Yanwen’s blog

Watching the recent presidential debates has made me think that an age restriction should be mandatory for all politicians, especially for the highest office in the country.

The role of the president is one of the most demanding in public service. It’s not a puppet show controlled by others; it demands boundless energy, with at least 80 hours of work per week, engaging with people from around the world, and addressing complex issues with sharp intellect and wisdom.

After witnessing the chaotic presidential debate this June, where two grandfathers seemed to race toward new lows, both parties should have recognized the toll cognitive decline can take on senior leaders. This should have been a wake-up call to focus on finding younger, more capable candidates.

Yesterday my mother told me, Biden has become so senile he wore a Trump campaign hat. I told her, mom, that’s not true. It’s the AI generated image. After the video chat, I checked BBC and indeed Joe Biden wore a Trump campaign hat. Good thing his days in the White House are soon over.

While Biden wisely stepped down under donor pressure, the Republican grandfather continues to hold on.

There’s an ancient Chinese saying, "廉颇老矣，尚能饭否?" (Lián Pō lǎo yǐ, shàng néng fàn fǒu), which translates to, "General Lian Po is old—can he still eat?" More broadly, it asks whether someone still has the ability to perform despite age, questioning whether experience can truly compensate for the inevitable decline that comes with aging. It also implies resilience, as in, "Though I’m old, I still have strength left."

But can we ask those born in 1946: Despite your age, do you still have the energy and mental sharpness to hold the highest office in the land? Can we count on you to serve with full capacity and a clear mind for four more years, well into your 80s?

As global challenges grow more complex, the demands of leadership only intensify. While experience and wisdom remain invaluable, they should not come at the expense of vitality and mental acuity. When will we embrace a more forward-looking approach, one that gives leaders with the energy and sharpness needed for the highest office their chance? After all, a healthy democracy thrives not just on the strength of its past, but on the promise of its future.

Long ago, I heard from the elders that childbirth could heal a mother’s body—that certain illnesses might disappear after having a baby. The belief suggests that it’s not just the mother who sacrifices for her child; in fact, the baby starts giving back even before it is born.

I shared this belief with my children, suggesting it could be nature’s way of ensuring mothers live long enough to care for their babies. Though they were skeptical, I held on to the idea.

Recently, I decided to fact-check this traditional belief and was surprised to find scientific research that supports it. Last weekend, I shared these findings with my daughter.

Studies now show that fetal-maternal stem cell transfer plays a key role in the maternal healing process. For example, a 2015 study published in Circulation Research found that fetal stem cells may help repair maternal organs, particularly the heart. The research even identified Cdx2 cells as a promising avenue for cardiovascular regenerative therapy.

Furthermore, research in PMC demonstrated that fetal cells migrate into the mother’s body during pregnancy and can remain for decades. These microchimeric fetal cells have been discovered in various maternal tissues, including blood, bone marrow, skin, and liver, suggesting their long-term role in maternal health.

Another 2016 study published in Springer explored the link between fetal cell microchimerism and maternal cancers, noting that these fetal cells can establish lineages within the mother and persist for many years, potentially influencing her health. There’s even a dedicated Wikipedia page on Microchimerism, underscoring the growing interest in this phenomenon.

I also came across intriguing articles showing how children may influence their parents' life expectancy. For example, a study by the Max Planck Institute found that parents often live longer, though the reasons remain unclear. Another study from the University of California suggests that women who have children later in life tend to live longer than those who become mothers at a younger age.

I was surprised to find so much research exploring the possible link between motherhood and a mother’s health and longevity.

When I shared this information with my daughter, I wanted her to see how some traditional Chinese beliefs, often dismissed as mere superstition, carry deep wisdom that modern science is only beginning to explore. This knowledge, passed down through generations, reflects an understanding of life that transcends cultural boundaries. I encouraged her to remain open-minded and appreciate how both Eastern and Western perspectives can offer valuable insights. After all, just because something isn’t yet proven by science doesn’t mean it isn’t true—sometimes, ancient wisdom is simply ahead of its time, waiting for people to explore and understand.

Last weekend, while visiting my son, I picked up The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky, first published in 1880. Although I’ve read it before, each time I discover new insights to ponder, thanks to its philosophical depth and profound exploration of human existence.

The Brothers Karamazov revolves around the brutal crime of patricide, set within what Dostoevsky calls an “accidental family” — a group of individuals bound by blood but lacking the emotional connections, shared values, or beliefs that typically define a family as we understand it today. The Karamazovs—four sons and their father—are connected by chance rather than affection. Despite their shared blood, they possess none of the qualities that foster familial love. It’s no surprise, then, that patricide occurs within this fractured household.

As the title suggests, the story centers on the Karamazov brothers. Their father, Fyodor Karamazov, is a man of extreme debauchery and neglect, competing with his eldest son for both money and a lover, stirring resentment and animosity within the family. Maxim Gorky once described Fyodor’s character as embodying cowardice and audacity, but above all, a twisted and malicious soul. He is such a terrible father that it’s hard to believe someone like him could truly exist.

Dostoevsky uses these broken family dynamics as a metaphor for the broader “father and son” relationships in Russian society at the time. After Fyodor’s murder, the novel’s tension pivots on the question of who committed the crime—whether one of his sons is responsible for the patricide, a mystery that forms the novel’s central narrative.

Set against the backdrop of 19th-century Russia, each time I revisit the novel, I am struck by the tragic disintegration of a family. In contrast, I like to believe that with the progress of civilization, families today have evolved into something closer to what they should be: warm, nurturing environments where children grow up supported by love and care. While no family is perfect, many have become the sanctuaries they are meant to be—places where love, not conflict, binds people together.

