It has already been 25 years since I immigrated to the United States. I work as an accountant in the Chicago area.

After getting married and raising two teenage daughters, I often find myself thinking, "Am I a money-making machine or the head of a household?"

After wrestling with numbers all day while adjusting my glasses, I feel like my mind is divided into cells like an Excel spreadsheet.

Yet, when I look at my clients' books and think, "This person is going to get into big trouble," I end up sweating more than necessary.

While worrying about others, I wonder when I will sort out my own life.

When I was single and even after getting married, I had ways to relieve stress.

Meeting friends for a drink and smoking a bit while laughing together helped alleviate stress.

But now that I'm nearing 50, drinking makes my stomach hurt for half a day, and I quit smoking long ago, so I can't even start again.

I seem to have maintained my health, but instead, stress keeps piling up. It's ironic.

When I come home, there isn't really a welcoming atmosphere. My daughters are now over 15, so I guess they see me as just an ATM bringing money home.

In the past, they would run to me and hug me when I came in, but now, just the sound of my footsteps makes them close their doors at lightning speed.

Since I'm only with my wife, I feel like a transparent person at home. They only act cute when they want me to change their iPhone.

The only comfort I had was my golden retriever, who passed away last year at the age of 11.

Now that the one who used to wag his tail when I came home is gone, the house feels so quiet.

I thought about getting another puppy, but honestly, I don't have the money or the energy for that.

If I can't even treat people well, how can I treat a dog well?

Living in a big city like Chicago is always like this.

There are many opportunities and a lot of energy, but my life feels like it's continuously compressed like a zip file.

Ways to relieve stress are decreasing, while stress itself is increasing. It's a vicious cycle.

Still, sometimes I find a little relief in small things.

On weekends, going to a café with a cup of coffee in hand and reading a book, or going for a walk alone in the park. It may seem trivial to others, but it's a small refuge for me.

The problem is... while walking, I think, "Oh, why is my belly getting bigger?" and that turns my walk into a self-deprecating time.

If you ask how to live, honestly, I have no answer.

I've realized one thing at this age: there's no need to be perfect, and enduring is also a skill.

Of course, I feel like I'm being dragged along rather than enduring, but well... at least I haven't collapsed yet, so that's something.