Zusmee’s Podcast

Avsnitt

• 
  Санах | Blog 15.09.2026 1min

  Санах мэдрэмж их сонин.Санаад л байна.Тэр нь нэг тийм low-key өвдөлт байгаа байхгүй юу. Because you’re longing for something you don’t have… and cannot have.Тэгээд тэр өвдөлттэйгөө удаан яваад л байхаар сүүлдээ бүр дасчихдаг юм шиг. Нэг есондоо тэр нь сэтгэлзүйн гэр болчихдог…Тухтай, дассан, тогтмол, найдвартай. Тэгсэн мөртлөө нэг өдөр шийдэл нь гараад ирэхээр, хүсэж байсан зүйлээ авах боломжтой болоод ирэхээр, яагаад ч юм тэр өөрчлөлтийг хүсэхгүй.Би чинь энийг л хүсээд байсан биз дээ? Тэгээд яагаад одоо боломж нь гараад ирэхээр хуучин өвдөлтөө сонгоод байгаа юм?Ер нь бодоод байхад би дандаа л өөрт байхгүй юмаа хүсэж, хүлээж, мөрөөдөж явдаг байсан. Тэгээд хүссэн зүйлээ бодитоор авахын оронд холоос санаж, хүсэж явах нь надад илүү амар байдаг бололтой. Because then авсан ч… what if I get rejected by the object/subject itself? Or what If I don’t like it? Харин холоос санаж явахад rejection байхгүй. Мөрөөдөж болно. Төсөөлж болно. “Магадгүй” гэдэгтээ үлдэж болно.Гэхдээ яг энэ thought process маань миний дуусдаггүй зовлонгийн нэг шалтгаан.Би rejection-с өөрийгөө хамгаалж байна гэж боддог. Гэтэл үнэндээ нэг удаагийн rejection-аас зугтахын тулд longing-ийг сонгоод, өөрийгөө илүү удаан өвтгөж явдаг.Нэг удаагийн “үгүй”-гээс айгаад, хязгааргүй “магадгүй”-д амьдардаг. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit zusmee.substack.com
• 
  Цэгц | Blog 03.09.2026 7min

  Та нар ямар нэгэн зүйл ажиллаж байгааг хараад “Энэ л амьдралын түлхүүр юм байна” гэж боддог уу? Надад нэг тийм obsessive тал байдаг юм шиг байгаа. Ямар нэгэн зүйл миний амьдралд хэрэг болж эхлэхээр би тэрийг тэр чигт нь “Энэ л бүх зүйлийн түлхүүр юм байна” хэмээн туйлшран боддог.Одоо бодоод байх нь ээ, амьдралынхаа бүх үе шатанд ямар нэг mentality-г “амьдралын түлхүүр” гэж харж байсан юм байна. Жишээ нь, ном унших зуршлыг бүх юмны түлхүүр гэж бодсон үе бий. Present байхыг бүх зүйлийн түлхүүр гэж бодсон үе бий. Discipline-тэй байхыг бүх зүйлийн түлхүүр гэж бодсон ч үе бий. Мэдээж “хайр”-ыг бүх зүйлийн түлхүүр гэж хүчтэй итгэсэн үе байгаа. Магадгүй одоо ч адил. Аливаа юмыг чинь зүрхнээсээ л хийвэл, үйлдвэл, хандвал, тэгээд л болоо.Ер нь if things get complicated, go back to basics гэдэг шд. Түүнчлэн амьдрал тийм ч хэцүү биш бөгөөд basic зүйлүүд дээрээ л анхаарсан байхад бусад нь болно доо гэж өөрийгөө аргадах. Бодол дотроо амьдралыг амарчлах гэсэн залхуурал гэх үү, мунхаглал гэх үү, эсвэл зүгээр сониуч байдлаас гарсан шийдлүүд гэх үү. Ямартаа ч яг одоогийн энэ үе мөчлөгт юу чухал гэдгийг мах цусандаа шингэтэл ойлгоод байна вэ гэхээр Organization. Цэгц.Эхнээс нь тайлбарлая. Би багадаа жаахан замбараагүй байсан. Маш их эд хогшилтой. Minimalist гэж байдаг бол би maximalist байсан. Учир утгагүй баахан эд зүйл аваад байдагтаа биш, зүгээр л юм хаяж чаддаггүй байсан. Бүх юмнаасаа амьдрал минь тэрнээс хамааралтай аятай зуурдаг байсан. Тийм ч болохоор нэг их юмтай.Гэрт хүмүүс ирвэл цэгцтэй харагдуулж чаддаг ч шкафны цаана, хаалганы цаана аймшиг байдаг байсан. Хүмүүс гэрт ирнэ гэвэл хүмүүст харагдах хэсгүүдийг нь цэмбийтэл цэвэрлэж зүлгээд, замбараагүй харагдаж байгаа зүйлүүдээ ердөө нүднээс л далд оруулчихна. Тэр цаанаа ямар замбараагүй байгаа нь нэг их хамаагүй. Гол нь харагдахгүй байхад л болно.Гэтэл тэр нь эцэстээ өөрт минь ямар сэтгэгдэл төрүүлдэг байсан бэ гэхээр, би болон миний гэр бусдад хэдий гоё сайхан харагдаж байгаа ч яг үнэндээ тийм биш шүү дээ. I’m a fraud гэдэг ч юм уу, гүний гүнээсээ өөртөө итгэлгүй байдалд хүргэж байгаа юм.Харин саяхан өөрийгөө нэг юм дээр анзаарлаа. Ганцаараа амьдарч эхлээд удаагүй, гэрээ эхнээс нь янзалж байсан үе. Тэгтэл найзууд маань гэрт ирэхээр болов. Нэлээн бэлтгэх, panic-дах боломж гарч ирсэн юм л даа. Энерги, цаг, мөнгө бүгд хязгаартай. Тэгэхээр надад хоёр зүйлийн аль нэг дээр төвлөрөх сонголт байсан. Нэг бол найзуудын нүдэнд харагдах хэсгүүд дээр төвлөрч гэрээ илүү тохилог болгож, гоё харагдуулах. Ядаж TV, sofa худалдаж авах. (Хуучин байсныг нь нүүж магад гээд зарчихсан юм.) Аль эсвэл тэдний нүдэнд харагдахгүй, хэзээ ч харахааргүй хэрнээ надад өөрт минь өдөр болгон харагддаг, өдөр тутмын амьдралд минь нөлөөлдөг зүйлүүдээ цэгцлэх.Жишээ нь шкафанд далд байгаа оймс, дотуур хувцас, computer-ийн төрөл бүрийн утаснууд, accessories, бичиг цаас, шургуулганд нуугдаж байгаа тэр бүх далд зүйлүүд. Тэгээд найзууд гэрт зочлох сургаар өөрийн мэдэлгүй эхлээд далд байгаа, өөрт маань нөлөөлөх зүйлүүдээ цэгцлээд байгаагаа анзаарав.Яагаад гэвэл бодол дотроо өөрөө өөртөө цэгцгүй, замбараагүй байвал бусдад ямар харагдсан ч ямар хамаатай юм? Хэчнээн гоё сайхан гэртэй байлаа гээд шургуулга тэр чигтээ замбараагүй байвал яг what’s the point? Хэнийг яагаад хуураад байгаа юм? Харин нүдэнд үл харагдах ч надад чухал зүйлүүд маань цэгцтэй байвал my mind will be clear. Тэгээд I can better host my friends.Магадгүй тэр energy нь илүү чухал байсан юм болов уу? Өөртөө үнэнч байдал маань өөртөө итгэх итгэл өгөөд, эсрэгээрээ хэчнээн гэр тавилгагүй, хоосон байсан ч чадахаараа найзуудыгаа тав тухтай байлгаж чадсан болов уу гэж бодсон. Эсрэгээрээ гэр маань аймар гоё харагдлаа гээд би өөрөө дотроо өөртөө итгэлгүй байсан бол тэр energy бас л нэг өөр тийшээ зүглэх байсан биз?Тэгээд бас нэг анзаарсан юм нь, цэгцтэй болоод ирэх тусам өөрт яг юу хэрэгтэй, тэр нь хаана байгааг мэддэг болдог юм байна. Энэ их жижигхэн юм шиг хэрнээ надад бол их юм өөрчилсөн. Юмнууд чинь цэгцгүй байхаар яг юу байгааг, юу байхгүйг өөрөө ч мэдэхгүй шд. Тэгэхээр “Энэ дараа хэрэг болж магадгүй.” “Надад ийм юм байгаа билүү?” “Байхгүй ч юм билүү, хадгалчихъя.” гээд л юм болгон дээр зууралдаад хэрэггүй юмнуудаа хүртэл хадгалаад байдаг. Тэгээд мэдэхгүй байгаа болохоороо дахиад авна. Байгаа юмаа байхгүй гэж бодоод авна. Хэрэггүй юмаа “дараа хэрэг болж магадгүй” гээд хадгална. Тэгээд л новш цуглараад байдаг юм байна.Харин цэгцтэй болоод ирэхээр юмнуудаа маш энгийнээр ангилж чаддаг болдог юм байна. Байгаа юу? Байхгүй юу? Яг одоо хэрэгтэй юу? Хэрэггүй юу? Байгаа бол хаана байгааг нь мэднэ. Байхгүй бөгөөд хэрэгтэй бол авна. Хэрэггүй бол хадгалах шаардлагагүй. Тэгээд “нэг өдөр хэрэг болж магадгүй” гэсэн шалтгаанаар юм болгоноос зуураад байхаа больж байгаа юм.Ер нь нэг ёсондоо аливаа юмнаас “detached” болоод байгаа гэсэн үг. Юмтай байхдаа ч зууралдахгүй. Хэрэггүй болсон бол явуулчихна. Хэрэгтэй бол хэрэглэнэ. Хаана байгааг нь мэднэ. Тэгээд болоо. Тэр нь эргээд сэтгэл санаанд хүртэл нөлөөлдөг юм байна. Сэтгэл хөнгөрнө. Амар тайван болно. Өөртөө ч илүү итгэлтэй болно. Яагаад гэвэл өөрийнхөө амьдралд яг юу байгаа, юу байхгүй, юу хэрэгтэй, юу хэрэггүйг мэдэж байна. Нэг ёсондоо цэгц гэдэг нь юмнуудаа control-дох тухай гэхээсээ илүү юмнууд чамайг control-дохоо болих тухай ч юм шиг.Тэгээд ер нь бодоод байхад цэгц байжийж л ажлууд сайн бүтдэг юм шиг. Жижиг project-ууд томрох боломжтой болдог юм шиг. Amazon, Warner Bros., Apple, Cheesecake Factory гээд Америкийн том том компаниуд ямар аймшигтай цэгцтэй байдаг гэж бодно? Би эдгээр компаниудад мэргэжлийн бус байдлаар, доороос нь ч болтугай ажилтнаар нэвтэрч ороод дотор нь яг юу болдгийг зах зухаас нь ч болтугай сүүлийн дөрвөн жилийн дотор харсан юм. Тэгээд нэг юм анзаарсан.