25#00 随笔：当时不杂，既过不念

久未动笔，再想写来已觉心境殊异。

其实也并非没有动笔，毕业时有写终章，离家时有写所思，刚来时有写新篇。但最终，我还是把这些都归为废稿，直到今日也未曾整理清思绪。原因是我最近越发认为，文字应该用来承载某些理念，“文以载道”，而我过去写的内容还是太过造作，也太看重形式，反而失了本质，遂连带过去的全部内容一并删除。

不过上周末与一位人生境遇颇有共同点的好友来了一场思想“裸奔”，隔着遥远的时空距离赤诚交流了很久，我也被友人鼓励多去向外表达自己的想法和情绪，而非完全依靠自己来排解。所以今天我打算以流水账的形式写一篇随笔，想到哪里写哪里，简单聊聊所思所想。而且不出意外，以后也会恢复 Weekly Summary；但不再公开 plan，仅用来定期总结。还记得 23 年 01 月 22 日我发布了第一篇博客，初衷是为了提高自己的思辨能力，对信息输入进行有意识的选择和思辨，并形成有效输出。过去两年多中，不算废稿我一共发布了 5 万 2 千字博客，也算是平常生活中的一项有趣消遣。

如今我更预期通过文字的形式，和自己对话，帮助我探寻我一直希望搞清楚的问题：我想要过怎样的人生？

Find the English version below (translated by ChatGPT).

关于人生

我想要过怎样的人生？

坦白说，我依然没有答案，亦或是，我依然没有足够的阅历和能力来给出答案。过去的几年中，无论身处顺逆，这个问题总会萦绕在我的心头。而现在的我相比之前的进步是，从前我既不知道自己想要什么，也不知道不想要什么，只会随着同龄人的大流；现在的我，至少明确知道了什么样的人生是我不想要的，并且，在继续去探索人生的可能。

这样的改变，算是得益于过去生病的那段经历，我永远记得那种在床上无法动弹的无力感和沮丧。事实证明，人在那种状态下确实会有一种走马灯的感觉。大约就在那段时期，我认真思考起了这个问题，并在之后的几年中不懈地去找寻答案，尝试去拥有不被外人评价干扰的、稳定的、有自己思考且独立的人格。

我相信绝大多数人都有过一段中二期，认为自己是独特的、备受世界宠爱的主角。我自己也是，而且程度可能更深，甚至一度认为自己是绝对理性的、无所不能的超人。（笑）那么现在呢？

现在的我更认为自己连一个普通人都算不上，或者说，现在我在以成为一个普通人，一个统计意义上各方面 average 的人类为目标而努力。而要努力成为一个普通人，对我来说，最重要的就是去学习如何生活。

关于生活

生活是我在世界的投影。

我很喜欢星空，每当夜晚抬头看到星空，我总会想到人类在宇宙中的位置，进而感到深深的敬畏和渺小。然而，可观测宇宙有几百亿光年距离，百亿光年外的星星隔着漫长的距离也要将自己的光投射到地球上，曾经的我却不懂得生活的重要，在世界上的痕迹寥寥。

这样讲可能很抽象，更具体地，过去的我总是将学习、工作和生活混为一谈，缺少边界感。以前我或许的确做到了，但随着成长，如今我能体会到努力过好生活的重要意义：尽自己所能，认真地用“这是人生最后一天”的态度过好每一天，让自己和世界从内到外都沾上彼此的印迹。

话说回来，很多时候我们会被工作的成就感掩盖了自己对想要的生活的期待，也是我曾经的真实体验。所以，之前有很好的导师接纳我，但提到 ta 很热爱工作、热爱到生活就是工作的时候，我还是回绝了这个机会。因为如今我可能会更加关注工作和生活之间的平衡感，特别是去花时间与家人、朋友等相处。

补充：来 LA 快一个月了，虽然科研依然无甚进展，日常英文交流也无甚进步，但我想夸一夸自己有在尽全力地好好生活，好好体悟遇到的每一处小确幸。这种对生活的热情是我希望能一直保持的，当然科研也是不能再摆烂了。

