A friend on the Rike platform, whom I had yet to meet in person, sent me a direct message. She suggested that my writings indicated a lack of everyday life experiences. Initially, I swiftly countered her claim, emphasizing my preference for privacy. However, upon deeper reflection, an inner voice led me to question this. Was there some truth in her observation?
In my career as a lawyer, I am deeply engaged in a world filled with events. I interact with a multitude of people, regularly attend conferences, and spend countless hours on calls. Business travel takes up about a third of my year, and I`m generally well-regarded by clients. My social skills have never been in doubt.
Yet, this professional vibrancy doesn’t extend into my personal life. Beyond my work, I immerse myself in reading, writing, music, physical exercise, and cooking. Social events, particularly those with people I`m not closely connected to, or fair-weather friends, hold little appeal for me. My preferences are simple: I favor nourishing meals and a practical lifestyle over indulgences in luxury foods or fashion. This is exemplified by my decade-old Audi, which I still use daily. Since turning 40, I`ve embraced a philosophy of valuing time and investing in meaningful pursuits, whether it`s a quiet evening with a good book or a thoughtful investment in my well-being, rather than splurging on fleeting pleasures.
This lifestyle has long been mine, yet I`ve never been viewed as lacking in life experiences. Life has been satisfactory without any conscious acknowledgment of this identity. However, what would it mean if there`s truth in my friend`s perspective? What does it signify through her eyes?
This situation reminds me of an ancient story: Bi Gan (比干), the uncle of Emperor Zhou (纣王) of the Shang Dynasty, was severely punished by the emperor after a fierce argument. His heart was cut out while he was still alive, and he was banished from the royal palace. Heartbroken and literally heartless, Bi Gan was departing when he heard a vendor cry out, “Heartless Cabbage! Heartless Cabbage!" The term “heartless” resonated with him deeply. Approaching the vendor, Bi Gan acknowledged, “So, heartless cabbage can survive.” Pondering further, he mused, “What happens to a person who becomes heartless?" The vendor bluntly replied, “He would die immediately!” Upon hearing this, Bi Gan felt a sharp pain in his chest and collapsed, breathing his last.
Would my friend respond in a manner similar to the vendor`s blunt proclamation to Bi Gan? The thought frightens me, holding me back from seeking her clarification.