Захирал, manager-ууд юу чухалчилдаг вэ гэхээр System. Цэгц. Хүн дээр биш, system дээр найддаг. Хэн нэг хүн мундаг байхаас бүх юм хамаараад байвал тэр хүн байхгүй болоход бүх юм зогсоно. Харин system байвал хүмүүс солигдсон ч юм үргэлжилнэ. Тэгээд system-ийн fundamental нь өөрөө цэгц юм шиг.Тэгвэл цэгц эцэстээ юуг боломжтой болгодог юм? Томрохыг. Жижигхэн project томорч чадна. Company томорч чадна. Олон хүнд хүрч чадна. Нөлөөлж чадна. Нэг хүний толгой дотор байсан юм system болж хувирахаар өөрөөс нь том зүйл болж чаддаг юм шиг. За мэдэхгүй ээ, юу ярих гээд юу яриад явчихав аа. Хоорондоо холбоотой ч юм уу…Гэхдээ ямартаа ч цэгцтэй байснаар миний сэтгэлзүйн байдал, амьдралын чанар хамаагүй дээрдэж байгаа. Бас эрх чөлөө өгч байгаа. Тэгээд хамгийн сонин нь creative байх боломжийг бас олгож байгаа. Sounds ironic. Creativity and organization. Нэг нь эрх чөлөө, задгай сэтгэлгээ юм шиг. Нөгөө нь дүрэм, бүтэц, system юм шиг. Гэхдээ I promise, хоорондоо холбоотой. Цэгц байжийж creative болдог.Яагаад гэдгийг нь задлаад гоё тайлбарлаж хэлж мэдэхгүй байна. Би өөрөө л мэдрээд байгаа юм. Магадгүй цэгцгүй юм болгоныг тархи чинь ямар нэг хэмжээнд үргэлжлүүлээд бариад яваад байдаг юм болов уу. Энийг янзлах ёстой... Тэр хаана байгаа билээ... Энийг дараа хийнэ... Тэрийг мартаж болохгүй... Гээд жижиг жижиг юмнууд толгойн чинь зайг эзлээд л. Харин юмнууд цэгцтэй болохоор тэр зай сулардаг юм шиг. Тэгээд тэр зайгаа бодоход, төсөөлөхөд, юм хийхэд, бүтээхэд ашиглаж болно.Тэгэхээр organization надад control биш, харин эсрэгээрээ freedom өгөөд байгаа юм болов уу. Цэгцтэй болох тусам юмсыг бага бодно. Юмсыг бага бодох тусам өөр юм бодох зайтай болно. Тэгээд creative байж чадна.За мэдэхгүй ээ, энэ миний энэ үеийн ээлжит “амьдралын түлхүүр” юм болов уу даа хаха. Дараа нь өөр юм олоод “Үгүй ээ, ЭНЭ л байсан байна!” гээд явж байхыг үгүйсгэхгүй. Ямартаа ч яг одоо бол Organization. Цэгц.За, дотуур хувцасны шкафаа янзалж эхлээгүй бол одоо эхлэх үү? :P This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit zusmee.substack.com
• 
  Finding My Spark Again | Blog 28.08.2026 5min

  Сайн уу? Муу юу? Ойрд сэтгэл санаа нь хэр байна даа?Хэрвээ нэг л таагүй, утгагүй, үхмэл санагдаад байгаа бол үргэлжлүүлээд уншаарай. (Сонсож байгаа бол сонсоорой.)Подкаст эхлүүлнэ гэж дээр үеэс ярьж явсан дүүтэйгээ саяхан ярьсан нэг ярианаас энэ бичвэр эхэлсэн юм.Бид хоёр анхны дугаараа бараг зургаан сарын өмнө биччихсэн байсан хэр нь цацалгүй хадгалсаар, саяхан л гаргаж эхэлсэн.Яагаад тэгтлээ удсан бэ гэвэл зөндөө шалтгаан бий.Завгүй байна. Ажлын хуваарь тогтворгүй байна. Энергигүй байна. Одоо цаг нь биш байна.Өөрсдөдөө янз бүрийн шалтгаан тоочсоор өдийг хүрсэн.Гэхдээ яг үнэндээ би зүгээр л айж байсан юм шиг байгаа юм.Дахиад нэг төсөл эхлүүлчихээд тууштай байж чадах болов уу?Fail-двал яана?Хүмүүс юу гэж бодох бол?Миний мэддэг, мэддэггүй янз бүрийн айдас дотор овоорчихсон байсан.Одоо эргээд бодоход тэр нь ганц айдас ч биш байж. Өөртөө итгэлгүй байдал, гуниг, сөрөг бодлууд, бөглөрчихсөн юм шиг тархи, сэтгэл — бүгд хоорондоо орооцолдчихсон байсан юм шиг.Харин саяхан Мишкатай подкастынхаа талаар ярьж, янз янзын санаа шидэлцээд, Instagram-аар нэг нэгэндээ reels явуулж, “Ингэвэл ямар вэ?”, “Энийг туршвал гоё юм биш үү?” гээд ярьж байхдаа нэг юм анзаарсан.Би маш их жаргалтай байсан.Мишка ч гэсэн адилхан.Бид хоёрын “spark” эргээд асчихсан байсан.Юун сэтгэл гутрал. Юун бөглөрсөн тархи, зүрх.Гэнэт л ертөнц нээлттэй, хязгааргүй санагдаж эхэлсэн.Яг тэр үед өмнө нь харж байсан нэг reels санаанд оров.Хүн өөрийгөө илэрхийлэхгүй удахаараа дотроо хямарч эхэлдэг. Харин ямар нэгэн хэлбэрээр өөрийгөө илэрхийлж эхлэхээр тэр хямралаас гардаг гэсэн утгатай байсан.Тэгээд өөрийгөө ажиглаад бодлоо.Би өөрийгөө чөлөөтэй илэрхийлж байгаа үедээ аз жаргалтай байдаг юм байна.Шинэ санаа ундарч байгаа үедээ.Тэр санаануудаа бодит болгож чадна гэдэгтээ итгэж байгаа үедээ.Тэр үед би хамгийн их амьд байдаг юм байна.Сүүлийн үед бас нэг өгүүлбэр миний толгойд байнга эргэлддэг болсон.“Үхэж болно. Гэхдээ эхлээд амьдармаар байна.”Яагаад ч юм энэ үг намайг subconsciously чиглүүлээд байгаа юм шиг.Тэгээд өөрөөсөө асуулаа.Юу намайг амьд мэдрүүлдэг вэ?Хариулт нь: санаа.Шинэ санаа төрж, ямар нэгэн зүйл хиймээр санагдах үед би хамгийн их амьд байгаагаа мэдэрдэг. Бичмээр, яримаар, бүтээмээр санагдах тэр мэдрэмж л намайг амьдруулдаг юм байна.Гэхдээ сонин нь санаа өөрөө хаанаас ч юм гэнэт ирээд байдаггүй юм байна.Санаа улам их ундардаг үе нь — би тэр санаануудаа хэрэгжүүлж чадна гэдэгтээ итгэсэн үе.Харин тэр итгэл хаанаас ирдэг вэ?Ямар нэгэн жижиг санаагаа бодитоор хэрэгжүүлэх эхний алхмаа хийснээс эхэлнэ.Жишээ нь, Substack дээр удаан хугацаанд юм бичээгүй байж байгаад анхны бичвэрээ нийтлэх зориг надаас чүү ай гарсан. Гэхдээ нэгэнт нийтэлчихсэн чинь дараагийн санаа нь гарч ирсэн. Тэгээд дараагийнх нь. Дараагийнх нь.Бүтээх тусам бүтээмээр санагдсан.Өөрийгөө илэрхийлэх тусам улам их зүйл хэлмээр санагдсан.Энэ мэдрэмж надад нэг зүйлтэй их адилхан санагддаг.Удаан хугацаанд чив чимээгүй, дотроо бүхнээ хадгалж байгаад гэнэт нэг их тухтай мэдрэмж төрүүлдэг хүн гарч ирээд, чамайг үнэхээр анхааралтай сонсоод эхлэхээр яадаг билээ?Эхлээд жаахан юм ярина.Тэр хүн анхааралтай сонсоно.Тэгэхээр нь дахиад жаахан нээгдэнэ. Тэгсээр байгаад нэг мэдэхэд хамаг амьдралаа ярьчихсан байдаг. Тэгээд эцэст нь ямар гоё хөнгөрдөг билээ.Бүтээх надад яг тийм мэдрэмж өгдөг юм байна.Би нэг жижиг зүйл гаргаж тавихад ертөнц надад “За, үргэлжлүүлээд ярь” гэж байгаа юм шиг.Тэгээд улам л нээгдэнэ.Улам их санаа төрнө.Улам амьд болно.Энд бас нэг чухал зүйл байна.Энэ бүхнийг хийхдээ үр дүн нь юу болох вэ гэдэг дээр эхэндээ битгий төвлөрөөсэй гэж бодож байна.Хэдэн хүн унших бол? Хүмүүст таалагдах болов уу? Амжилттай болох уу? Мөнгө олох уу? Би үүнийг тууштай хийж чадах уу?Тэр бүхэн одоохондоо гол нь биш.Бүр цаашдаа юу болохыг нь мэдэх ч шаардлагагүй.Эхлээд зүгээр л хий.Өөрийгөө илэрхийл.Яагаад гэвэл миний ойлгосноор гол утга нь үр дүндээ биш, хийж байгаа үйл явцдаа байдаг юм байна. Санаагаа дотроо хадгалах биш, ямар нэгэн хэлбэрээр гадагш нь гаргаж, бодит болгож байгаа тэр үйлдэл өөрөө чухал юм байна.Тэрийг хэн нэгэн харах эсэх, амжилттай болох эсэхээс өмнө — та өөрөө өөрийгөө илэрхийлчихсэн байна.Тэгээд магадгүй яг тэр үйлдэл өөрөө л дотор унтарчихсан байсан юмыг эргээд асаадаг байх.Тийм болохоор энэ бүхнийг яагаад бичээд байна вэ гэхээр:Хэрвээ та ямар нэгэн юм эхлүүлмээр байгаа хэр нь айгаад байгаа бол — айсан ч хийгээд үзээсэй гэж хэлмээр байна.Заавал бизнес эхлүүлэх, подкаст хийх, том төсөл босгох албагүй.Бичиж болно. Ярьж болно. Зурж болно. Дуулж болно. Хоол хийж болно. Гэрээ тохижуулж болно. Ямар нэг юм гараараа бүтээж болно. Удаан бодож явсан жижиг санааныхаа эхний алхмыг хий.Тэгээд яах бол гэж одоохондоо битгий бод.Зүгээр л хий.Яагаад гэвэл тэр хүсээд байгаа зүйл чинь зүгээр нэг “хиймээр байгаа юм” биш ч байж магадгүй.Магадгүй тэр нь таны өөрийгөө илэрхийлэхийг хүсэж байгаа хэлбэр.Хэрвээ амьдрал ерөнхийдөө хэвийн байгаа ч нэг л юм дутуу санагдаад байвал, эсвэл яагаад ийм бөглөрчихсөн, унтарчихсан юм шиг байгаагаа ойлгохгүй байвал — магадгүй өөрийгөө илэрхийлэх зай танд дутаад байгаа ч юм билүү.Мэдэхгүй.Гэхдээ нэг хийгээд үз.Жижигхэн юмнаас эхэл.Үр дүнг нь түр март.Хийхдээ л төвлөр. Өөрийгөө илэрхийлэхдээ л төвлөр.Тэгээд spark нь асах нь уу, үгүй юу шалгаад үз. ;) This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit zusmee.substack.com
