写在 22 岁到来之际On Turning 22

"Life needs to keep a kind of passion. The unyielding spirit inside a person can move others, and can change the way we live."

Looking Back

Live in the present, do right by today. Twenty-two — let a whole herd of alpacas loose for me! For me, this feels like exactly the right age.

A birthday is mostly just a pretext — a convenient way to take stock of the time behind me and the world ahead. At a marker like this, I watch that kid's receding back grow up, watch him keep going and keep looking back. What the future holds, I don't yet know. Right now I just want to share how I feel in this moment.

A person is the last to notice how they've changed, and yet the first to feel it. Sometimes I ask myself: change — what exactly does it change? Looking back on 21, I did a lot: I met plenty of interesting friends and impressive elders; I saw some of the scenery I'd wanted to see; and I was lost, wistful, and adrift too, wasting no small amount of time and energy.

One realization that stuck with me this year: effort often does let down those who care. Whether it lets them down or not shouldn't matter that much. The value of caring can't be measured by whether it pays off. And ahead of me there are still a hundred ways of living I want to live, to experience, to go through, to feel.

The one thing I've always cared about is called growth, and the way I've chosen to seek it is reading and travel — seeing the world.

Let me correct one misconception here: a lot of people call me an "artsy youth" or the like, but honestly I don't think I'm the least bit artsy. For one thing, travel, reading, collecting maps and postcards — these are just a few standouts among many hobbies; if I absolutely had to slap on a label or a definition, I think "outdoor-sports enthusiast" fits me better. Hiking, cycling, camping, rock climbing, bungee jumping — and so much more still unknown, waiting for me to explore. For another, I think my way with words is really quite ordinary, sinking into the crowd without leaving a seam. A true artsy youth is someone who handles language with practiced ease, tossing off idioms, classics, and famous passages at will, a pleasure to read. And me — I'm still a long way off.

Youth

Youth can't be willful, but it can be free and unbound. Don't let yourself be boxed in and hemmed by rules and lines.

Years from now, if I were to turn back and say something to my twenty-year-old self, I'd want to say: twenty is an age at which, no matter what, you cannot play it safe. You can be lost, but you can't let being lost leave you dithering and idle. You can be afraid, but you can't let fear make you shrink back. At twenty, it's not yet time to dodge someone you like for a reason like "it won't lead anywhere," no need to dodge something you want to learn for a reason like "it's useless," and you shouldn't give up all sorts of interesting things just because you're afraid you can't handle them all. More than failure, fear regret; more than regret, fear the "you could have." What are you calculating for — you're only twenty; you've got at least another ten fierce years in you, and nothing can hammer you down.

Under the cover of youth, a lot of people call decadence courage, laziness rebellion, emptiness sexy — some have even given it a name: "cruel youth." There's no more shameless phrase. Is old age not cruel? So cruel that the children can't even find the words for its cruelty; not to mention the wretched middle years, so cruel that everyone's cruelty gets blamed on their cruelty. So of all the things called cruel, youth comes dead last.

More than "cruel," when it comes to youth I prefer the word "despair." Lately "depression" seems to be everywhere. In a life as blindingly fast-paced as today's, despair seems to suit people better. But sometimes what a person needs is true despair. True despair has nothing to do with pain or grief. It makes you calm; it makes you realize you can't rely on anyone else for your happiness. It makes you humble, because everything others can give you becomes a surprise. It forces you back into your own heart, where each person holds different selves that can talk to one another, learning to observe the changes in the smallest things. Everything in this world has a secret worth exploring. Despair isn't discouragement — it's just a matter-of-fact attitude that lets fate's share go to fate and your own share go to you. In other words: it is freedom.

As Gao Xiaosong put it: when I was young, before I turned forty, I thought "free of doubt at forty" meant you'd finally understood it all, knew everything. Then I hit forty and found: "free of doubt" actually means you no longer want to understand the things you don't understand. When you're young you want to understand everything, want to see clean through everyone, even want desperately to understand this society, this era. But you can't — you may not even fully understand the person you love most sitting across from you. Yet when you're young you so want to understand, because you always feel that not understanding something is the anxiety of life; only when you're old do you realize: that anxiety was youth. Without the anxiety, the youth is gone.

