Before I started my first job after university, my sister, who is ten years older than me, shared a few wise words:
"Every woman goes through an identity crisis in her late twenties. Be ready to face it."
Okay, it sounded a bit scary back then, and I had no idea what it truly meant. Nor did I know that young women are three times more likely to struggle with mental health issues, as confirmed by research from the National Health Service in England. In the U.S., for example, a woman aged 18–34 experiences an average of five days per month feeling emotionally or physically unwell.
But the idea of starting my first job and leaving exams and education behind was so exciting that I didn’t stop to think about my state of mind. Two years later, after working as a teacher and supervisor in a girls' dormitory, I began to feel confused and started questioning what I should do with my career and life. It seemed like I had everything – a successful job, recognition from colleagues, loving friends. Yet, at the same time, I was restless and wanted "more," although I didn’t quite know what that meant.
A year later, I moved to San Francisco hoping that this vibrant city would satisfy my desire for something greater. Living in a big city was challenging, and for the first time, I truly felt like an adult – I had to find an apartment, sign a lease, drive, and look for parking every day. And as a first-generation immigrant, I was caught between homesickness and the desire to succeed in a foreign land. I genuinely wanted to adapt to American culture, but sometimes the feeling of nostalgia was overwhelming. There were moments when I even questioned whether I could ever go back and live in my home country and culture again. I no longer knew what I belonged to or where "home" really was.
Looking back now, I fully understand what my sister meant by the “identity crisis.”
Who am I?
What do I really want in life?
I had never taken the time to sit down and ask myself these questions. I thought I would find the answers just by reading books and trying new things. And even though I loved listening to and reading wisdom, I was often disappointed in my inability to apply it to everyday life. I remember feeling as if I were left in a forest with my luggage, not knowing which path to take.
In September 2007, I attended my first workshop on meditation and breathing techniques with a heavy dose of skepticism. It was called The Happiness Program, by the Art of Living Foundation, and it all sounded way too Californian. I had no idea what breathing and meditation had to do with happiness. I signed up only because a friend insisted it would help me.
During one of the first sessions, the instructor asked us: “What makes you happy, and when will you be happy?” I was stunned. I could easily make a list of things that made me happy, but the when part was different.
I realized that I had been living my life in pursuit of some future state of happiness instead of expressing it in each moment. On the first evening, I experienced my first guided meditation. Honestly, I don’t remember much from the experience itself, but when I left the session, my mind felt calmer and clearer than it ever had. It was an unfamiliar state – until then, I had associated happiness mostly with excitement. It was as if the noise in my head had settled, and I experienced incredible peace and contentment. Even though I wasn’t sure if it was happiness, I really liked the feeling.
Over the next few days, we learned breathing techniques and practical tools for working with the mind. That Monday, when I returned to work, I felt an unexpected lightness, like a free bird gliding over the ocean.
After the workshop, I felt like I had been given a powerful tool – a compass to help me navigate the forest. That tool was the breathing techniques and meditation. As I continued my daily practice, I began to notice positive changes in both my work and relationships. I could listen to my students more attentively and respond to their questions with greater patience. After a full day of teaching, I didn’t feel as drained as before.
Even if I felt slightly tired or foggy in the afternoon, the breathing and meditation immediately cleared those sensations.
Overall, I had more energy. I felt happier and more enthusiastic. Somehow, it was also easier to connect with others. On a more subtle level, I started paying more attention to the tendencies of my mind – how it constantly swings between past and future, how it seems to always be searching for something more. This awareness helped me smile more easily in moments of anxiety about the future or regret about the past.
Read the continuation of this story in the article: The Art of Being Happy.
