Yanwen’s blog

8/9/2026

Yesterday I wrote about an article that I read on comparing two generations in China. When comparing parents and their children, we have to remember that these two generations were shaped by radically different historical circumstances in China. Their psychological differences cannot be understood without first looking at the worlds in which they grew up.

The first generation—roughly those born in the 1950s and 1960s— came of age during one of the most turbulent periods in modern Chinese history. Many were children or teenagers during the Cultural Revolution and young adults when Reform and Opening began in 1978.

They experienced scarcity and disrupted education during childhood, political uncertainty during the Cultural Revolution, and then the restoration of the college entrance examination. They witnessed the beginning of Reform and Opening and subsequently experienced the rapid expansion of private enterprise, foreign investment, international trade, and urbanization.

Most importantly, they lived through an extraordinary period of upward mobility. China was changing rapidly, and their own lives changed with it.

They were therefore not simply survivors of hardship. They were also beneficiaries—and, more importantly, participants—in China's economic transformation. Many entered the workforce during the early years of Reform and Opening and became the people who actually built much of the new economy. They worked in factories, started businesses, entered newly emerging professions, moved from the countryside to cities, and built families and careers in an economy that was transforming before their eyes.

They were, in many ways, the backbone of China's rebuilding and economic transformation.

Their children, roughly those born in the 1980s and 1990s, grew up in a very different China. This was the generation heavily influenced by the one-child policy and raised in a country that was already becoming dramatically more prosperous. 

They are 独生子女 (dú shēng zǐ nǚ), only child in the family. Their childhood experience was almost the opposite of that of their parents:

• One child surrounded by two parents and often four grandparents.

• Much greater material security.

• Enormous parental investment in education.

• Intense academic competition.

• Access to technology, entertainment, and consumer goods that their parents could scarcely have imagined.

• Little or no direct experience of the scarcity their parents had known.

• Many parents who had sacrificed enormously and therefore placed tremendous expectations on their only child.

Many of these children are now in their thirties and confronting adulthood in an economic environment very different from the one their parents encountered at the same age.

There is an interesting reversal here.

The parents grew up in a world where life was difficult, but the future seemed to be opening up. Their experience taught them a simple and powerful lesson: if I work hard, my life can become better than my parents' life.

Their children grew up in a world where life was much more comfortable with abundant materials, but the future became increasingly competitive and uncertain. They inherited the prosperity their parents had worked so hard to create, but they also inherited a society in which expectations had risen enormously.

And here lies an important irony.

The very parents who developed extraordinary resilience by enduring hardship often devoted themselves to protecting their children from the hardships that had once helped make them resilient.

They had known hunger, failure, uncertainty, and deprivation. Naturally, they wanted their children to experience none of those things. They worked hard to give their only child the best of everything, and a more comfortable life than they themselves had known.

That was an understandable—and often loving—response to their own childhoods.

But it also raises an important question:

What happens when parents who learned to endure failure spend their lives making sure their only child does not have to experience failure?

A child who is protected from every difficulty may be protected from some suffering, but may also have fewer opportunities to discover what he or she is capable of.

To be sure, I don't mean to say that every only child is fragile, selfish, or incapable of responsibility. Nor does it mean that every parent overprotected their child. Human beings are far too diverse for such sweeping conclusions.

Of course, these differences in upbringing do not, by themselves, explain why some young people today struggle with depression, why some have difficulty handling setbacks, or why others become remarkably capable and resilient. Nor do they prove that one generation is stronger than the other.

Now I'm interested in knowing if one generation's strengths may unintentionally contribute to some of the next generation's vulnerabilities and how we can prevent it.

More on it later.

8/8/2026

I read an article comparing the resilience of older generation with the depression of the younger generation.

The article correctly points out that many older Chinese lived through extraordinary hardships, and that some indeed learned to suppress their emotions. The problem is the author extends this observation about some individuals to characterize an entire generation.

First of all, the article criticizes people for stereotyping the young as "fragile," yet it stereotypes the old as "emotionally numb," "lacking empathy," and suffering from "learned helplessness."

The irony is, the author went to the opposite extreme--condemning prejudice against one generation ends up expressing prejudice toward another.

Second, there are many causes for the rise of depression cases among young people.

The article tries to explain rising depression almost entirely through chronic stress and modern society.

But the author knows clearly that psychology rarely accepts single-cause explanations. Depression arises from interactions among many factors. Among them, genetic predisposition, personality, childhood experiences, parenting, family relationships, economic stress, sleep, social media, physical health, substance abuse, traumatic events. 

In China, we have another important variable: the one-child growing up experience, in which many only children grew up surrounded by parents and grandparents who devoted enormous attention to them, excessive protection, lack of independence, low frustration tolerance, delayed assumption of adult responsibility and dependence on parents. That's why we have the term 啃老族 in China.

When a phenomenon has many interacting causes, attributing it primarily to one explanation may produce an appealing narrative, but not necessarily an accurate one.

Third, don't forget this age-old wisdom: responsibility builds resilience.