Reading Dostoevsky's dark portrayal of familial collapse reminds me of what my mother often says: 家和万事兴 (Jiā hé wàn shì xīng), meaning "Harmony in the family brings prosperity in everything." A loving and harmonious family fosters success and happiness. And in this, we see the power of family as it should be: not accidental, but intentional, filled with the warmth and love that build strong foundations for life.

There are two things I’d like to share today.

First, today marks the anniversary of the passing of a great leader in China, Mao Zedong. 

In 1949, Soviet leaders suggested that China be divided between the Kuomintang (KMT) and the Communist Party, with the Yangtze River as the dividing line. According to their proposal, the Communist Party would control the north, while the KMT would govern the south. However, Mao Zedong and the Communist leadership firmly rejected this idea, determined to unify China. This is not the first time that foreign powers attempted to fragment China.

Forty-eight years have passed since Mao’s death, and without his leadership, China might not be the independent sovereign state as it is today. Instead, it could have been a divided fragmented place, much like today's Arab world, the Middle East or North and South Korea, a dependent of foreign powers..

Second, yesterday my youngest sister shared an encounter during her evening walk. She saw a man pushing his elderly mother in a wheelchair and remarked, "I hope my son will care for me like that when I grow old and frail."

Her words lingered with me. It saddens me to think her only son lives in the U.S., far from her. More importantly, the generational ties aren’t as strong as they once were. The old belief of 养儿防老 (*yǎng ér fáng lǎo*)—"raise children to care for you in old age"—may no longer hold true for the next generation.

My sister is currently caring for our mother, which reflects the old tradition of raising children to care for you in your old age. While it’s natural for her to expect the same from her son, we must accept that this expectation is no longer realistic. I hope she embraces more independence. Unless her son willingly takes on the role, relying on him seems impractical. Perhaps the best preparation lies in financial security, allowing her to turn to modern solutions—like purchasing a robot caregiver—to meet her future needs.

As I reflect on both Mao Zedong’s unwavering pursuit of a unified independent China and my sister’s hopes for her son’s future care, I’m reminded of how much times have changed. Traditions that once held families together are now being redefined by modern realities.

Be independent, whether as a nation or as an individual. Just as China has found its path through history, perhaps we too, in our personal lives, must forge new ways forward—embracing self-reliance while navigating the inevitable shifts of time.

Of two related things, most Chinese have likely heard of the first, while some Americans might be familiar with the second.

The first is the idiom 破釜沉舟 (pò fǔ chén zhōu)—"Smashing the Cauldrons and Sinking the Boats." It originates from the story of Xiang Yu, the King of Western Chu, during the Battle of Julu. After crossing the Zhang River, Xiang Yu ordered his soldiers to sink their boats and destroy their cooking tools, leaving only three days of provisions. With no retreat, his troops fought with all they had, ultimately winning a decisive victory. This idiom has since evolved to symbolize unwavering determination and the resolve to move forward without looking back.

The second one is the book Burn the Boats: Toss Plan B Overboard and Unleash Your Full Potential by Matt Higgins (2023). The title is inspired by the very same story. Higgins, an American entrepreneur, resonated with the tale, believing it captured the essence of his own success: forging ahead with no backup plan. In this way, he named his book after the philosophy that had guided his life.

Higgins’ story offers valuable lessons to those seeking lifelong growth, particularly those feeling stuck, anxious, or unsure of their next steps.

The Two Layers of “Burning the Boats”

The first meaning is to abandon your backup plan. Higgins emphasizes that having too many options can hinder success. To achieve greatness, you can’t prepare for yourself an easy exit. People often say "don’t put all your eggs in one basket," but Higgins believes while this might work in fund management, life requires the courage to commit fully. This approach stems from his personal experience.

At 16, Higgins dropped out of high school—not because he was struggling academically, but because he was determined to rise beyond the limitations of his grades. He could only attend a mediocre college, so he opted to drop out, attend night school, and earn a professional diploma earlier. Many advised him to play it safe by completing high school, but Higgins believed cutting off his safety net would push him to succeed. Ultimately, his gamble paid off as he earned his diploma and, starting as a contract worker, forged his own successful path.

The second meaning of "burning your boats" is to let go of things that seem safe but won’t help you reach your goals. Sometimes, the so-called safe path can be the riskiest. Higgins argues that what seems secure could be like a frog slowly boiling in water. When we realistically evaluate how far we are from our goals, we might realize that the slow route is the most dangerous one.

For instance, after dropping out, Higgins worked hard to enter law school at night, eventually landing an internship at a law firm. To many, it seemed like he had taken a significant step in his career. But after working in the field, he realized that climbing the ranks in a law firm required not just seizing every promotion opportunity but also several years of patient effort. This slow, secure route was difficult and not guaranteed, so Higgins decided to switch careers, abandoning the years he had invested in law.

Reassessing the Path to Success

Most people assume climbing the career ladder is a gradual process, progressing from supervisor to manager to CEO, that only after gaining CEO experience can we start our own ventures. But Higgins argues that success happens in leaps. You need to jump into a space with greater room for growth before making steady progress. This leap is essential. If you have higher aspirations in life, consider whether the current path is moving too slowly. If so, a bold, decisive move may be what’s needed.

In Higgins’ view, burning the boats is a strategy that applies to everyone aiming for success. Conquerors don’t have a Plan B because the mere existence of one weakens resolve and dampens our efforts. Many fail because they hold on to backup plans, never fully committing to their dreams. 

Ultimately, "burning the boats" is about making the bold, fearless choices necessary to create real breakthroughs in life and drive ourselves to victory with no option but success.