It feels surreal to see your 18-year-old self plastered over the internet and discussed by strangers who seem to think you are still that same 18-year-old. Imagine being known to three million people — but only as an 11 minute snapshot of the person you were five years ago. In my case, you’d need to factor in a few identity crises, a matriculation, two graduations, and of course, maturity, to close the gap between the person in the video and the person writing this post.

The experience I describe in the speech, of feeling stuck between “Chinese” and “American,” seems trivial to me today.1 Eighteen-year-old me could only conceptualize personal identity as something in relation to other groups. But I’ve learned that identity doesn’t necessitate pinpointing yourself on a pre-existing matrix; it can be a highly individualized conception of your own experiences and desires.

Today I try to embrace my own identity as independent from group identity.2 I don’t care as much anymore whether I identify as Chinese or American3; ultimately my relationship to these labels changes nothing about who I intrinsically am. I have no desire to categorize my personhood into things that group me into either culture. I intentionally detach myself from institutional labels — every time I’ve tethered myself to an external variable has turned out horribly. I inevitably grow anxious when my connection to a particular, valued identity lapses. It’s better to just conform to no strict identities at all.4

That doesn’t mean I don’t struggle with my Asian-ness. I still struggle, but on different terms. I struggle because I know other people will make assumptions about me based on my race. I worry that others won’t see me as a complete person, and only identify me based on what they think I would be like. I know who I am, but will they? Will I need to go to desperate lengths to prove who I am to them? Perhaps the next step on this journey is to no longer care what other people think.

I’m glad I gave the talk when I was 18, and not 23. It captured a moment in my life when I could speak about my experience only in raw, personal terms, mostly uninfluenced by academic theory or even data. I did not know enough about other people’s opinions and experiences to craft a talk that was meant to go viral. I knew only enough to talk about myself. That self was too naive to consider that I may be over-sharing — exposing a part of my psyche to the world that I was simultaneously exposing, for the first time, to myself. But that same naïveté allowed for an authenticity that resonated with people around the globe. And in a world as polarized as the one we live in now, it can’t hurt to have more recognitions of commonality.

The buildup to running is dreadful — finding clean exercise clothes, putting on tennis shoes, walking to the park. I hate knowing that in just a few minutes, I’ll be sweating and panting, counting down the seconds until I get to stop.

I do not want to run. But I do it anyway because it makes me happy. Not long ago, I wouldn’t have understood that the things you want are not always the things that make you happy. Previously I thought, if I want to watch Netflix for the next five hours, I should do that — because happiness is important, and that’ll make me happy. If I want to eat McDonald’s, I should eat McDonald’s. I want it, so having it will make me happy.

In high school and college, I spent countless weekends half-watching a Netflix show while using my phone to window shop at stores I can’t afford. In the moment, that’s what I wanted to do. But did I actually enjoy that experience? I don’t think so. By the time 20 minutes passed, I would feel a gnawing sense of dissatisfaction and angst. I wasn’t having fun. But I still wanted to keep mindlessly scrolling on my phone while listening to a show as background noise. It didn’t make me happy, but I still wanted to keep doing it.

Work

Achieving happiness sometimes requires you to fight against what you want. It’s not enough to follow what you want to do in the moment. You have to force yourself to do things that want on a more profound level — that fulfill your deeper want for happiness and self-actualization.

This is not to say that relaxation isn’t important. Watching TV, window shopping, and eating fast food can help you let loose after a long day of paid work. My problem was that I was doing too much — to the extent that it no longer gratified me.

Happiness takes work, and as humans, we try to minimize our work. However, things that require work often make us happier than things that don’t. Most of the time I do not want to run, but I force myself to do it because it elevates my mood and makes me feel alive. I have to push back against what I “want” and choose instead what makes me happy.

External vs. Internal

“Work” sounds undesirable because we associate it with paid work. Paid work usually feels unpleasant because you’re beholden to an external need for money. You might also have little autonomy and be forced to complete tasks that don’t interest you.

But not all work is bad, contrary to what some might say. Even Karl Marx believed that work is key to a fulfilling life. Where he differed from capitalists was believing that it should not be a means to survival, but a means to human flourishing.

Working to satisfy others, whether that’s the bourgeoisie or your parents, can feel tortuous. Like many other Asian children, I was forced to play the piano. I endured weekly lessons, daily practice, and debilitating performance anxiety for ten years before calling it quits. I still feel a little traumatized when listening to Chopin.

Working for external gain, such as the satisfaction of my piano teacher, or the ability to buy food and pay rent, doesn’t bring the same joy as working for internal gratification. I run almost everyday because running itself feels good, not in order to make money or impress someone. I read because I enjoy learning, not because I’m studying for a test or my boss told me to. Running and reading require work. If I exclusively listened to the lazy voice in my brain, I wouldn’t do these things at all. I would sit on the couch and watch TV all day. But running and reading fulfill me in a way that watching TV does not. Being happy requires work.

