Yanwen’s blog

10/13/2026

A few years ago, I read The Wisest One in the Room: How You Can Benefit from Social Psychology’s Most Powerful Insights by Thomas Gilovich and Lee Ross, published in 2015. I took some notes and planned to share what I learned. Now I would like to revisit one of the book’s key psychological insights: naïve realism.

Naïve realism is the mistaken belief that our subjective interpretation of the world is objective reality. 你所谓的客观是你的幻觉 (Nǐ suǒwèi de kèguān, shì nǐ de huànjué), What you call objectivity is just your illusion.

We tend to believe that we see things as they really are and that reasonable people should see them the same way. When someone disagrees with us, we may assume that the person is misinformed, irrational, or biased, rather than recognizing that we all interpret the world through our own experiences and perspectives.

The thinking behind naïve realism can be summarized in three assumptions:

• “I see things as they really are.” My understanding is based on facts, not merely on my personal perspective.

• “Other reasonable people should agree with me.” If they have the same information I do, they should reach the same conclusion.

• “If they disagree with me, something must be wrong with them.” They must be uninformed, irrational, biased, or influenced by their own interests.

The irony is that people on opposite sides of a disagreement often think in exactly the same way. Each side believes it sees reality clearly and wonders how the other side could be so wrong.

Consider a simple example.

Two people watch the same news report about a controversial political issue but reach opposite conclusions. Person A thinks Person B must be misinformed or politically biased. Person B thinks exactly the same thing about Person A. Both sincerely believe they are being objective, yet neither fully recognizes how personal values and experiences shape their interpretation of the facts.

This helps explain why disagreements can be so difficult to resolve, even when both sides have access to the same information.

Naïve realism can make matters worse in three ways:

1. We confuse our interpretation with reality. We forget that our upbringing, experiences, values, and expectations influence how we understand what we see.

2. We underestimate other people's perspectives. We assume that anyone who knows the same facts should reach the same conclusions, overlooking differences in values and priorities.

3. We become less willing to listen. Instead of trying to understand why someone sees things differently, we dismiss that person as ignorant, irrational, or dishonest.

How can we guard against naïve realism?

The first step is to remember that being confident we are right does not necessarily mean we are right. When we disagree with someone, we can try to see the issue from that person's perspective and consider how their past experiences and values might influence their judgment.

One useful question to ask ourselves is: If I had grown up in the other person's circumstances, might I see this issue differently?

The authors argue that becoming wise requires us to move beyond “naïve realism.” On the one hand, we should approach social conflicts with a more mature mindset, recognizing how subjective perspectives shape the views of both sides rather than blindly taking sides. On the other hand, when dealing with conflicts ourselves, we should set aside our assumptions as much as possible and try to reconstruct the full picture through careful investigation.

More importantly, wise people make an effort to put themselves in others’ shoes and consider different perspectives. As Abraham Lincoln is often quoted as saying, “I do not like that man. I must get to know him better.”

For me, the most valuable lesson is that we should be at least as willing to examine our own thinking as we are to criticize someone else's. Being open to another perspective does not mean giving up our own convictions. It means recognizing that even when we believe we see the whole picture, there may be more for us to understand.

10/12/2026

10/11/2026

A few days ago, I came across an article about the relationship between fathers and sons. As I read it, I thought of a relative of mine whose relationship with his father has remained strained, even as he approaches forth.

The article tells the story of a man who recalled an experience with his father, who was then nearly seventy years old.

One day, they were looking through old photographs together when they came across a picture of the man at age three. In the photo, his father was holding him high above his head, and the little boy had a bright, proud smile on his face.

The son put the photograph in his wallet. Later, for the first time, his father opened up about his own childhood and his relationship with his father.

“My father never held me. I never even got to sit on his lap,” he said, tears streaming down the old man's face.

The son was deeply moved. Even at age seventy, his father still carried the pain of never having been held by his own father as a little boy.

The contrast is striking. The father had grown up longing for a simple expression of affection that he never received. His son, on the other hand, treasured a moment of tenderness from his own childhood so much that he carried the photograph in his wallet decades later.

A small gesture of love can leave a lasting impression. A hug, a playful lift into the air, or a child sitting on his father's lap reading or eating may seem like a small act to an adult. To a child, however, such moments can become precious memories and help build a sense of security and belonging.

The article goes on to discuss the role fathers play at different stages of a boy's development. It offers three general suggestions.

1. During the toddler years: Offer affection and encourage independence.

Fathers can spend time playing with their young sons, showing affection, and helping them explore the world beyond their immediate attachment to their mothers. A father's involvement gives a child another source of comfort and support while encouraging curiosity and growing independence.

2. During childhood: Set boundaries while encouraging exploration.

Boys may enjoy physical play, adventure, and testing limits. Fathers can use everyday activities, including playful wrestling when appropriate, to teach children about rules, self-control, and respect for others. The goal is not to suppress a child's energy but to help him learn how to manage it.