关于家人

读万卷书，行万里路；但万里路的洒脱也远不及一盏灯的温暖。

每次想到家人，总有点愧疚。从我高中起，就已经长期离开家去各地求学，今年 7 月 23 日我在上海过了 27 岁生日，算起来人生中有接近一半的时间都不在家人身边。我还记得我小学时最早给自己起的昵称叫菜鸟在天涯，因为那个时候对远方的事物有一种懵懂的憧憬。

我算是很幸运，与一些同龄人相比，我有一个幸福美满的家庭。爸妈从小对我的决定一直都非常支持，也从来没有给过我任何压力，唯一的期望则是我能过上我认为幸福和满足的生活。可以说，正是他们的言传身教，让我有了足够稳定的精神内核。

然而，之前其实我相对没有那么留恋家人；亦或者说，之前无论在北京、上海、香港还是广州，都是我认知范围内可以迅速回到家的城市。但过去两年，我越发感受到家人不在身边的遗憾，在你成功喜悦或受挫感伤时鲜有人能和你感同身受，何况来了万里之外的大洋彼岸。于是，最近一两年我和家人的联系也变得频繁起来，有时我会分享交流一些规划和对一些事情的看法理解，有时只是单纯的希望花些时间，只为陪伴。

过去一两年到出发前，我陆续将家里的一些设备进行了智能化升级，希望帮他们节约一些花在琐碎的事务上的时间，并将这些时间投入到更有意义的事情上，同时也是为了弥补一些无法陪伴的愧疚。出发前的几天，我们和家里的亲友一起聚餐，我本以为我早就做好了离别的心理建设，也以为我早就习惯了聚少离多。但是，当我姐最后抱住我流泪分别时，我还是没有控制住眼泪。我可能不够坚强和理性，但或许正是这些感情，才令我能与动物性的我区别开来。

如今的我，和五年前的我相比，依然是独自一人。尽管我可以为远离家人而伤感，但我相信他们更希望看到我高兴充实地度过每一天。前行的路上，我依然满载着家人的支持和爱，也更加坚定。

关于亲密关系

欲望让人靠近，理解让人相守。

聊完家人，不可避免地要谈谈我对亲密关系的看法。这个话题我相信在我的一众 PhD 朋友之间一直很重要，特别是在美国的这群朋友中（笑）。但回到我的看法，其实我并非一个很传统的中国人，我毫不避讳自己作为一个人类有正常的动物性的欲望。与之对应的，我也毫不怀疑我对亲密关系中“两心相契”的真情的向往。

当然，这也是最近两年我对感情有了更深刻的认识；在这之前，我也是一众“性压抑”的“小镇做题家”的一份子。虽然我总对外声称没有谈过恋爱，但的确有过一段深刻的暧昧经历并以失败而告终。这段经历让我更加慎重地审视自己的感情，也更加保守地开始一段亲密关系。

如今的我没有那么着急，因为我更看重双方在精神上的互通，更在意灵魂能否在同一片寂静中呼吸。当初我来加州前听说过一些传言，关于这边恋爱关系的不平衡和男生圈子中的内卷，现在看来在一些方面的确属实。但我并不完全认同这种风气，更情愿将时间投入到对自己的提升上，既包括身体健康，也包括精神内涵，首先做到为自己而活。况且，欲望上的吸引往往是短暂的。相比之下，我倒希望通过长久的相处和陪伴，来找到心灵相通的 ta。

关于 PhD

读博的时光，可能是我往后人生中最快乐的一段时光。

读 PhD 固然有很多挑战，发 paper 当然也很痛苦，特别是在 AI 方向大内卷的背景下。但我从来都对 PhD 的选择不后悔，因为这可能是我为数不多的，能全身心投入到自己真正感兴趣的事情上的，不为工作和生活的压力考虑的一段时光。

同时，我也很幸运，从本科到硕士、再从硕士到博士，这几个阶段的导师都很棒，对学生非常支持，这在国内比较 toxic 的氛围里尤为可贵。从疾病中恢复后，在广州的两年多时间，可以说是我整个人生中最快乐的一段时光。我经常会说喜欢广州，其实除了明面上喜欢广州的风土人情、可口的粤菜外，也是因为那群陪伴我一起度过了充实而幸福的时光的老师与同学们 :)