Takeaway

I’m still a lazy person who spends a lot of time on my phone and watching Netflix. I don’t think this will change any time soon. But I have consciously poured more time and effort into activities that make me happy, not just activities I want to do in the moment. For example, I’ve limited myself to one episode of Westworld per weekday and two episodes per weekend. I try to read a little bit of The Economist everyday. I run 3-4 times a week, often to Juice Generation. I think that’s a start.

In order to properly compare present money with future money, you must “discount” the latter using a rate that takes into account this opportunity cost.

The discount rate reflects uncertainty. A stable investment, such as an energy supplier, requires a low discount rate. You know that the demand for energy will remain stable. You are willing to pay more today for the future cash. On the other hand, a risky investment, such as a new startup, requires a high discount rate. You feel unsure that you will make money from this investment. You are willing to pay less for the future cash.

Can this logic also apply to happiness? All things equal, is happiness today worth more than happiness tomorrow?

The Payoff

Studies show that delayed gratification leads to educational and vocational success. Medical students spend their 20s completing an undergraduate degree, medical school, and residency program while racking up hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt. They’re not stupid or irrational. They know that they’ll receive a payoff at the end: a prestigious, respected, high paid job that helps people. A 10-14 year commitment guarantees a multiple decade long reward.

If you know you want the things that becoming a doctor gives you, it seems like a solid investment.

What if the average lifespan for an American was 46 years, instead of 78 years? Let’s say your adult life starts when you turn 18. You spend 14 years becoming a doctor. You’re 32. You spend another 14 years enjoying the benefits of becoming a doctor. You’re 46. Would it still be a worthwhile investment?

We tell children to work hard in school because the payoff is worth it. The vast majority of kids have to attend school anyway. An extra hour of studying each night would mean a better GPA and SAT score, a better chance at attending a good college, and a better shot at attaining a good job1. By contrast, you can spend ages 0-18 having as much “fun”2 as possible, but pay for it the rest of your life. The payoff for working hard as a kid is many times what you put in.3 But what if the payout was the same as what you put in?

All else equal, is one ounce of happiness as an adult more valuable than one ounce of happiness as a kid?

Mortality

Not to be morbid, but I think about death a lot. Probably because the pandemic has caused so much of it.

I think about people who spent their entire lives saving up for retirement, but then died before they could enjoy their fortunes.

What are the chances that I die tomorrow? And how does that change my calculus of what I should do today?

I’ve heard that people tend to live differently after near-death experiences. They start to speak more honestly, act more impulsively, and think more deeply about what matters to them. That makes sense. Confronted with their own mortality, they feel the urgency of their existence. They know that if they don’t seize today, then today will turn into tomorrow, and tomorrow will eventually turn into nothing.

Growing up, my immigrant parents warned me against copying the spending habits of those “lavish Americans”. They told me the importance of saving money and planning for the future. I never thought my parents practiced frugality to the extreme, but I did meet some families who did. Even with an income of $100,000, some would refuse to buy eyeglasses or see the dentist.

I believe you can strike a balance. It’s important to save early. You never know what can happen in the future. At the same time, I allow myself to enjoy small luxuries. When I need a pick-me-up, I walk a few blocks to Ladurée, the high-end French pastry shop. I buy myself a box of six macarons for $20.4 They come in a rectangular pastel gift box with tissue paper peeking out from the sides, fastened by an elegantly tied ribbon. I like that it resembles the packaging for a fancy fountain pen.

Happiness Vs. Money

I treat the time value of money as a thought experiment more than anything else. Money and happiness are by nature different. Money can be easily defined and quantified. Happiness cannot.

The payoff for medical school can be more easily measured in dollars than in happiness. It’s a good investment in terms of dollars. In terms of happiness, it’s not as clear. Not everyone who becomes a doctor is happy. Not every 20-something-year-old in medical school or residency is unhappy.

I find it useful to think about the time value of happiness because I know many people, like myself, stress about the future so much that it eats into the present. I frequently worry about the next two years of my life. But I also spent the last year of my life worrying about this year of my life. Eventually the algorithm simplifies to just this: worry.

As the old adage goes, there’s no use in worrying. Tomorrow contains no guarantees. All there is to do is stop and enjoy the macarons.

I wonder, do some teachers use classroom management as an outlet for their own anger? If so, I can’t blame them. Teaching is hard. It’s frustrating. It’s thankless. Now that I’m a teacher, I suspect my third grade teacher didn’t yell at that kid because he used the bathroom for five minutes. She yelled at him because she was having a bad day.

Why do we have so many rules in the classroom? Is it always to encourage learning, or is it sometimes to impose control? Earlier in the school year, an admin told me to only allow kids to eat during breaks and lunch. I implemented these rules for a few days. Then I asked myself “does this improve their learning experience?” The answer was no. The kids can eat during class now.

A stranger tweeted at me the other day. “You are a teacher, you harrass people over who can go pee pee depending on your mood, while making less than the dude who slept in class and welds for a living. Lol”

I clicked on their profile and noticed they tweeted similar things to other teachers. It made me think of that kid in my third grade class. I wonder how he is doing now.