Years from now, when I suddenly turn to look back, all of this will at least prove, maybe, that I gave youth — or college — my best. And for me, what matters most is staying humble and curious, and always working hard; returning to myself, watching coolly from the side, yet still unwilling to sit still, still stirring up life.

Travel

Every year I have to go somewhere unfamiliar. It's a demand I make of myself and a plan I keep. I'll go on making myself go out and roam. The world is too big, the scenery too much, and I will always be small and ignorant. As Socrates said: the wisest man is the one who knows he knows nothing. I'm certainly not the wisest — I just plainly don't want to miss out, and I carry more longing than most. And I'm certain, absolutely and for sure, that these unknown journeys will give me more.

The world holds far too much to get to know and explore — it's absolutely not just sightseeing, touring, photos, and food. What matters more is understanding and learning unfamiliar cultures and histories, other nations' humanity and ways of life. Admiring buildings of every form; taking in the many kinds of religious phenomena; experiencing life among strangers; adapting to all sorts of climates; even the different smells drifting in the air there.

Arriving somewhere unfamiliar, you always hear "this is different from where we're from," "this is the same," and you always compare — what's good about a place, what's not. In that comparing we open our eyes wider, our pores wider, and widen each other's hearts too. Only when the world we've seen grows larger can we grow more tolerant, more open. In fact, accepting each other's differences and respecting one another's distinctions has become the very point of "getting to know the world."

I love travel because I love the feeling of being on the road, deeply drawn by the difference the world lays out and the tension life reveals. Really, more than the scenery I meet in travel, what I'm even more enthralled by are the people and things I meet along the way. These people and things, when you recall them, feel like peeling an onion: you're overcome, tears streaming down your face.

A person needs to have seen a lot, been through a lot, eaten bitterness and tasted sweetness — then the tension of your life grows wide, your heart grows wide, and you come to know what you truly want inside. On one hand we adapt better to this society; on the other we're happy, and that happiness can be passed to the people around us.

Every time I travel to an unfamiliar city or country in a learning-and-growing way, it effectively helps me build my own thinking model in my head — knowing which institutions to turn to for help in an unfamiliar place, how to use my own resources to get things done. And when a person is in an unfamiliar setting, their strengths and weaknesses show with unusual clarity, which is undoubtedly a chance to know yourself. Every time I face this unfamiliar shock, I'm growing, and each time I see a clearer version of myself.

Facing unfamiliar environments again and again as you grow up — then, when they're grown, none of the unfamiliar environments they have to face will frighten them, because they'll already own a model of their own.

After a summer of travel, at nineteen, I finally found my gift. The one thing I'm good at is throwing caution to the wind. I love the wind of mountains and rivers rushing past my ears, love the ant-like passersby under snow and blazing sun, long to vanish from familiar surroundings, long to leave the people I love. But if you long for poetry and the far away, you have to be able to bear the drudgery of life; otherwise, warmth gone, the far away — what waits for you there is still drudgery.

I think travel has brought me a lot of change:

1. Having seen a bigger world gave me a big heart. It keeps me from getting hung up on life's petty trivia, and I've lost interest in all the street-corner chatter, household gossip, and tabloid news.

2. It made me realize that what I'd taken to be surely right may not be right at all.

3. It made me discover that many things I once thought were terribly important aren't nearly as important as I'd imagined.

4. It made me willing to accept all sorts of people's views, without trying hard to convince anyone. This world is colorful precisely because there are all sorts of voices. And nothing is ever absolutely right or wrong.

5. It let me see that people's lives can be lived so differently. Life can be lived in dazzling color, or dead and lifeless — and it all depends entirely on your state of mind and your attitude.

6. It made me believe that, tossed into any corner of the world, I'd survive without fear and make a good life for myself.

On the surface the meaning of roaming is play; deeper down it's living and experiencing — moving a person from that first jittery excitement to a calm and even keel. The more you're exposed to, the more drive you have to improve yourself; the more you're around people who shine, the more you want to become someone who shines too. Traveling in a learning way has become a tradition for me, and its meaning lies in my own growth. "Getting to know the whole world" is undoubtedly the inner drive of every traveler. I love that line: Life is not a destination, but a journey.