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  Хэлээ хольж ярьлаа гэж шүүмжилсэн хэнбугайд. | Blog 18.08.2026 5min

  Эртээр нэг видео харлаа. Бодогдоод болдоггүй.Нэг Монгол эмэгтэй Facebook дээр,“Англиар ярих гэж байгаа бол англиараа л ярь. Монголоор ярих гэж байгаа бол монголоороо ярь. Нэг өгүүлбэр дотор хоёр хэл битгий холь.”гэж хэлж байсан.Яг үг бүрийг нь санахгүй байна.Харин надад ямар мэдрэмж төрүүлснийг нь маш сайн санаж байна.Видео нь вирал болсон байсан.Комментын араас коммент.Бүгд л дэмжинэ.Харин би утасныхаа дэлгэцийг ширтээд хэвтэхэд, зүрх хурдан хурдан цохилно. Яг л ямар нэг буруу зүйл хийгээд, баригдчихсан юм шиг.Гэхдээ юунд баригдсан гэж?Байгаагаараа байсныхаа төлөө.Би аль ч хэлээ төгс эзэмшээгүй.Сургууль дээрээ англиар,гэртээ Mонголоор ярьж өссөн.Тэгээд энэ хоёрын дунд хаа нэгтээаль нэгийг нь “цэвэрхэн” ярьдаггүй хүн болчихсон.Заримдаа би зөвхөн Mонголоор ярих гэж хичээдэг.Гэтэл үг олдохгүй.Яг хэрэгтэй мөчидяг хэрэгтэй монгол үг маань орж ирдэггүй.Харин англи үг түрүүлээд гараад ирнэ.Тэгээд л өгүүлбэрийн дундуур орчихно.Өөрийн мэдэлгүй л хольж ярина.Тэгээд тэр видеог үзэж суухдаа,Эхлээд ичсэн. Дараа нь уур хүрсэн.Тэгээд ичсэндээ өөртөө бүр их уур хүрсэн.Яагаад гэвэл тэр комментуудын доор хэн ч яриагүй нэг зүйл бий.Бидний олонх нь ийм амьдралыг сонгоогүй.Эцэг эх маань Монголоос явсан.Улс төрийн өөрчлөлтөөс болсон уу,амьдралаа авч гарахын тулд байсан уу,илүү боломж хайсан уу—ямар ч шалтгаантай байсан,тэд явсан.Тэгээд бид өөр газар өссөн.Бидний ярих хэл хүртэлтэр нүүдлийг дагаад өөрчлөгдсөн.Хоёр хэл холилдсон ньхоёр ертөнц холилдсоных.Энэ хайхрамжгүй байдал биш.Энэ хүндэтгэлгүй байдал биш.Зүгээр л хоёр өөр ертөнцийн дунд өссөн хүндтохиолддог зүйл.Гэхдээ би нөгөө талыг нь бас ойлгодог.Яагаад хүмүүс ингэж эмзэглэдгийг.Яагаад Монгол хэлээ хамгаалахыг хүсдэгийг.Монгол хэл бол жижиг хэл.Онцгой хэл.Бидний л хэл.Хэрэв бид англи үгийг улам их хольсоор байвал,нэг л өдөр монгол хэл маань нимгэрээд,бага багаар алга болчих вий гэсэн айдас байдаг байх.Тэр айдсыг би ойлгодог.Яагаад гэвэл би ч басМонгол хэлээ алга болоосой гэж хүсэхгүй.Би ч бас хамгаалмаар байна.Гэхдээ—хэлийг хамгаалах нэг хэрэг.Харин амьдралынхаа эрхээр өөрөөр ярьдаг болсон хүмүүсийг ичээх өөр хэрэг.Энэ хоёр адилхан биш.Нэг нь хайраас гардаг.Нөгөө нь айдсаас.Гаднаасаа хоёулаа“хэлээ хамгаалж байна” гэж харагдаж болох ч,дотроосоо бол тэс өөр. Би тэр өдөр утсаа ширтээд,биеэ чангалчихсан сууж байсан өөртөө энгэж хэлнэ.“Чи буруу зүйл хийгээгүй.Гэрээсээ хол өссөн нь чиний буруу биш.Чиний дотор хоёр хэл салангид биш,хоорондоо сүлжилдээд оршдог нь чиний буруу биш.”гэж хэлэх байсан байх.Тэгээд бодоод байхад—магадгүй энэ ямар нэг зүйлийгхадгалж чадаагүйн нотолгоо биш.Харин магадгүй энэшинээр бий болсон зүйлийн нотолгоо ч юм билүү.Гуравдагч соёл.Монгол ч биш.Америк ч биш.Эсвэл—хоёулаа.Гэрээ санасаар мөртлөөөөр газар шинэ амьдрал босгох хэрэгтэй болсон хүмүүсийн бүтээсэн соёл.Хоёуланг нь яаж авч явахыгхэн ч зааж өгөөгүй байхадөөрсдөө олсон арга.Хэл гэдэг чинь эцсийн эцэстзөвхөн соёлыг музейн үзмэр шигхэвээр нь хадгалахын тулд байдаггүй биз дээ?Хэл бол холбоо.Өмнө чинь байгаа хүнтэй холбогдохын тулд.Дотроо байгаа зүйлээгадагш нь илэрхийлэхийн тулд.Хаана очсон чтэндээ амьдрахын тулд.Хэрэв бидний холимог хэлэнэ бүхнийг даван туулахад тусалсан бол—эцэг эхтэйгээ ярилцахад,сургууль дээр найзтай болоход,хоёр өөр ертөнцийн дунд өөрийгөө ойлгоход,эцэст нь өөрийгөө олоход тусалсан бол—тэр хэл үүргээ гүйцэтгэсэн.Хийх ёстой зүйлээ хийсэн.Гэхдээ би Монгол хэлээ сайжруулахыг хүсдэг.Одоо ч сурч байна.Алгуурхан.Хэзээ нэг өдөр англи үгээрцоорхойгоо нөхөхгүйгээрМонголоор бүтэн яриа өрнүүлдэг болох ч юм билүү.Тэр бол миний хүсэл.Гэхдээ тэр хүртэлби өөрийнхөө өнөөдрийн хэлийг үзэн ядахгүй.Тиймээс тэр видеон дээрх эмэгтэйд,тэр комментуудыг бичсэн хүмүүст,бас биднийг Монгол хэлээ “эвдэж байна” гэж боддоггэртээ байгаа хэн бүхэнднэг зүйл хэлмээр байна.Бид соёлоо хаяагүй.Бид түүнийг авч гарсан.Үүдээр гаргаж,онгоцонд суулгаж,далай гатлуулж,өөрийнх нь биш хэл,өөрийнх нь биш орчин,өөрийнх нь биш амьдрал дунд авч явсан.Тэгсэн ч бид монголоор ярьсаар байсан.Төгс биш.Заримдаа эв хавгүй.Заримдаа англи үгтэй хольж.Заримдаа нэг Монгол үгээ санах гэжхэдэн секунд дуугүй зогсож.Гэхдээ ярьсаар л байсан.Энэ хүндэтгэлгүй байдал биш.Харин ч эсрэгээрээ—барьж үлдэх гэж хичээсний мөр.Тиймээс бидний бүтээсэн зүйлийг бас хүндлээч.Бид та нарыг үргэлж санадаг тулөөрсдийн дотор авч үлдсэн тэр хэлийг хүндлээч.Энэ нь та хэдийн гэртээ бүтнээр нь хадгалж үлдсэн монгол хэл биш байж болно.Гэхдээ энэ болбид гэрээсээ холдох замдаахоёр гараараа тэвэрч,алдахгүй гэж зуурсааравч үлдсэн Монгол хэл.Хэлбэр нь өөр болсон.Дуудлага нь ч өөр болсон байж магадгүй.Дунд нь өөр хэлний үг ордог болсон.Гэхдээ—энэ бас бидний Монгол хэл.Бидний туулсан замын мөр.Бидний санасан гэрийн үнэр.Бидний хоёр ертөнцийн дундамьд үлдсэн хэл.Тиймээс төгс биш байсан ч—үнэ цэнтэй. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit zusmee.substack.com
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  Where Is Home When Everyone You Love Is Somewhere Else | Blog 12.08.2026 8min

  I’ve been sitting with this for a while now, trying to figure out how to even start writing about it, because it’s one of those things that feels too big and too small at the same time. Living alone.I think I need to start with the fear, because the fear came first, and it came from somewhere I still can’t fully locate. I avoided living alone for basically my whole adult life. There was always a reason — I was studying, I was working some low-paying job that barely covered rent with someone else’s help, I was in survival mode in one way or another. And all of that was real. I genuinely couldn’t afford it for a long time. But if I’m being honest with myself, I think even when I technically could have made it work, some part of me found a way not to. A roommate here. A family member there. Anybody, really, as long as I wasn’t the only name on the lease of my own life.I don’t know exactly where the fear came from. I’ve turned that question over so many times. Maybe I heard someone say once that living alone sucks, that it’s lonely, that you’ll go a little strange in the quiet. Maybe it was never even mine to begin with — maybe it was borrowed somewhere along the way, picked up from someone else’s anxiety and worn as if it were my own.So finally — finally, at this point in my life — I was in a position where I could actually do it. I could afford to live alone. And I did. And the first two weeks were, genuinely, some of the hardest of my adult life. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just this constant low hum of unease. I remember lying there at night and hearing some small sound come from another room and my whole body would go on alert. I’d get up. I’d turn on every light like I was preparing for something. I’d walk through my own home checking room by room. And there was never anything there.I called people a lot in those first weeks too. Friends, family, anyone who would pick up. I didn’t really have anything urgent to say — I just needed a voice in the space that wasn’t mine, some proof that I wasn’t the only living thing in the apartment. Looking back now I can see so clearly what that was — it was me trying to fill the silence before the silence could tell me anything.And then, somewhere past those first two weeks, something shifted. I stopped getting up to check the other room. I stopped needing to call someone just to hear a voice. The silence stopped sounding like something waiting to get me and started sounding like — nothing. Just quiet. Just mine. And that shift, small as it sounds, is maybe the whole story right there.Because on the other side of that fear was something I didn’t expect, which was freedom. It’s a small, domestic, almost boring kind of freedom, which I think might actually be the realest kind. I rearranged my whole apartment around my own rhythms. I moved my speaker into the kitchen so I can put on something soft in the mornings while I make breakfast, music that’s for absolutely no one but me. I set up a writing desk in the spot that gets the best light in the afternoon. I can buy groceries — anything, really, something a little nicer than I need — and just buy it, no silent calculation in my head about whether it’s too much. I can walk around my own apartment in my underwear on a random Tuesday afternoon and not think twice about it. These are small things. But they’ve started to add up into something that doesn’t feel small at all, which is that I get to live according to my own standard now.And underneath all of that, there’s something harder I’m still learning. For most of my life I put other people before myself, almost automatically, as a kind of reflex I never really questioned. I understand why that reflex formed. It reads as humility. It reads as being generous, considerate, a good person. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be that. But what I’ve slowly come to realize is that constantly putting other people first, for years and years, without pause, doesn’t just make you generous. It also means you never actually find out who you are underneath all that consideration. I got so good at climbing into other people’s heads — figuring out what they wanted, what they were hoping for, what would make their lives easier — and then quietly working to make it happen for them, that I basically never did that same work for myself. I don’t think I even really knew how. That kind of constant self-erasure doesn’t just evaporate somewhere. It settles. It sits in you. And if you never let it out, it turns into something like resentment, quiet and low, the kind you can’t quite point to a specific example of, made instead of a thousand small moments of choosing someone else over yourself, repeated so many times you stopped noticing you were doing it at all.So now, alone, I’m doing something that feels almost embarrassingly small in scale but has actually been enormous — I’m just observing myself. What makes me feel alive and awake. What makes me feel flat and depleted. What I actually like, versus what I’ve just gotten good at tolerating over the years because tolerating things was the safer option. I write in a diary now — like this, like what I’m doing right now — without the old habit of wondering if someone’s going to secretly read it later. I bought a mirror recently. It’s less about vanity and more that I realized, almost with a kind of shock, that I had basically stopped looking at myself. I mean actually looking, actually seeing. My own existence. My own worth. Sitting with my own face and not looking away from it. It sounds so small when I write it out like that. But I think it’s actually enormous. I think you cannot love something you’ve spent years refusing to actually look at.I don’t think I want to live alone forever. I want community eventually. Friends close by. Family around. People who know this version of me, the one that’s forming right now in this apartment. But I think that comes after this part. I think this work of building a real “me” has to happen first, before I could ever build a real “we” with anyone. Otherwise I’d have just kept doing what I always did — disappearing a little into whoever I was with.This is where it’s happening. In the sounds from the other room that turned out to be nothing, over and over, until my body finally believed it. In the mirror. In the desk that catches the good light in the afternoon. In the music no one else has to like.I think I understand something now that I didn’t before. For most of my life, home was never a place to me. Home was wherever my people were. I followed my mom around like that, growing up — wherever she was standing, that’s where home was, and everywhere else just felt like waiting. In Mongolia it was the same, home was my friends, my family, the people I was close to, not the ground under my feet.So when I finally ended up alone, away from all of that, I think that’s really what the fear was under all the other fear. It was that I looked around and didn’t see home anywhere, because I’d never once built it out of anything except other people.But sitting with myself like this, actually getting to know myself instead of everyone around me, I’m starting to feel something settle that I didn’t expect. I’m starting to feel grounded. Like home was never a place I had to keep finding in other people. It’s something I can build wherever I am. The grass isn’t greener on the other side. It’s greener where you water it. And I think I finally started watering my own.I just needed this. I needed it so badly, and I didn’t even fully know how badly until I finally let myself have it. Right now, at this exact, specific point in my life, I needed to be alone with myself for long enough to actually meet her, and to finally plant something of my own instead of waiting to find it somewhere else. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit zusmee.substack.com
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  His name is Diego. | Blog 03.08.2026 4min