3. During adolescence: Offer guidance and model responsibility.

Teenagers need both room to make their own decisions and adults who provide steady guidance. Fathers can help by setting reasonable boundaries, treating others with respect, and demonstrating responsibility. They also need to work with the child's mother to provide consistent expectations.

I find some of this advice useful, but I am not convinced that every boy must follow the same developmental path or that fathers alone must fulfill these roles. A close bond with one's mother does not necessarily prevent a boy from becoming independent. Nor does a father's presence automatically guarantee good behavior. Children differ, and mothers, fathers, grandparents, and other caring adults can all contribute to their development.

Still, one point stands out to me: a father's involvement matters, not only through discipline and guidance, but also through everyday expressions of affection.

10/10/2026

I was growing up in a large military compound in China. Around 1969, many of my peers in the compound joined the army. We called the recruitment of young people “招小兵,” although I don't know whether that was the official term. I remember how excited I was when my friends returned wearing their military uniforms. They looked grown-up, proud, and important. I envied them tremendously and wanted to join the army, too.

But my father, who was himself in the military, refused to let me go.

He told me an old Chinese sayings: “好男不当兵，好铁不打钉” (Hǎo nán bù dāng bīng, hǎo tiě bù dǎ dīng)—literally, “A good man doesn't become a soldier, just as good iron isn't made into nails.” These sayings reflected a traditional view of military service, though my father's reasoning went beyond the sayings themselves.

At the time, China was in the midst of the Cultural Revolution. Education had lost much of its standing. “读书无用” (Dú shū wú yòng, there is no use in studying) was a popular sentiment, and intellectuals were derisively labeled “臭老九.” In that environment, telling a child to concentrate on school might not have seemed particularly wise or practical.

But my father insisted that my main task was to study and acquire a skill. He explained that no matter who was in power, history showed that society would always need people with expertise and practical knowledge.

The following year, in 1970, my father sent me to Tianjin Foreign Languages School. He also sent another girl to that school. We knew each other from nursery years. Later she was chosen to study in Finland. At the time, I could not fully appreciate the long-term value of the path my father had chosen for me.

Years later, when China restored the national college entrance examination in 1977, the education I had received gave me a chance to enter college. On the other hand, many of my childhood friends from the military compound who joined the army did not have the same opportunity. Their lives took different paths, and I cannot know how things would have turned out if any of us had made different choices. But I came to understand what my father had been trying to teach me.

He was not simply telling me to study hard. He was teaching me to look beyond the excitement and pressures of the present and prepare for a future I could not yet imagine.

Looking back, I realize that my father made a decision on my behalf at a time when I was too young to understand its consequences. He could not have predicted exactly how my life would unfold, but he believed that education and practical skills would give me options, even when the world around me changed.

That belief stayed with me. Political movements come and go. The values a society attaches to different kinds of work can change dramatically. But knowledge and the ability to do something useful retain their value.

I am grateful that my father understood this when I did not. I hope my children will remember this: Don't make important decisions solely on the basis of what is popular at the moment. Build knowledge and skills that will give you choices when the future takes an unexpected turn.

10/9/2026

To my children and grandchildren, I want to tell you this piece of experience that you may find difficult to imagine.

I grew up in Tianjin, China, and I lived through the years of the Cultural Revolution. You grew up in America, in a very different time and place. I don’t expect you to fully understand what it was like to be a child growing up in China during those years. But I would like you to know a little about what I experienced personally.

When I was in middle school, “为人民服务” (Wèi rén mín fú wù), or “Serve the People,” was a very common and important slogan. It's very much like today's politically correct slogans. We heard it everyday, and it was part of the environment in which we grew up. People were supposed to accept it without question.

At the time, I had a simple question: Why should I serve the people?

I remember asking about it during one of the so-called heart-to-heart talks with a class leader, 班干部. The leader explained to me that farmers grew the grain that we ate and workers made the clothes and other things we used. Without them, we would have nothing.

I argued that my parents bought our food and clothes from stores. They bought what we needed. I didn’t see farmers personally giving us food for free or factory workers personally making our clothes for us.

Today, this may sound like a very ordinary question. But at that time, questioning the slogan was not taken lightly. I was criticized for it.

I don’t remember exactly what people said to me. What I remember is the feeling that my words didn't sit well with her.

Around that time, many of my classmates were becoming 红卫兵, the Red Guards, indicating one was politically progressive. I also applied to join. I wanted to be accepted like the other students. But I was never admitted.

To this day, I don’t know exactly why. I only know that I was excluded while many others were accepted. I remember this because it gave me a hard time then, especially because I felt strong pressure from my parents to become a Red Guard.

I probably didn’t fully understand the larger political events around me. I was still a minor, trying to fit in with my classmates, and trying to make my parents proud.

Looking back now, I don’t think I said anything wrong.

But that is how I remember those years: there were things we were expected to believe, and sometimes asking too many questions could bring criticism or make you stand apart from others.

I am telling you this because it is part of my life that you cannot learn from a history book alone.