The article almost implies the experience of hardship leaves trauma in older generations. Hardship can leave trauma, but it can also cultivate resilience, competence, and perseverance. Human beings respond differently to adversity.

Resilience isn't pretending pain doesn't exist. A child who never falls never learns how to stand up again. A person who never fails never knows the sweetness of success.

As first-generation immigrants, many of us endured tremendous hardships as we learned a new culture, adapted to a different environment, and built new lives largely on our own. Those experiences made us stronger and more resilient—not emotionally numb.

Fourth, there is no need to romanticize sensitivity.

What particularly bothers me is the author almost treats sensitivity as evolutionarily superior. I'm not sure this is psychologically and scientifically defensible.

Sensitivity has strengths. It also has costs. Likewise, emotional restraint has strengths, and it has costs.

A mature adult ideally possesses both empathy and self-control. Not one without the other.

One generation rebuilt a nation while carrying burdens that today's youth can scarcely imagine. The other is growing up in an era of unprecedented technological change, relentless competition, and constant digital connectivity. Their challenges are different. Both deserve understanding.

To the child born today, I wish you both: a heart that feels deeply, and a spirit strong enough to withstand life's inevitable storms. May you inherit the compassion to understand others, the courage to face hardship, and the wisdom to recognize that with sensitivity and resilience, together they are the foundation of a mature and fulfilling life.

8/7/2026

Recently I read an introduction to Criminal Behavior: A Psychological Approach, one of the classic textbooks in criminal and forensic psychology. First published in 1991 by Anne M. Bartol and Curt R. Bartol, it has been revised through 12 editions and has been widely used for decades in university courses on criminology, psychology, criminal justice, and forensic science.

What makes the book influential is its psychological approach to crime. Drawing on research from psychology, psychiatry, neuroscience, sociology, biology, and criminology, it explores questions such as why some people become violent, how personality and early life shape behavior, and how biological and environmental factors interact. It also discusses topics including psychopathy, juvenile delinquency, violent crime, sexual offending, mental illness, and offender rehabilitation.

What interests me most is what this research teaches us about human nature. Understanding why some people commit crimes helps us better protect ourselves and our children, while also giving us a deeper understanding of human behavior.

One question I had before reading about the book was: Are some people born evil?

The answer, according to modern psychology, is no. There are no absolute "born criminals." Some people are born with biological traits that increase their risk of criminal behavior—such as greater impulsivity, lower empathy, heightened aggression, or a stronger tendency toward risk-taking. These are risk factors, not destiny.

One well-known psychological framework is the Dark Triad, a combination of three personality traits associated with a greater likelihood of manipulative and antisocial behavior.

The first is Machiavellianism—a tendency to manipulate others for personal gain with little regard for morality and others.

The second is pathological narcissism—an exaggerated sense of self-importance coupled with intense anger when one's inflated self-image is threatened.

The third is psychopathy, characterized by having no feeling, lack of empathy and remorse, and a willingness to exploit others.

Yet possessing these traits does not inevitably lead to criminal behavior. Many people with some of these characteristics function successfully within society and never commit crimes.

That brings us to another important idea:

Genetics loads the gun, but the environment pulls the trigger.

Genes may create vulnerabilities, but whether those vulnerabilities develop into criminal behavior depends greatly on life experiences. A warm, supportive family, positive role models, and healthy social environments can become powerful protective factors.

Extensive research shows that many adult offenders experienced childhood adversity, including neglect, abuse, chronic family conflict, or parental absence. Such experiences do not guarantee criminal behavior, but they can significantly increase the risk.

A Chinese saying captures the role of external circumstances in shaping aggressive behavior: 兔子急了咬人 (Tùzi jí le yǎo rén), meaning that even a gentle rabbit will bite when cornered or pushed beyond its limits. This suggests that aggression or violence can arise from circumstances, not just innate disposition.

Another finding surprised me. In homicide cases, victims are often killed not by strangers but by people they know—family members, intimate partners, friends, acquaintances, or colleagues. The greatest danger frequently comes from within one's social circle rather than from an unknown assailant.

The motives for homicide are varied, including domestic conflict, jealousy, financial disputes, revenge, sexual violence, and, more rarely, thrill-seeking. While the specific motives differ, many murders arise from conflicts that gradually escalate rather than from random encounters.

This changes the way we think about personal safety. Staying indoors after dark or installing stronger locks certainly has its value, but safety also depends on recognizing warning signs in the people around us. Sometimes the greatest protection comes not from securing our homes against strangers, but from learning to recognize unhealthy, manipulative, or violent relationships before they turn dangerous.

My biggest takeaway from this book is that understanding crime is ultimately about understanding people. The better we understand human nature—both its strengths and its vulnerabilities—the better equipped we are to protect ourselves, raise our children wisely, and build healthier relationships.

8/6/2026

While watching my son take care of his new baby yesterday morning, two Chinese sayings came to mind:

丢了西瓜，捡了芝麻
Diū le xīguā, jiǎn le zhīma
Literally: “Throw away the watermelon and pick up the sesame seeds.”