  His name is Diego.I was tired that day. Evening shift, but a long one, and I was already exhausted at the thought of it. I looked around at everyone else working. Eyebrows tight. Faces set.Then I saw Diego. Off to the side, talking to two guests he’d probably never met before that moment. He stood like he’d known them for years. Nothing rushed about him. Nothing performed. Just a person, talking to two other people, completely at home in it.I passed by and a thought landed. He really loves his job.That’s not something you can fake. You can’t fake being that at ease with strangers, shift after shift, table after table. If someone can stand that comfortable in front of people they don’t know, work stopped being work for them. It just became talking.The next shift, I needed his help with something, so I walked over. Quick conversation. And in the middle of it he said something like, isn’t it amazing, being able to do the thing you actually love. He wasn’t trying to say anything profound. It just came out of him, the way true things do when nobody’s trying to make a point.But it stuck with me anyway.There’s a way some people move through a day. They don’t grip it. They don’t treat every shift, every table, every conversation like it might fall apart the second they stop holding on tight. They just move with it. Whatever happens, happens, and somehow it tends to work out, with or without the worrying. Diego would never put it in those words. It’s just how he carries himself.Sam is the same, in his own way. He has fun with almost everything, and because of that, being around him doesn’t feel like work at all. When I’m shadowing him, three hours go by like thirty minutes. Because he’s so relaxed, he’s also really good at sales. People don’t put their guard up around someone that easy to be with. Nobody feels sold to. They just feel talked to. And somehow that’s what makes them want to buy.Watching the two of them, I started noticing something about myself. I’m not like that.I have opinions. Strong ones. I feel things for people, sometimes more than I know what to do with, and I carry that around with me. When I want something, I know exactly what it is, down to the detail, and getting there takes real effort for me. It’s never just flowed. I’m usually the one feeling everything at once and then working hard to get somewhere with it.But watching Diego that day gave me a thought I didn’t have words for until I saw it in front of me. You can want something with your whole chest and still hold it with an open hand. Those two things aren’t in conflict. I think I’ve been living like they were opposites.Here’s what I’m starting to believe instead. Love the thing you’re doing, or find a way to. Everything else tends to sort itself out after that. Because you stopped holding it so tight that you couldn’t see anything else.I want to work the way Diego does. Shoulders down. Talking to a stranger like they’re already a friend. Not performing ease. Just having it, plainly, without needing anyone to notice.On the other hand, I clutch. I get so locked onto a goal that I forget there’s an entire life happening around it. And when you’re staring that hard at one point on the horizon, you miss the things standing right next to you. Opportunities walk by, people say things worth hearing, and you miss all of it, because your eyes are somewhere else.Diego isn’t aiming at anything in particular when he talks to a table. Neither is Sam, really, even with a sales number behind everything he does. They clearly care about their work. That’s obvious. But they’re not gripping it. They’re just there, fully, with whoever’s in front of them right now. And that’s exactly what makes the work go well.So maybe that’s the real practice. Just loosening the hand around them. Staying open at every step and actually being in the moment you’re standing in.I want to experience life that way. Every second of it.Names have been changed. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit zusmee.substack.com
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  Eyes Closed, Pedal Anyway | Blog 21.07.2026 9min

  The lodge smelled like coffee and pine, and the first thing I noticed walking in was the deer head mounted on the wall, antlers wide enough to hang a coat on, watching over a room full of wooden chairs and string lights that were still up even though Christmas had already passed. There was something almost storybook about it, that particular kind of quiet you only get in the mountains in winter, and I remember thinking how strange it was that a place could feel this calm when I had no idea yet what the next few hours would do to me.It was my first time skiing. My stepdad had done it before, back when he was younger, so he knew what he was doing and I knew nothing at all. We drove an hour, maybe two, out from home, just the two of us. It was our first winter trip since the last one, and usually it would have been three of us, my mom included, but she was in Mongolia at the time, so it ended up being just him and me. We got coffee on the way. Talked about nothing in particular. Decided we wanted fresh air, and wanted to feel the snow. So we went.Inside the lodge, there were mostly older people renting skis, gliding across the flat parts on thin cross country skis. They all had these big, easy smiles, like this was just a normal Tuesday for them. I remember watching them and feeling both comforted and a little embarrassed, because I was about to attempt something they clearly could do in their sleep, and I had never done it in my life.We started on flat ground. Small steps, getting used to the boots, the balance, the strange feeling of gliding instead of walking. That part felt manageable. Then we got to a hill, and everything in me tightened.I stood at the top and every part of my body said don’t. I remember thinking, very clearly, that I could fall at any second, that this whole thing could end badly in about four different ways. But I went anyway. The wind hit my face the whole way down and I honestly couldn’t tell if the tightness in my chest was fear or the speed itself. I gritted my teeth through the entire descent, half expecting to hit the snow at any moment, and then, somehow, I was at the bottom, still standing.Something in me just lit up after that. I don’t know how else to describe it. I wanted to do it again immediately.The second time down, I wasn’t bracing the whole way like before. I could actually feel the hill under me instead of just surviving it. By the third and fourth time, I was having real fun, laughing a little on the way down, feeling more like myself with every run. And then, somewhere in there, a strange thing happened. I got bored. Bored, on a hill that had terrified me only an hour earlier.So we went looking for something harder. A steeper run, faster, and the fear came back in full force, except this time I already knew there was something good waiting for me on the other side of it. I fell during that one. Got back up. Tried again. I think I went down that same hill four or five times, and each attempt had less to do with not falling and more to do with wanting to feel that particular rush again, the one where your whole body knows it could go wrong and does the thing anyway.I think that’s what people mean when they talk about adrenaline. But more than that, I remember thinking, somewhere near the bottom of one of those runs, that this used to be how I felt all the time. All the time.Somewhere near the bottom of one of those runs, I thought of something else entirely, a memory from months