you think?

A job change inspired by bar conversations with strangers. A joyful realisation sparked by that most mundane of questions.

What does talking about your life tell you?

Did you ever have a revelation talking to a bunch of strangers in a bar? Do you crave excitement and change? What do you say when people ask you how you’ve been? Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this with someone whose life you want to know more about.