再到博士，如前所述，或许曾经有在常人看来更好的选择，但我还是坚定选择了导师。我并不看重所谓的学校、专业排名、导师名气，而唯独在意导师的人品和相处体验。如今，在 UCLA 已经度过了 3 周多的时间，与组内的朋友们相处体验也非常棒，我为自己的选择点赞。当然，唯一的问题可能是我作为组内今年唯一从外面招的，而且还是最菜的一个，非常有压力；但至少，我希望努力让导师的选择不被质疑。

关于学术

将军赶路，不追小兔？

坦白说，过去一年的时间，我一直有些 burn out，一直在痛苦中徘徊。我是一个兴趣导向的人，如果没有兴趣的事，我宁愿不做；我也不喜欢一成不变的工作和生活，所以我选择了 Research。然而，对我来讲，学术的痛苦有一大部分来自于对未来科研风格的思考。

众所周知，AI 方向的研究一直在不断加码，全球的 researcher 也在不断内卷。在这种背景下，我其实没有信心卷得过这样的科研通胀。因为在评价体系中，至少在国内、香港的评价体系中，依然是数量为王。有些时候，这样的科研流程在一定程度上变成了更像是堆资源和人力的劳动密集型产业，尽管我承认这样的事实，但不妨碍我思考有没有更好的选择。

过去的学术路上，我很幸运地有很多人为我树立正确的榜样。因为有了他们在前面的引导，更让我慎之又慎地思考：我希望做什么样的科研？我一直的科研初心就是“去做有趣、有意义、有落地价值的研究”，也一直是我坚持的。但在研究风格和方向上，我依然很迷茫。过去我花了很多时间停下来思考却没有找到答案，有些因噎废食；所以，现在我暂时的答案是，在研究中思考。接下来我希望做到，每天能投入 5 小时有效时间在研究中，期待未来一年我能更好地回答这个问题。

关于慎独

莫见乎隐，莫显乎微，故君子慎其独也。

最后来聊一聊慎独，过往的很多经历，总能让我刷新对其的认知。我可以坦诚地承认，如今的我依然做不到真正的“慎独”，但有在尝试变得更好：有些事情我知道，但我选择不去做；有些事情我不去做，也不愿意知道；还有些事情我知道，但我还是选择去做。

有点谜语人，关于这点，我暂时不展开讲，但确实是我近两年所见所闻的深刻感受。在纷乱复杂的社会关系中，我在尝试保持人格的独立和清醒，在尝试生活得像一个正常人，仅此而已。来到美国，慎独对我的意义变得更重要了，因为这边相比国内的确没有非常多的客体力量来帮你指出问题。加上在这边，与亲人朋友间的距离，无论在空间还是时间上，都被拉长了很多，慎独就更加重要了。

思绪暂时停留到这里，这次也就写到这里吧，求诸内心层层发掘自己的小世界总是艰难和有点痛苦的。这些文字，是我对我所处的世界的认知的投射，也是支撑我的理想和信念的重要内容。感谢你，或熟悉或陌生的朋友，愿意花时间来阅读这些文字。祝愿你，我的朋友，也祝愿我：当时不杂，既过不念。

English Version

Prologue — On Picking Up the Pen Again

It has been a long time since I last picked up my pen. Now that I wish to write again, I find my state of mind entirely different.

In truth, it is not that I have not written at all — I wrote a closing note upon graduation, a few reflections before leaving home, and some early thoughts after arriving in a new place. Yet in the end, I consigned all of them to the scrap heap. Even now, my thoughts remain unsettled and unorganized.

Lately, I have come to believe more strongly that words ought to carry ideas — as the ancients said, “writing should serve as the vehicle of the Way.” Looking back, I feel that what I wrote before was too contrived, too preoccupied with form, and in doing so, lost the essence. So I deleted everything, old drafts and all.

But last weekend, I had a long, unguarded conversation — a kind of “intellectual streaking,” if you will — with a close friend who shares a similar life path. Across distance and time, we spoke with disarming honesty. My friend encouraged me to express my thoughts and emotions more openly, rather than trying to digest everything on my own. So today, I decided to write a casual essay, a stream of consciousness — to jot down whatever comes to mind.

From now on, I also plan to resume my Weekly Summary. But unlike before, I will no longer make my plans public — I’ll use it simply to reflect and summarize. I still remember posting my very first blog on January 22, 2023, with the hope of sharpening my critical thinking — to choose and question what I absorb, and to produce more deliberate outputs.