It means giving up something much more valuable while focusing on something relatively trivial—losing sight of the big picture while worrying about the small things. It's like an English saying, "Penny wise and pound foolish."

Its opposite is 抓大放小 (zhuā dà fàng xiǎo): focus on what matters most and let go of what matters less.

There is a deeper parenting principle here: not every problem deserves the same amount of attention.

With a newborn, parents can easily become anxious about every small deviation: How long did the baby sleep? How much did he eat? Did he burp enough? Is his routine exactly right?

But the most important priorities are actually quite simple:

1. Keep the baby physically safe.

2. Make sure he is adequately fed and cared for.

3. Respond when he genuinely needs help.

4. Build a secure emotional attachment.

5. Give him room to sleep, grow, and develop at his own pace.

6. Create a warm and stable home.

7. As he grows, help him develop curiosity, independence, resilience, and good character.

These are the “watermelons.”

By contrast, parents don't need to become overly anxious about every “sesame seed”:

1. A particular nap doesn't go according to schedule.

2. The baby eats less than expected on one occasion.

3. He is unusually fussy one day.

4. The house isn't perfectly organized.

5. The daily routine doesn't follow the parenting book exactly.

6. The child doesn't reach every developmental milestone according to someone else's timetable.

Of course, this doesn't mean ignoring persistent feeding problems, unusual lethargy, breathing difficulties, injuries, or other genuine warning signs. 

抓大放小 requires judgment. The point is not to care less; it is to learn what deserves more care.

Keep in mind that as long as the baby is safe, healthy, and loved, many other things can be adjusted and caught up over time.

I think this principle becomes even more important as children grow.

Modern parenting creates a strong temptation to optimize everything: grades, extracurricular activities, sports, screen time, sleep schedules, social skills, college preparation, and even the child's personality and future career.

Parents can feel the pressure and become so focused on getting every detail right that they lose sight of the larger goal.

A child may have excellent grades, impressive extracurricular activities, perfect manners, and a carefully managed schedule, yet be afraid of making mistakes, dependent on parental approval, or unable to make decisions independently.

That would be 丢了西瓜，捡了芝麻.

And this connects to what I have been writing about perfectionism. When parents constantly correct, optimize, and worry about every little thing, children may gradually learn that mistakes are dangerous and that everything must be done perfectly. That can feed exactly the kind of fear-driven perfectionism we should be trying to prevent.

Good parenting isn't about getting every detail right.

It is about knowing which things matter most—and getting those things right.

8/5/2026

Many years ago, I read Seeing the Forest for the Trees: A Manager's Guide to Applying Systems Thinking by Dennis Sherwood, published in 2002.

The book introduced me to the idea of systems thinking—looking beyond individual events and symptoms to understand the larger system, the relationships among its parts, and the underlying causes that produce what we see on the surface.

It reminds me of a Chinese saying:

头痛医头、脚痛医脚
Tóu tòng yī tóu, jiǎo tòng yī jiǎo

Literally, it means: “Treat the head when the head hurts; treat the foot when the foot hurts.”

The saying describes the tendency to deal with a problem only where it appears, without asking what caused it in the first place. In English, there's a similar saying, “Treat the symptoms, not the root cause.”

This is exactly the kind of thinking that systems thinking tries to prevent.

A system is not simply a collection of independent parts. Its parts interrelate to and interact with one another, influence one another, and together produce outcomes that may not be obvious when we look at each part separately.

The human body is a good example. It is an integrated system made up of many interconnected subsystems —circulatory, respiratory, digestive, nervous, muscular, endocrine, immune, reproductive and others.

If we experience a headache, the pain is in the head. But the cause may not necessarily originate there. It could be related to dehydration, lack of sleep, stress, medication, blood pressure, vision, or many other factors.

The important lesson is not about diagnosing headaches. It is about how we think about problems.

If we see only the visible symptom, we may rush to fix whatever is immediately in front of us. But if we step back and ask, “What larger system produced this problem?”, we may see deeper than the surface and discover an entirely different solution.

We do this kind of “头痛医头、脚痛医脚” thinking more often than we realize.

A company has declining sales, so management pushes the salespeople harder—without asking whether the product, pricing, customer experience, or market has changed.

A child is doing poorly in school, so parents demand that the child study more—without asking whether the problem is motivation, sleep, anxiety, learning methods, or the relationship between parent and child or between teacher and child.

Someone keeps procrastinating, so they blame themselves for lacking discipline—without asking whether the task itself is unclear, overwhelming, or poorly structured.

In each case, the visible problem is real. But the root cause may be hidden elsewhere.

That is why systems thinking is useful far beyond business management.

When we encounter a difficult problem, the first question should not be: “How do I fix this?”

but: “Why is this happening? What's going on beneath the surface?”

And then: “What other parts of the system might be contributing to it?”

This way of thinking can prevent us from repeatedly facing and solving the wrong problem.

Sherwood's book title, Seeing the Forest for the Trees, tells us: don't become so focused on the tree in front of you that you forget to look at the forest that produced it.