The 5 Stages of My Gap Year

My husband and I took a one-year break from work and spent eight months living in Taipei. First off, I want to acknowledge that this is an incredible privilege. Not everyone can afford to voluntarily take a break from work. We were fortunate enough to have saved up money from our years working in Silicon Valley. We also have no kids, no pets, and no house, so once we took care of the one plant we owned, we were free to embark on this journey.

Many of our friends have been curious about our experience. They ask about our goals, what led us to make this move, and whether it was worth it. So, I’ve decided to share my story — my journey of finding balance in life.

The Why: What Threw Me Off Balance

In 2020, at the onset of the global pandemic, I was laid off from my job. Hearing the words, “25% of the company will be eliminated,” shattered my five-year plan and forced me onto a new path — a path defined by how I choose to live my life. It wasn’t surprising to learn that our team and department were disproportionately affected by the layoffs. I wasn’t considered part of the “critical” aspects of the business. Still, the feeling of abandonment stung, as if I had been broken up with even though I had done nothing wrong.

The layoffs happened while I was engaged and actively planning my wedding. Due to the uncertainty surrounding the pandemic, we decided to postpone our wedding celebration. It was heartbreaking and disheartening to realize that the pandemic had not only taken away my job but also my dream of a perfect wedding day.

Despite these challenges, we decided to legally get married in 2020. I also miraculously found a new job. While I still got married and got a job, an underlying unease began to consume me. A little voice in my head reminded me that the blueprint of life I had envisioned, which was meant to guarantee a “good life,” would never go according to my plan.

Over the next two years, that little voice grew louder. I noticed that I was constantly rushing from one thing to another, living on autopilot. I questioned whether I was investing my time in things that truly mattered to me and whether they grounded me. If a pandemic could abruptly shift the course of everyone’s lives overnight and make our pursuits uncertain, then what was truly worth chasing?

In response to this, my husband and I made a conscious decision to be more intentional about how we live. We created a list of things we wanted to invest in outside of work: family, personal growth, and health and fitness topped that list. Investing in these things while working a full-time job is near impossible, so we sought guidance from our church community, asking for their prayers. We had late-night conversations dreaming about what life would look like if we quit our jobs and moved. We established a “what if” rule, prioritizing actions we would regret not taking. Finally, we mapped out a timeline for when it would be feasible to act on our desires. As project managers, this step was crucial for our sanity.

To be honest, our initial idea was to travel around the world for a year. After experiencing a global pandemic, nothing sounded better than taking a break from work while sipping wine in the South of France. Our grand plan was to visit a new country each month, allowing us to check off 12 new countries from our list. We even fantasized about becoming #influencers along the way. But I eventually had to admit that indulging in good food and wine wouldn’t contribute to the personal growth I wanted. What we truly needed was to live in a city where we could establish roots and a healthy routine. That’s when we decided to move to Taiwan.

Why Taiwan? I spent my early years in Taiwan before moving to California at the age of 10. Throughout my life, I’ve always felt a deep connection to Taiwan, but I have struggled to find a balance between my Taiwanese and American identities. Taiwan has always felt like a childhood friend that I reconnect with every once in a while, so I deeply wanted to rediscover my culture, relearn the language, and reconnect with my family. Plus, it was a great way for my husband to finally learn Chinese (he has tried several times before) and get to know my family, too.

Our decision to leave our jobs and move to Taiwan was not impulsive. Although it took us years of contemplation, our transition only took a couple of weeks. Before we knew it, we put in our notice, sold our furniture, threw a farewell party, and we were off! (Of course, there were a lot more that happened during this transition period, but I’ll spare you all the details.)

The How: Finding Balance

I had naively assumed that by quitting my job and moving to a completely different part of the world, all my problems would magically vanish.

That was not what happened.

The reality was much more humbling and unsexy. Finding balance was hard, especially when I didn’t know how I was off balance. Throughout the year, I found myself going through different phases that gradually cleansed me. It was a painfully revealing process, and while I don’t think I’ll ever get “there” (wherever “there” is), I have changed. Both in the small ways, like building healthier habits, and in the big ways, like having a clearer vision of the impact I’d like to have on the world.

So here it is. I’ve captured my gap year journey into five phases.

Phase One: Withdrawal

Turns out busyness is like a drug. As soon as I had no work, I found myself making to-do lists of completely useless tasks like “deleting duplicate photos on my phone” just so I could feel like a productive human being. I set fake deadlines for myself and would be disappointed if I didn’t meet them. Because without productivity what was I good for? Once I removed busyness, I felt lost and anxious. I lost the source of where my value came from.

My solution was to fill my schedule with other pursuits. I made a list of activities that have intrigued me in the past, things I had told myself “If I had more time it’d be cool to pick that up.” But when I finally had the time, I felt stuck. Should I become a bartender or a certified yoga instructor? Should I start a Taiwan travel blog? Or maybe I’ll intern at a TV station and hang out with Taiwanese celebrities. I enthusiastically reached out to a few organizations using my elementary school-level Chinese but never heard back from anyone. Still, I was excited. The possibilities of what I could do with my time were endless!

