Tilling the Soil on Spring Equinox: Continuing a Self-Amusing Life

On March 20, the Spring Equinox, I tilled and fertilized the soil in the small vegetable plot I rent, preparing to plant vegetables.

The granddaughter of a cancer patient I had treated was troubled by depression. As I tilled the soil, at her family's request I agreed to call the child that evening to talk her through it. Because of the pandemic, it had become inconvenient for them to see a psychotherapist, so they turned to me as an emergency substitute.

At the start of the call the child kept crying. I encouraged her to tell me the pain in her heart, then analyzed it and tried to enlighten her. After the call she said she felt somewhat relieved. Emotional problems in adolescents mostly arise from interpersonal conflict; I encouraged the child to learn to transcend the self, to be broad-minded, to cultivate herself by reading relevant books, and to take everything that happens lightly.

The child agreed. She was an excellent child, good at accepting others' opinions; only no one had previously listened to the voice in her heart, so she could not accept others' opinions. When she was accepted by me, she accepted me in turn.

I am not sure whether this conversation improved her mood, but my work is such that when I meet a child like this, I am like a sower planting a seed in their heart; when that seed sprouts and grows, perhaps their problem will be solved. They may even grow into a truly wonderful person who has transcended the self.

I love farming; it makes me unhurried when things arise. In farming I learned the laws by which all things grow. After sowing seeds, one must wait patiently for them to grow; this is not as fast as ordering in a fast-food restaurant, but it is interesting. While waiting for the seeds to grow, my own mind also grows.

Everything must operate according to its own laws. This is my third year renting land to grow vegetables in Beijing; I intend to tend this small plot well this year, earnestly learning from experienced people how to select seeds and grow vegetables. In the first two years, work plus exams often left me no time to manage the garden well; this year I mean to manage it properly. If I am too busy to manage this 40-square-meter plot, that means my workload is too heavy and I should cut back.

I treat managing the garden as a project to train my patience; my profession demands not only mental and physical work but also better patience. The rapid growth of my practice before the pandemic had actually left me lacking patience, though I did not notice it then. After two years of a relatively slower pace following the pandemic, something has changed, but I still have not reached the point of patience and care in my work that satisfies both me and my patients.

Medical problems are extremely complex; without sufficient patience, a physician can hardly help patients solve their physical and mental illnesses. If one does not practice with the aim of solving patients' problems, this work becomes a burden rather than a joy. With patient diagnosis and treatment, we relieve patients' suffering; patients thank us from the heart, and we ourselves gain the joy of success. I think this is the original intention of most who study medicine.

I will no longer pursue rapid career growth or an increasing number of patients; I will only try to improve the quality of service I provide. Every patient, like the vegetables we grow, needs great patience to understand their laws and care for them according to their growth. A person busy every day cannot be a good doctor; the doctor must slow down. Only by slowing down does the physician gain better empathy, perceive the patient's suffering, and help relieve it.

I often discuss gardening with my father; he is an old farmer with far more experience in growing crops than I. He told me that after tilling, the soil should be sunned for a few days before sowing, which greatly reduces pests and diseases in the vegetables. More than three years on, I have returned home only once; the child and her mother have not returned even once, because pandemic prevention in the education system has been strict. This separation has left the elderly at home very lonely; teaching me to garden has reduced my father's loneliness.

For three years we have mostly been confined to within a few kilometers; recurring outbreaks and the child's approaching college entrance exam have kept us from venturing far or drawing close to relatives and friends, for fear of being quarantined and ruining her prospects.

In the child's class WeChat group, the homeroom teacher also regularly reminds all parents to live a simple two-point-one-line life, not visiting relatives or traveling, because a single infection would affect the whole class and even the whole school; so everyone is extremely cautious.

This small vegetable plot has become one of our few outdoor diversions under this social lockdown. So when, because I had to review for exams again, I hesitated about renewing the lease, the child's mother firmly insisted on it; she said she needed a place to go out and catch her breath. She works in the system and has not been allowed to return home to visit relatives for more than three years; her mood truly needed improving.

In times like these, no one has it easy; happiness must be sought out for oneself. We survive in the cracks of disaster; restlessness and anger are useless, and we must use our wisdom to master our emotions so that we can find joy amid suffering.