earlier, back when I was in Mongolia. We were apartment hunting outside the city, in an area called Yarmag, still under construction, buildings brand new and half finished, no real roads yet, no proper sidewalks, just dirt and concrete and gaps where things were supposed to eventually go.There was a little boy outside one of the buildings, maybe three or four years old, riding his bike by himself. I noticed him because he was cute in that unbothered toddler way, fully absorbed in his own small world. Then he reached a curb. A real one, tall enough that it wasn’t obvious a bike that size could get over it. He had two options, really. Pedal hard enough to make it over, or hit it and go down.He sat there for a second, looking at it. And then he closed his eyes and pedaled as hard as his little legs could go.He made it over.I don’t think he was calculating anything. I don’t think the possibility of falling was even a real variable to him, not in the way it would be for an adult standing at the top of a hill. He just decided, and then he did the thing, eyes closed, like not knowing the outcome wasn’t a reason to hesitate at all.Watching him, I thought about who I used to be. In kindergarten I was the fastest runner in my class, faster than all the boys, and I remember that being a fact everyone just knew about me, the way you know someone’s name. I was never home. I was always outside, jumping from garage roof to garage roof with the neighbor kids, and from garage roofs onto this rocky little hillside, all of us competing to see who could jump the farthest, who could jump the highest. I was almost always the one who jumped the highest. The bravest one out of all of them.Once I jumped from somewhere so high, some wooden structure I don’t even know how to properly describe anymore, that I broke my leg. And when it healed, all the way through, I just started jumping again. It didn’t hold me back at all. Another time I was jumping garage to garage and missed, fell in between, and my hands landed in broken glass, alcohol bottle glass someone had left there. I still have the scar on my right thumb from it. I remember climbing a tree once, so high up, completely alone, that a woman walking by saw me and got visibly frightened, stood there watching me the whole time while she told me, pretty aggressively, to come down immediately. I remember thinking she was being dramatic. It wasn’t scary to me at all. Looking back now, a small girl that high up in a tree by herself is genuinely dangerous. But at the time, it never once crossed my mind that way. That’s the kind of risk taker I was. I just did things, because doing them was the whole point, because the doing itself was where the aliveness was.Somewhere between being her and being who I am now, I started calculating everything. Started staying on the flat, easy part of the hill and calling it maturity. Calling it being responsible, being safe, being an adult. And somewhere in that shift, without noticing it happening, my life got quiet in a way that wasn’t peaceful so much as it was dull.But watching that boy, and then standing at the top of that second, steeper run months later with the wind already starting to sting my face, I think I was looking at the same thing twice. Something that doesn’t ask permission first. Something that just goes, eyes closed if it has to.I want to bring her back. There’s a fence in the park near me, nothing special, just a regular fence, and every single time I pass it, some part of me wants to jump over it. Then the adult part of my brain steps in, worried about looking ridiculous, worried about someone watching. Next time I walk by it, I want to just jump. Not think about who’s around, not manage how it looks. Just do it because the wanting to do it was already there.I think about Instagram the same way lately. Posting something a little stranger, a little more me, without spending three days calculating how it will be received. I think about Japan, a trip I’ve wanted to take for a while now, and how easily my mind goes straight to the money, the logistics, all the practical strings attached before I even let myself feel excited about it. I want to let myself want things again without immediately building a case against them.Whatever it is, I want to do it for the simple reason that I feel like doing it. No list of reasons not to, running in my head before I’ve even taken the first step. No audience I’m performing for in my mind. Just the doing, the way it used to be, before I learned to ask permission from myself before I was allowed to feel alive.I felt her again on that hill, in pieces, for a few seconds at a time, and that was enough to make me want to keep looking for wherever the rest of her went.Who were you before you learned to be careful? And what would it take to go find her again? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit zusmee.substack.com
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  Relax. Release. | Blog 07.07.2026 2min

  There’s a song I used to skip every time it came on the radio.I never let it play all the way through. The second I heard the first few notes, my hand was already moving to change the station. I didn’t think about it. It was automatic, like flinching.I read something recently that made me think about that habit differently. It’s from a book called The Untethered Soul, in a chapter about resistance. The idea is simple, almost too simple. It says it is possible to go through the rest of your life without another problem. Not because nothing difficult will happen to you. Difficult things will keep happening. But because you stop resisting them.Here’s how the book explains it. Say you’re afraid of dogs. You’ve spent years avoiding them, crossing the street, tensing up the second you see one coming. Every time you do that, you’re not protecting yourself from the dog. You’re protecting yourself from a memory. The dog in front of you right now has nothing to do with whatever happened before. But you can’t see that, because you never let yourself be in the moment with it. You just brace and retreat.The suggestion is two words. Relax and release.Not push the fear down. Not talk yourself out of it. Just relax your body, let the feeling move through you instead of slamming a door on it, and let the moment be what it actually is instead of what it reminds you of.I thought about the song. What actually happens when I hear it isn’t about the song. It’s a memory using the song as a doorway. And every time I change the station, I’m not making the memory smaller. I’m just pulling the bandage off to check if it still hurts, then covering it back up before I feel anything.I don’t think avoidance ever actually protected me. I think it just kept things exactly as painful as they were the day they happened, because I never let myself feel them again in a new context, as something that already happened and is over.I’m not saying I’m going to sit down and play that song ten times in a row tomorrow. That’s not really the point, and I don’t think healing works like a dare. But I noticed something, writing this. I don’t have to keep proving to myself that it’s still an emergency. I can let it just be a song, playing, in a moment that has nothing to do with the moment it came from.That’s the whole practice, I think. Not fixing yourself. Not becoming a person who never feels anything hard. Just, the next time you feel that flinch, that automatic reach for the dial, pausing long enough to ask what you’re actually protecting yourself from.And then. Relax and release. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit zusmee.substack.com
