A String of Pearls: Part 3

Shells in the Sands Series #13

The intention for this series is to share cherished thoughts and reflections of life in bite-size pieces. I have been an avid journal writer since my early teens, and most of the original writings were initially captured in my personal journal. I have chosen the most pertinent ones to share with the world through this series. This joy is similar to picking out beautiful shells while walking on a sandy beach.

This is the third installment of A String of Pearls, a collection of personal quotes curated from my reflections and journal entries — now a favorite ritual during the transition between years. This morning, I came across a beautiful poem that said, “We are not crossing from the old year to the new year, but through every fleeting moment.” These small pearls of thought capture fleeting moments that make life worth living and remind me of the profound dignity of being human.

“If you do not use it, lose it.”

My framing question for 2025, What would life be like if “minus math” led the way instead of “plus?” beautifully aligns with the spirit of this quote. Another saying I treasure complements this idea: After midlife, letting go becomes more important than letting come.

I’ve been reflecting on the relationship between one’s material possessions and their physical state. Take Harry, a fellow camper, as an example. In his mid-fifties, he carries a noticeable belly. I was amused as his eight-year-old son tapped on it like a drum and innocently suggested, “you need to lose this, Daddy.” A glance around his camper revealed similar patterns: little corners crammed with things, small piles of items scattered here and there. “We are so busy,” he often says. I can completely understand how demanding life must be with two working parents raising two young boys. I don’t judge him at all; instead, I feel deep compassion. I wonder how much of this busyness leaves little time or space to integrate experiences, leading to holding onto unnecessary things — perhaps even unnecessary weight. Then, I ask myself: what might his emotional space look like?

In contrast, I think of another friend, lean and intentional in how he approaches life. He’s constantly clearing clutter. “My house is getting cluttered, so I’m getting rid of things,” he often remarks. His home mirrors his body: minimal, streamlined, and free of excess.

I can’t help but wonder how general this pattern is — the mirroring of one’s body, living environment, and inner space.

A Chinese saying encapsulates this wisdom: “Thinness in old age is priceless (千金难买老来瘦).” To me, letting go — of material items, mental clutter, or even outdated emotional patterns — is invaluable. It all starts with this simple principle: if you don’t use it, lose it.

Letting go of things that were once precious often comes with a tinge of sadness. But what outweighs that sadness is the joy of knowing these items can now serve someone else. I remember selling my first car, a Kia Soul. Watching her being towed away by Carvana brought a little tug to my heart. But as I imagined her ferrying a new family to their adventures, I felt a sense of fulfillment. “Certainly better than just sitting idle in my driveway,” I thought. For nearly two years, she had barely been used. COVID had shifted work to remote, and my subsequent transition to a fully remote professional role solidified the decision. It was a reminder that holding onto something out of sentimentality, when its purpose could be better served elsewhere, is a disservice to its potential — and to ourselves.

To me, keeping unused items feels like holding onto stagnant energy. I prefer to let energy flow freely, enriching the larger ecosystem around me. Letting go is not just an act of decluttering; it’s an act of liberation — for my space, my body, and my spirit.

The internal differences between people can often be much greater than the external ones.

The eyes can observe countless visible differences between people, with weight being a striking example. Even within the normal range, one adult might weigh twice or even three times as much as another. The same contrast can be seen in living conditions. For instance, personal living space in the United States ranks among the highest globally, exceeding that of China by more than double and that of Japan by nearly triple.

But what about the internal differences that the eyes cannot see? How much intergenerational trauma is one person carrying compared to another? How many grudges is one person holding onto, versus another? How many faulty assumptions is one person organizing their life around? What about reactive patterns that no longer serve the situation? What about ego defensiveness? I would imagine these internal differences could be far more significant than the visible ones, perhaps by tenfold, a hundredfold, or even more.

Consider my own personal life. The external circumstances have changed considerably — from the small farm village in rural China to an orphanage in a small city, then to Shanghai, an international metropolis and now to the United States, the leader of the developed world. With that, my appearance, the clothes I wear, what I eat, and where I live have all evolved. But these external changes pale in comparison to the changes within me, stemming from grappling with trauma, examining my assumptions, upgrading my thinking and emotional patterns, and transforming bitterness into acceptance — and even gratitude. These internal changes are far more complex, rich, and fascinating. Moreover, I know for sure that the internal changes have led the external changes.

A good reference group would be the fellow orphans who grew up with me in the orphanage. Many of them returned to live in the villages they came from, some became criminals, further burdening society, and others tragically lost their lives at a young age. I’m curious to explore how far their inner spirits have traveled since leaving the orphanage, and how that correlates with their external circumstances. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a strong positive correlation between the two.

I am reminded of two beautiful quotes from Henry David Thoreau’s Walden:

“No man ever stood the lower in my estimation for having a patch in his clothes; yet I am sure that there is greater anxiety, commonly, to have fashionable, or at least clean and unpatched clothes, than to have a sound conscience.”

“Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes.”

People consume themselves in both directions: by earning money and by spending it.

I could never understand how people go out partying on a Friday night, because I am always exhausted from a week’s honest work. But when I see how groggy so many colleagues are on Monday, compared to my own enthusiasm to return to work, I think to myself, “This makes a lot of sense.” People consume themselves both ways: in earning money and in spending it.

I was recently introduced to the term “punitive spending” by one of my favorite writers on WeChat. She explained how little punitive spending she needed after she finally stepped away from a career that didn’t nourish her and began pursuing her entrepreneurial endeavors. “I somehow extended my dislike for my job to the dislike of my income from that job, and as a result, I spent money as a way to punish myself,” she wrote. “Now, I’m doing what I enjoy, and all forms of punitive spending have evaporated completely.”

I wonder how much of our consumption is driven by punitive spending, and how many late Friday night hangouts at various entertainment venues are simply ways to drown out the bitterness felt in unhealthy work environments.

Are there better ways to make a living and live a life — free from the cycle of bi-directional consumption — and transformed into a bi-directional nurturing process, where we earn money with happiness and spend it with gratitude? How would our society look like then? How would health care look like?!!