Life

For as long as I can remember, maybe I'm like the nickname people once gave A-mei: spokesperson for the lonely. (But congratulations to the goddess for escaping the sea of bitterness~ Hope I can catch her next concert.) I've never felt lonely myself — at most just alone (neither seems like a good word). It's not that I'm hard to get along with — I actually think I'm quite warm and easy, no pressure to be around. It's just that I could only ever engage most of the people around me along one or a couple of dimensions, so I simply "curled up," living for and by myself — and honestly it's free and happy.

The truth is, every identity a person holds is a form of self-kidnapping, and only losing is the road to freedom. I've always wanted to become a more interesting person. By "interesting" I mean someone who stands for a certain thought, a certain judgment, a certain passion — someone smart, endearing, fun. They can be of any profession; their singular experiences make them rich, and every time you're with them you come away with new ideas and angles. Maybe their views, dead opposite to yours, strike sparks; maybe their humor sparks a little inspiration in you.

At the same time, the young people willing to spend time hustling, brave enough to explore, brave enough to commit, tend to have a stronger sense of identity. They not only have higher self-confidence and greater perseverance, they're also more grounded. In the process of searching for identity, you often gain a lot of positive results — a clearer sense of self, a stronger satisfaction with life, and knowing how to handle stress better.

So every time I meet someone I really click with — especially the kind you can talk to endlessly across many dimensions, who almost gets what you mean — my eyes light up, brilliant as a rainbow.

In life, I've always been a fairly nostalgic person; when I'm idle and bored I still like to leaf through old things and dig up memories. But in every respect, my character now, polished by four years of college, is nothing like what it was before I enrolled. I used to really envy people whose birthdays others remembered, who got so many wishes and gifts. Later I understood: one mark of a person's maturity is grasping that 99% of what happens to you has nothing to do with anyone else. Still, I'm glad I can comfort some hearts, and grateful to be needed by some friends, remembered and cared for, and to give encouragement and support. On the road to becoming better, there's no turning back.

When a person has walked many roads, seen much scenery, heard many stories, their heart grows wide and calm; they'll meet their dreams, they'll meet themselves. Having seen too many people who shine, you come to understand life's infinite combinations and possibilities. There are too many enchanting ways of doing things to learn. There are too many wondrous ideas to ponder, too many noble sentiments to refresh your worldview with, again and again.

The best thing about your early twenties is being young — being full of vitality, full of passion. (I've stayed in Tianjin so long I nearly sang that in Tianjin dialect.) I'm becoming more focused, more settled, more resolute and dogged. Many people in their thirties care about control and social status, and slowly neglect the ability to learn and to grasp life — I'll keep absorbing and learning. I want to see whether I can become a better receiver, and eventually grow into a better transmitter. What I care about isn't how others see me — maybe I don't care at all. What I truly care about is the precious time of self-worth. I think everyone with ambition for their life must treasure the passing of time and, from that, race against it all the more nervously. Maybe I run slowly, but I will never stop. Days you can see to the end of at a glance — that's not what I want. Do you like it? Exciting or not, it's all walked out step by step.

Respect

Sometimes I really marvel at how incomparable the gaps between people can be. A good friend of mine, Ting — never mind that we have plenty to talk about — every time we message, the moment she sees it she replies at once, and if something's up she lets you know, like "hang on, I've got something right now" or "I'm ordering food, I'll get back to you in a bit." In a day and age when a lot of people won't reply even after they've seen your message, she's a breath of fresh air. When she's asked for something, she always says thanks at the end. Once I said no need to be so polite, we're this close now. She said: this is manners, not politeness. I was won over on the spot.

The most recent "case study": she asked me to help stamp something, and when I mailed it back she said just pick postage-on-delivery. I figured it was such a small thing that I'd just pay the postage myself. Then, once Ting had received it, she transferred the shipping fee back to me — and I really do admire and appreciate her from the bottom of my heart. Having a friend like that is a rare blessing across three lifetimes.