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  A Fraud in Both Directions | Blog 29.06.2026 7min

  When I came to the US at age ten, the first thing I had to learn was the alphabet.A, B, C, D, E, F, G.I was in sixth grade at Westlake Middle School in Oakland, California. I didn’t know those letters before I got here. I learned them in class, with kids who had known them since they were little. But I learned fast. And somewhere along the way I figured something out — my accent was already good enough that if I said just a few words, people thought I was native. So I made a decision. I would say as little as possible. I would choose my words carefully. I would never say enough for anyone to find out.Find out that English wasn’t my first language. That I wasn’t actually one of them.The two versions of meThere were two versions of me in school.In my ESL shelter classes, I was myself. I talked. I laughed. I felt safe. Everyone in that room was also learning English, so there was nothing to hide. We were all in the same place.Then I walked into my regular classes and I just... went quiet.I was still there. I did the work. But I didn’t speak unless I had to. Because every time I opened my mouth it felt like a risk. The wrong word, the wrong pronunciation, a sentence that came out weird — any of it could give me away. And I didn’t want to be given away. I didn’t want people to know.I thought if they found out I wasn’t a native speaker, they would think less of me. Like my English was a status thing. Like not having it meant I was less than everyone else.By the time I got to Encinal High School in Alameda, my English had come so far that my teachers invited me to join AP English. The same girl who learned A, B, C in sixth grade.I said no.I picked silence over the chance of being found out.What I was actually scared ofI think the core fear was this: if they find out, they’ll reject me. They’ll see me as less intelligent, less worthy. Not someone they want to be around.So I kept my sentences short. I kept things safe. I stayed quiet.And the thing is, that strategy really hurt me. Because you can’t learn a language you’re too scared to speak badly. I was so focused on not making mistakes that I stopped taking the risks that would have helped me grow. My English stayed smaller than it should have because I kept it small on purpose.I still struggle. I still reach for a word sometimes and it’s not there. I still don’t always say things the way I mean them. And I think part of that is because I spent so many years not practicing, not risking, not letting myself be bad at it so I could get better.When I went back to MongoliaHere’s the part that really messed with my head.When I went back to Mongolia, everything flipped. There, my English — the same English I was ashamed of — made people look up to me. I had lived in America. I spoke English. That meant something to them.I should have felt good about that. Instead I felt like a fraud.Because I knew the truth. I knew what actual fluency looked like. I had been watching it my whole life from the outside. And what I had wasn’t that. Not really. My sentences still got tangled. I still struggled to express myself the way Americans do.So in America, I was pretending to be more fluent than I was. In Mongolia, I was being celebrated for the same fluency I was ashamed of.I was a fraud in both directions.There was no place where I just felt like enough.How this shows up todayI notice it most in job interviews.I sit across from a recruiter or a hiring manager and something in me just shuts down. I become that same quiet version of myself from school. I start measuring every word. I get scared that if I say too much, something will slip. They’ll notice. They’ll find out my English isn’t perfect. And then they won’t want me.And that fear makes me worse, not better. I get so nervous trying to hide that I can’t show up as myself. I can’t show what I actually know or who I actually am. I’ve lost interviews not because I wasn’t qualified, but because I was so inside my head that I couldn’t just be present.The hiding never protected me. It just kept me stuck.What I’m working on nowI’ve been reading The Untethered Soul and there’s a chapter called Far, Far Beyond that really hit me. It talks about staying with the uncomfortable feeling instead of spending your whole life trying to avoid it. About letting the fear move through you instead of letting it control you.That’s what I’m trying to do now.I’ve been organizing my life around this fear for over twenty years. Keeping quiet. Choosing the safe words. Saying no to opportunities that might expose me. Holding back with native English speakers, especially white Americans, because the risk felt too high.And what did that cost me? My growth. Real connection. The AP English class. Job opportunities. Relationships where I never let anyone close enough to actually see me.The fear told me it was keeping me safe. What it was actually doing was keeping me alone.If you’ve ever done this tooIf you know this feeling — if you’ve ever made yourself small in a room because you were scared of being found out — I want you to know something.Your accent has nothing to do with your worth.Making mistakes in English doesn’t mean you’re less intelligent. It means you’re doing something really hard. Something most people will never even try.I came here at ten not knowing A, B, C. I learned English from scratch while going to school, making friends, and trying to figure out who I was in a completely new country and culture. That’s not something to be ashamed of. That’s actually kind of remarkable.I’m writing this because I want to stop hiding it. I want to be done with the shame. And I want anyone who’s been doing the same thing to know that you don’t have to keep performing. You don’t have to pass.Your voice, exactly as it is, is enough. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit zusmee.substack.com
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  My Backyard, Finally | Blog 22.06.2026 3min

