Diminishing My Own Influence and Returning to a Quiet Scholar's Life

Since last Thursday I have been staying in a very quiet little place, returning home only this Monday. It happened to rain the whole time I was there, and I took along four books and a Kindle. Listening to the rain under the eaves and reading by the woods, life was utterly quiet.

This kind of life was somewhat long absent for me. After 1998, I spent most of my time reading at the National Library. Only in the last few years, because I had acquired a certain modest reputation, have I grown busier year by year, with ever less time to sit and read quietly; my life's happiness has clearly declined.

During these brief days of seclusion in a corner, I kept thinking: what ought life to be, in its original state? The answer differs for everyone. For me, life as it ought to be means a peaceful heart and few affairs, a clear and empty mind, and books to read.

And what has destroyed this kind of life for me? It is this bit of reputation that I, writing and treating patients, have stumbled into, intentionally or not. These past days I have been thinking: it is time to greatly diminish my influence and return to the quiet scholar's life.

When I got home on Monday, the first thing I did was shut down a blog I had maintained for seven years, and delete completely the content of the Weibo I had kept for nearly ten years—because although I had not logged into this blog and Weibo for a long time, people still kept finding me through them.

At the same time I deleted a few lines of code from my own website (I taught myself programming, so deleting and tweaking website code is a small matter for me), removing some of my personal information. I still have articles on some self-media platforms; I will gradually delete them in my spare time between work and reading.

By the time I finished it was 9:30 p.m.; though a little tired, I was well satisfied. I had always been too busy to tidy up the content on these platforms, and today I finally took the time, feeling much lighter. I only want to be in love with scholarship for a lifetime; I don't want to have an affair entangled with worldly life.

Before middle age I was quite happy to advance; after entering middle age, I like to take a step back, and then another step back. Retreat to a corner where few people disturb me, quietly reading, studying, writing, growing flowers and playing the qin, and moderately receiving a few patients with whom I feel an affinity.

I may need a period of time to gradually balance work and life; at present this is an imbalanced state. I have invested too much time and energy in work and am therefore somewhat over-fatigued. But I believe I will soon be able to sort out the balance between work and life.

A person sometimes needs to stop, in order to hear the voice of his own heart. When one is constantly busy and constantly advancing, it is unlikely one has time to listen to that inner voice.

Many people only, after body and mind collapse and they suddenly look back, discover that they have run contrary to their inner voice for too long, until their physical and mental health is damaged. I have seen too many such patients; I do not want to become one of them.