Yanwen’s blog

Today I received a message from a friend at the YMCA, where I used to go swimming before my Xinjiang trip in September. Her message reminded me of the people there and unexpectedly brought back a familiar rhythm of my life from not long ago. I missed the time spent at YMCA.

Swimming has always been a good and safe form of exercise for me—gentle on my back, helpful for my posture. More than that, it gave me a small social circle. I could chat with people, exchange smiles, and feel connected. Still, after some thought, I’ve decided to take a break from it for now.

The most obvious reason is time. It takes nearly two hours each day to drive to the YMCA, swim, shower, chat sometimes and return home. At this stage of life, I’m becoming more aware of how limited time feels. Reading, writing, housework, piano practice, strength training—each one seems small on its own, yet together they already fill my days. Something had to go.

Another reason is that I now need more challenging exercise to improve my VO₂ max. Swimming keeps me healthy, but it no longer pushes me in the way I need physically.

I’ve also been swimming regularly for over two years. It has served me well, and I’m grateful for what it has given me. But I’m beginning to feel that at this stage of life, I should remain flexible enough to choose a different path when needed, instead of doing the same thing day in and day out simply out of habit. Perseverance is important, but so is the courage to make a change.

And perhaps most importantly, I’m trying to live a more diverse life, one that includes not just physical fitness but also mental growth and new directions. Diversity always comes at the cost of time, choosing one over the other.

As for the social part I’ll be missing, I believe it can take a different form. I’m thinking of adding some volunteer tutoring to my life. Human connection doesn’t belong to just one place. If I truly want it, there is always another way to find it.

I came to realize that growing older is not only about doing less—it’s about choosing more carefully. Time becomes more precious with age, and so do the choices we make with it. Sometimes, even a good habit must step aside to make room for something that feels more necessary. Or simply try another daily routine when needed.

It’s been a quiet Monday after Thanksgiving.

A couple of things happened during the holiday that I thought were worth writing about.

First, I sent Thanksgiving greetings to many of my friends, especially those I hadn’t been in touch with for a while—just to let them know I was thinking of them during the holiday. Some people might say that thoughts are cheap, but I think otherwise.

Second, I invited my sister’s son over, since Thanksgiving in America is really a time for family reunions. He came with some expensive gifts for us, which was very kind of him. We had a wonderful time together—him, my children, and us.

Yesterday I wrote to him, “Next time, don’t buy gifts again. Your coming is gift enough. If you really want to bring something, just bring a little something to eat, like snacks.”

He replied, “Auntie, this is just good manners. We Beijingers care about showing courtesy, don’t we?”

I wrote back, “I’ve never been one to fuss over formalities like that. The older I get, the more I value simplicity and substance. Besides, people don’t really lack material things anymore. Spending too much money just feels like a waste to me.

I often tell my younger friends that sometimes a small, unintentional gesture or even a simple greeting from the younger generation is enough to brighten an elder’s day—or even longer.”

He hasn’t replied since. I hope he’ll keep in mind what I said next time. At this stage of life, I’ve come to believe that thoughtfulness is never cheap—it’s often the most precious thing. What I cherish is his presence. I don’t want his trips burdened by airfares and expensive gifts. Some things mean far more than anything money can buy.

Thanksgiving is around the corner, and soon the holiday season will give way to a brand-new year—a time when many of us start thinking about New Year’s resolutions.

Whenever I bring up resolutions, I can almost hear my children teasing me with Ronald Reagan’s famous line to Jimmy Carter during their 1980 debate: “There you go again.” And honestly, I understand the cynicism. Most of us have made plans we never carried through.

Yet planning matters—not only for individuals but also for countries. China, for instance, just passed its 15th Five-Year Plan for 2026–2030. As Michael Hyatt points out, people don’t fail because they lack willpower or self-discipline. They fail because they lack a system for making and executing plans.

In his Your Best Year Ever: A 5-Step Plan for Achieving Your Most Important Goals, Hyatt outlines such a system. His five steps are:

1. Believe in possibilities

2. Reflect on the past

3. Plan for the future

4. Find your motivation

5. Put it into action

Step One: Believe in Possibility
Before anything else, we must clear out negative thoughts and self-limiting beliefs. As Hyatt writes, “Impossible has never been a fact—it’s merely an opinion.” Only when you believe change is possible can you generate the motivation to pursue meaningful goals.

Step Two: Reflect on the Past
One major reason goals fail is that we drag the worst of our past into our future. Unresolved failures become emotional baggage that weighs us down. Hyatt highlights two key themes here: regret and gratitude.