You never know until you compare. Some friends answer every conversation with "I'm off to do laundry," and then there's no more to it. Probably ended up stuck in the laundry room forever. And some people, when they need help — say they want you to ask around about something — lead with: "You there? You know a lot of people, can you help me find out about so-and-so's such-and-such?" You ask what for, what's going on, and they righteously snap "none of your business, just go find out." I say I'll try to be quick. Then: "Can you do it or not? If not, I'll go find someone else." A completely bossy, imperious attitude. Look — you're asking someone for a favor, with an attitude that rude, not letting them ask questions, and threatening to go find someone else if they can't — that's not a matter of low EQ, that's being raised wrong. You may well be friends, even good friends, but that doesn't mean you get to disrespect people and bark orders with your nose in the air. If you've got the nerve, try it with your parents too: "Can you two do it as parents or not? If not, I'll go find other parents."

Love

A lot of people around me have asked about and worried over my love life. I think the biggest principle is still whether we click — without a lot to talk about, it probably won't go anywhere. As for the rest, you don't have to be all that great; I just have to like you. All existence is for the sake of being happier. And the biggest wish, of course, is still to see the world together. Love will always lose its passion in the end — the only thing left is the two of us holding hands and traveling on.

I talked about this with Dadi once. He envies that I got to see some places in college; I envy him for having a girlfriend who loves him so much. It's always like this — everyone's happiness lives in someone else's eyes, and all of us are gazing up at someone else's happiness.

I want to find someone with an appetite for fresh knowledge, for improving their character, for expanding their feelings. I want to find someone who's curious about, and eager to explore, so much of this world. There's a question that goes like this: after half a year together, the girlfriend feels the freshness of the beginning is gone — what to do? My favorite answer, the top-voted one: I've always believed that so-called freshness isn't doing the same things with an unknown person, but experiencing an unknown life together with a known one.

I don't want to love a love I can't understand anymore. I don't want to keep turning into the version someone else likes — I like the sharp-edged version of myself I am now. I don't want to listen to Jay Chou, Yoga Lin, or Mayday for someone else's sake anymore; I only want to listen to my own Jonathan Lee, my own hip-hop and rock.

For an ambitious man, love is like the measles. Come down with it once or twice and you're basically immune — you won't likely catch it again after. And even if you do, it's just a minor cold that won't hold up his mad sprint down the road toward greatness. He runs and waits for you as he goes — waiting for some beauty that can't be planned.

The Wishlist

1. Build some muscle, run a half marathon and a full marathon.

2. Domestic travel: starting with the four northwestern provinces and Tibet, set foot on the rest of the land I've never trodden.

3. Overseas travel: my favorite countries — Germany, New Zealand, Singapore, the United States, Switzerland.

4. Go bungee jumping, go skydiving, do a deep snorkel, and get a diving license.

5. Camping + cycling + road trips.

6. Finish the books and films saved in my Douban lists.

7. Collect the original English Harry Potter books.

8. Learn archery, learn to cook, learn to play guitar, and study a second foreign language in depth.

9. If the chance still comes for all of them, go to their concerts: Jonathan Lee, Rene Liu, Fish Leong.

The Future

To close, let me borrow Liu Yu's words as encouragement: I'm not actually reclusive — you could even call me cheerful and lively. But most of the time I'm lazy, too lazy to tend a relationship. And some of the time, it's just that I love freedom, and feel that any relationship binds me. Of course, the main thing is that a true kindred spirit is hard to find. I always feel that in dealing with most people I can only ever bring out one dimension of myself, and it's hard to find someone whose interests stretch as boundlessly as mine. A person should be like an army — recruiting for their own mind and heart, never discouraged, answering the call, loving freedom.

I think I'm lucky in the end — not just because of the outer things I've gained, but because I'm pretty sturdy too. I keep getting knocked to pieces, but I can always get back up before the good Lord upstairs counts to nine, and when I see the sea in front of me again, I'm just as thrilled, leaping in overjoyed.

At 22, I hope I can be braver, more resolute, more confident. To keep sharpening, keep hustling myself, keep experiencing life. To keep charging boldly ahead for what I want and for the people I love. I hope that in the years to come, everyone — the people around me — will still be there. Thank you for going on with me, step by step without stopping, looking toward the future — one step at a time, here it comes.