  A few weeks ago, I wrote about losing a tree.Not my tree, technically. It stood in my neighbor’s yard, visible through my backyard window. Tall, full, alive. I’d only truly noticed it days before it was cut down. And when it was gone, I grieved it like something that had always been mine.I resisted it. The absence of it. Every time I looked out the window and saw open sky where the tree used to be, something in me pushed back. This isn’t right. Something is missing. This shouldn’t have happened.I wasn’t prepared for how hard it hit me.But here’s the update I didn’t expect to write:I’m okay. More than okay, actually.The first few days were intense. Real sadness, the kind that surprised me with its weight. But then, faster than I thought possible, something shifted. I stopped resisting. And the moment I accepted that the tree was simply gone, I noticed something I hadn’t before.My backyard became somewhere I actually want to be.Turns out, that tree was home to an army of mosquitoes. And it makes sense. Mosquitoes are drawn to shade, moisture, and cool dark corners. A large, full tree creates exactly that kind of environment right in your backyard. Every summer before this one, we’d never sit outside. Not really. A nice seating area, completely unused. We’d step out, get bitten, go back in.This summer? I’ve been sitting outside almost every day. Reading. Quiet. No bites, no interruptions. It feels like I’m on a little holiday every single day, right in my own backyard.I couldn’t have that and the tree.The thing I was resisting was the very thing making room for this.And that made me think.I hold on to things. Tightly. People, places, moments. I grip them hard, resist any change to them, and grieve deeply when they go anyway. I always assumed this was just how I loved: intensely, loyally, with my whole self.But I’m starting to see the other side of it.When I resist change that tightly, I lose the present. I’m so focused on what I’m clutching that I miss what’s right in front of me. Or right outside my back door.I think about my attachment to Mongolia. The friends I have there, the career I built, the reputation I earned, the sense of self I found. I’ve held onto that world so tightly, resisted building anything new here so completely, that I never fully arrived. I told myself I had everything I needed there. And in a way, that was true. But I was living in the past, clinging to a place, a version of myself, an experience that had already passed. And while I was looking backward, resisting the life in front of me, I was never really in my own backyard.I don’t have this figured out. I want to be honest about that.Letting go, really letting go and not just saying the words, is becoming a big theme for me lately. And I’m only at the beginning of understanding it. But this tree, this tree that wasn’t even mine, taught me something I didn’t sign up to learn.Sometimes the thing you resist is the thing setting you free.I’m sitting outside right now as I write this. No mosquitoes. A little breeze. My book beside me.It’s enough. It’s more than enough. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit zusmee.substack.com
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  Cheesecake Factory Quiz | Blog 21.07.2026 4min

  I had a full existential crisis over a pasta dish. At the Cheesecake Factory. On an iPad. Alone.It was day 8 of training and they had this menu memorization game with hundreds of items. 225+ items. The rules were simple: get it right, move on. Get it wrong, try again. No skipping. No partial credit. Just you, the screen, and your own humiliation on a loop.I got one wrong and felt my jaw tighten. A pasta dish. I had read it four times. I was sure I knew it. And then, wrong. The screen just sat there, waiting. Try again.And something in me went: are you kidding me right now.Not at the game. At myself. I remember the exact thought: you are a grown adult who cannot remember a pasta dish. What is actually wrong with you. And then, immediately, in the same breath: okay but what IS the answer though? Nobody was watching. Nobody cared. I was alone in a break room with an iPad and a coke placed next to me. And still, somehow, the shame was fully there. Hot and familiar, like it had been waiting for exactly this moment to show up.That’s when I realized something had been off for a long time.The shame wasn’t really about the pasta. It never is, is it?For most of my life, I treated mistakes like emergencies. Something to avoid, contain, get ahead of before anyone noticed. Because in my mind, making a mistake meant something was wrong with me. My worth was on the line every single time.So I stopped trying things I might fail at. I stayed inside what I already knew I could do. Safe. Controlled. And slowly, without really noticing, I stopped growing.“Avoidance felt like protection. It was actually just a slower kind of loss.”I called it being careful. But really, I was just afraid. And that fear of being seen as stupid, as not enough, as someone without value kept me stagnant in ways I didn’t want to admit.The irony? By the end of training, I never forgot the items I got wrong. Those were the ones that stuck. The game was literally designed around the thing I’d been running from my whole life: you learn by getting it wrong first. You don’t get to skip that part.Recently I’ve been looking back at everything I’ve tried and stumbled through. Relationships. Creative projects. Business attempts. Job applications. Interviews I bombed. Content I made that no one saw. The whole scattered, imperfect record of my life so far.And I had this thought: what if none of it was wasted?What if every one of those moments, even the ones I’m still embarrassed about, was me collecting data? Learning what works, what doesn’t, what I actually want, what I’m capable of when I stop performing and start paying attention?Because here’s the thing about throwing it all away and starting fresh: you’d be leaving behind the tuition. You paid for it with your time, your vulnerability, your actual life. To walk away now, calling it failure, would be to make it truly useless for the first time.“If I throw it away thinking I failed, it becomes waste. But if I build on it, it was never waste to begin with.”That’s the only way the past becomes a dead end: if you abandon it instead of carrying it forward.I’m not saying every mistake is secretly a gift. Some things are just hard and sad and take time to move through. But there’s a difference between processing something and discarding it. Between acknowledging a chapter didn’t go the way you hoped and pretending it never happened at all.All those years of trying built something in me. A sensitivity to people. A sense of what matters. A hunger for depth that I don’t think I could have gotten any other way. The stumbling was the education.So I’m going back through it. Not to punish myself or rewrite the narrative into something prettier. But to pull out what’s actually there: the lessons, the instincts, the things I quietly learned about myself along the way. And then use them, finally and fully, the way they were always meant to be used.The game was never about getting it right the first time.It was about not forgetting once you did. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit zusmee.substack.com