Phase Two: Meltdown

Gradually, I became increasingly uncomfortable with the space in my schedule. I felt like every minute that wasn’t utilized, was wasted. I desperately tried to fill my calendar, yet I still felt completely directionless. On the one hand, I wanted to be busy, but on the other hand, I feared that I’d fill up my time with things that were meaningless. So I found myself… stuck.

What I wanted was a step-by-step guide with clear instructions telling me what to do with my life. I would’ve given anything for a direction that led me to my ultimate calling. But I heard nothing. One sleepless night, as I lay in bed with tears streaming down my face, I scribbled a note on my phone:

“My biggest fear is that on my deathbed I’ll realize that I never knew myself. And now stripped from the busyness that took up my schedule, I’m faced with the harsh reality that if nothing changes, my biggest fear will come true.”

As my mind slowly faded out of consciousness, beyond the feelings of hopelessness and anxiety, I faintly heard a voice whispering: “Everything is going to be okay. Everything happens for a reason. You are here for a reason.”

Phase Three: Climbing

My existential crisis pushed me to be more patient with myself. I stopped focusing on my day-to-day schedule and let myself live.

A couple of weeks after my meltdown, we found a church to attend, enrolled in a gym membership, and started volunteering regularly. We began spending more time with my family, and I even made a few friends! There was more structure to my schedule, and I was able to find space for spontaneity in the between. I moved slowly. And while I was still not busy by any means, I felt happy.

Before I knew it, I became a regular at a few coffee shops and no longer needed directions to navigate through the metros and busses. I was comfortable in my new city, and that gave me a sense of freedom.

Phase Four: Adaptation

Freedom quickly turned to indulgence.

Whatever simmering urge I had in my body boiled over into action now that I was comfortable with my new lifestyle. While I was saying yes to whatever came my way, whether it was food, books, exploration, or activities, I still felt grounded. I was gaining a new perspective while shedding my old.

I went to the gym four times a week. I dove into an ocean of books. I went on a quest to find the best soup dumplings in Taipei. We took weekend trips to different cities in Taiwan. We volunteered in Taipei’s red-light district. And, what I cherished the most, we spent a lot of time with my 93-year-old grandma. I fully adapted to my new life, and I felt like I was thriving.

But in this season, I differentiated what I truly enjoyed versus what merely sounded appealing in my head. After a while, I filled my time with things that filled me.

Phase Five: Appreciation

Reflecting upon my transformation, I couldn’t pinpoint a single “aha” moment or a sudden realization that marked the shift from my pre-Taiwan self to the person I am today. Instead, it was a gradual awareness that unfolded over time. One day I turned around, looked back, and thought to myself, “Wow, I think I’ve changed.”

I’ve spent most of my life chasing after the next thing. Whether it was good grades, good school, or a good job — I never took a moment to pause and think about why I was pursuing those things. This chase has been draining, as I find myself trapped in a perpetual cycle of always wanting more and never feeling like I’m enough.

Returning to America, one of my greatest fears was the feeling of shame that came with not doing enough. Inevitably, friends, family, and potential employers would ask me, “So, what did you do in your gap year?” The fear of not having something tangible or productive to prove the worthiness of my time started swallowing me. I didn’t write a book or become a viral vlogger on Youtube. I felt an overwhelming need to present a complete and successful project so that one day I can proudly give a TED Talk and declare to the audience, “And THAT is what you can do with your year off.”

Yet, amidst this shame, I started looking back at everything that I have gained. Not what I’ve accomplished, not what I’ve done — but what I’ve gained simply by having the space to enjoy the other aspects of my life that make me, me. So, when my friends ask, “Was it worth it? Was it worth the time and financial investment?” I always respond with enthusiasm, saying, “Abso-friggin-lutely! And let me try to convince you to take a break yourself.” Through my hard reset, I shifted how I invest my time, placing a greater emphasis on family, health, and growth. Additionally, I’ve learned the importance of creating space in my schedule, as I’ve discovered that it is within these moments that I truly thrive. I am now more balanced than ever before, and as a result, I’ve gained invaluable intangible things that money can’t buy. These are the direct outcome of my investment toward things outside of my career: the deepened relationship with my family, improvements in my physical and mental well-being, the transformative shift in perspective gained through volunteering, and a renewed sense of purpose. These are the very things I sought when I first started this journey.

As I adjust back to “normal life”, my commitment is to prioritize these investments. I will keep regular video calls with my family, make time for visits to the gym, and engage in consistent acts of giving back. Writing this article also serves as a way for me to seek accountability and ensure that busyness and work do not become the source of my value. This might look like setting clear boundaries with work hours, not lingering on the little things, and intentionally focusing on what truly matters.

My gap year in Taiwan still feels like a dream, although it was not an easy journey. It was an adventure both externally and internally — an exploration of a new place and a profound discovery of self. None of it would’ve been possible without my anchors: my husband and my faith in God. Now as I transition back into the workforce, I’m more recharged than ever. I am excited to start this new chapter, but this time around, I am prioritizing balance above all else.