Regret, he says, is a gift. Research shows that strong regret often fuels decisive action—a phenomenon known as the “principle of opportunity.” Breakthroughs often begin at the very spot where regret sits heaviest. So it’s worth asking: What do I regret most from the past few years? And more importantly: If I don’t want this regret to repeat, what part of my life needs to change?

Gratitude is the second theme—a skill that helps us shift from scarcity to abundance, to recognize what we already have rather than fixate on what we lack. Hyatt recommends simple but consistent practices: gratitude meditations upon waking and before sleeping, brief reflections before meals, or keeping a gratitude journal. As he puts it, “Start and end the day with prayer… focusing on the blessings I do have.”

Summarizing the past doesn’t drain you; it replenishes your emotional reserves and fuels what comes next.

Step Three: Plan for the Future
Hyatt insists that annual planning must be done in writing. Putting thoughts into words forces clarity. He uses the SMARTER framework: Specific, Measurable, Actionable, Risky, Time-bound, Exciting, and Relevant.

“Risky” means your goals should stretch you beyond your comfort zone. “Exciting” means the goals must matter to you—not to others’ expectations.

Step Four: Find Your Motivation
Motivation isn’t magic—it’s a system. Small, scientifically informed habits can help your brain work with your goals rather than against them.

Step Five: Put Plans into Action
This step is about building a review system that keeps long-term goals visible in daily life. Hyatt recommends three levels:

• Daily review: one minute every morning. Ask: What can I do today to move one step closer to my annual goals? Write down your top three tasks—no more.

• Weekly review: about twenty minutes. Reconnect with your motivation, reflect on progress and obstacles, and set your “Big Three” goals for the week.

• Quarterly review: with around eight annual goals spreading across four quarters, every three months you pause to celebrate wins, restart stalled efforts, revise goals, or even delete and replace goals that no longer fit.

This three-tier structure ensures your goals never fade into background noise. They become a steady rhythm of deliberate, daily actions.

As the new year approaches, I’m planning to give Hyatt’s method an honest try. Like each New Year, our resolutions come and go, but the big question remains: how do we shape a life that aligns with who we hope to become? Perhaps the answer lies in a system that turns goals into daily actions. In learning to review our days, weeks, and seasons, we are really learning to review our lives — and, little by little, to steer them with greater clarity and purpose.

On Monday, Nov 3, during my online session with my student, she shared her plan for preparing for the TOEFL test. I told her that since we can never retain everything we learn, the best approach is to learn as much as possible. That was how I expanded my own vocabulary back in college in the 1980s. But since she is now in her 40s with a young child to care for, I knew this method might not work for her. So today I suggested that she consult ChatGPT for a more efficient study plan.

Later I thought of my Indian student, who has a nine-year-old son. Both my Korean and Indian students invest tremendous time and energy in their children's education. I remember my Indian student telling me that her son already says he wants to become a doctor when he grows up—such an impressive aspiration at such a young age.

This reminded me of a striking contrast: one of my former colleagues, also a mother, would spend her evenings window-shopping with her boyfriend at the mall after work, leaving her two children entirely in the care of their grandparents. The difference between her approach and that of my Korean and Indian students couldn’t be sharper.

People often say, “Like father, like son,” which is saying that children grow in the environment their parents cultivate. Watching the heavy engagements of my Korean and Indian students with their children — and then thinking of my former colleague — I can’t help but wonder how differently these children’s futures may unfold, all because they have different parenting.

11/2/2025

Yesterday I went to my son’s place for a family gathering — the first time since I returned from China on October 24.

My daughter told us about an incident at her graduate school. One day, she was passing the school cafeteria. She stopped, grabbed a paper cup—reinforced with another cup—filled it with hot water, put on a lid, and walked out. Who would think that hot water wouldn’t be free?

A young worker came running after her, calling her back and demanding that she pay. My daughter was stunned.
“Are you charging me for hot water?”
“Yes. It’s $1.60,” he said.

As she told the story, she still sounded incredulous, as if saying, Can you believe this?

“Did you pay him?” I asked.

She said, “Yes. I said, ‘Fine, I’ll pay.’”

I said, “No — it’s not fine. If it were fine, you wouldn’t still be talking about it with so much indignation.”

She said, “You’re right. It’s not fine. I feel he went too far, chasing me out of the cafeteria for hot water charge.”

I told her, “In life we run into all kinds of people by chance. Our paths may never cross again. But to me, every encounter is a chance to show kindness. If someone wants hot water, I’d give them more than hot water — certainly not chase them out the door for it.”

Just as there are many kinds of birds in the forest, people are even more different. But ultimately, the choice of what kind of person we want to be is always ours.