Selina Xu

On Friday night, four of us watched Purpose, the Pulitzer-winning play on Broadway by Brandon Jacobs-Jenkins (who also wrote Appropriate which I loved).

At the end, the narrator Naz asks, in a pool of spotlight (I’m rephrasing from memory), “What had I missed, God? Where had I strayed? Was there a door she’d left open for me that I didn’t see?”

The bare humanity of the moment hit me in the darkness of the theater. How softly the play ends, in solitude, in this quiet denouement, in a plaintive question. I remember feeling that way for much of my twenties—fearing something was eluding me, anxious that I’d blindly walked past doors that were left ajar, missed the sliver of opportunity, made a subpar choice, chosen an irrevocable path, and lived less, well, less fully.

Maybe it’s because I’m 27 now. Maybe it’s because yesterday I had a rather imperfect birthday—full of mad dashes for trains, being late for the spa, bruises on my hand, not getting my bubble tea, and tears after a sugar crash—but still felt incandescently happy and blessed. Maybe it’s because, as those who loved me said several times over this weekend, you’ve really mellowed and matured. Maybe it’s because, when faced with my own expectations and life’s unexpected surprises, I’m at last not seeing them as things that disappoint and have to be changed.

Maybe it’s because I look back on the past three years since graduation and realize I never could’ve predicted any of this: careening across continents, changing jobs, finding love, moving in, writing, writing, writing still, doggedly, aimlessly, painfully, then once in a while so effortlessly and wondrously that I remember why I love this so much.

What do I dream of? I used to ask it so piously, so frantically, so eager for a firm purpose. And at 27, I feel at peace with not knowing, with the twists and turns down each path, the doors that will close then reopen, the questions that never will have a permanent answer.

So I hug myself at 27 and say gently, Thank you. Be happy, keep going, and I love you.