In the past two years, excluding the deleted drafts, I’ve written about 52,000 words of blog posts — a small but meaningful form of leisure in the rhythm of daily life.

Now, I wish to return to writing not just to express, but to converse with myself — to help me explore a question that has lingered for years: What kind of life do I want to live?

On Life

What kind of life do I want to live?

To be honest, I still don’t have an answer.
Or perhaps more accurately, I still lack the experience and wisdom to give one.
Over the past few years — whether in smooth times or in hardship — this question has always hovered in my mind.

Compared with the past, the difference now is that I used to not know what I wanted, nor even what I didn’t want; I simply drifted with the current, following my peers. Now, at least, I have come to know the kind of life I do not wish to live — and I continue to explore the possibilities of what remains.

This change, I think, traces back to the time when I fell ill. I will never forget that sense of helplessness, lying motionless on the bed, feeling my life slipping into slow motion. In that state, one truly experiences the so-called “carousel of memories before the eyes” — moments flashing by like a silent film. It was around that time that I began to ponder seriously: what kind of life do I truly want?

Since then, I have kept searching for an answer, striving to build a self that is calm, stable, and independent — one not easily swayed by external judgment.

Most people, I believe, go through a “youthful delusion” stage — that conviction of being special, the protagonist favored by the universe.
I was no exception; in fact, mine was probably worse. There was a time I fancied myself perfectly rational, almost omnipotent — a kind of self-made Superman. (laughs)

And now?

Now, I don’t even see myself as extraordinary — not even quite an “ordinary person” yet.
Rather, I am learning to become one — to be an average human being in every statistical sense.

And to work toward being an ordinary person, for me, the most important lesson is learning how to live.

On Living

Life is the projection of myself upon the world.

I have always loved the night sky. Each time I look up at the stars, I am reminded of humanity’s tiny place in the vast cosmos — and I feel both awe and humility. The observable universe stretches across tens of billions of light-years, and yet light from those distant stars still travels all that way to reach the Earth.

Once, I did not understand the importance of living — that while the stars left their mark across time and space, I was leaving hardly any trace of myself upon the world.

That may sound abstract, but more concretely: I used to blur the boundaries between study, work, and life. I treated them as one and the same. Perhaps that was once sustainable, but as I grew older, I came to feel the quiet necessity of living well.

To live well means to do one’s best — to live each day as though it were the last. To let my life and the world leave their imprints upon each other, from the inside out.

Too often, we allow the satisfaction of work to drown out our expectations for life itself. I’ve been there too. I once had an opportunity to join a wonderful advisor — someone who loved their work so much that work had become life. But I turned it down.

These days, I find myself caring more about the balance between work and life — especially about spending time with family and friends.

A brief note:
It has been almost a month since I arrived in Los Angeles. My research hasn’t made much progress yet, and my daily English still falters, but I want to give myself credit for trying to live earnestly — for savoring every small joy I encounter. This enthusiasm for life is something I hope to preserve.

Of course, that doesn’t mean I can slack off in research — not anymore.

On Family

“Read ten thousand books, travel ten thousand miles — yet even the freedom of ten thousand miles cannot rival the warmth of a single lamp at home.”

Every time I think of my family, I feel a tinge of guilt.
Since high school, I’ve been away from home, studying in different cities. When I turned twenty-seven on July 23rd this year in Shanghai, I realized that I’ve spent nearly half of my life away from my family’s side.

I still remember the first online nickname I gave myself in elementary school — “Rookie Wanderer Across the World.”
Back then, it was just a child’s naïve longing for distant places.

Compared to many of my peers in China, I’ve been lucky.
I was born into a loving family. My parents have always supported my decisions and have never placed pressure on me. Their only wish is that I live a life I find fulfilling and happy.
It’s fair to say that their quiet guidance and open-mindedness have given me the stable core I rely on today.

In the past, I wasn’t particularly attached to my family — or perhaps I took their closeness for granted. After all, cities like Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong, or Guangzhou always felt within reach of home.
But in the past two years, I’ve begun to feel the ache of distance more deeply.
When you achieve something or when you’re hurt, few around you can truly feel what you feel — and that loneliness becomes sharper across an ocean.

So, over the last couple of years, I’ve started keeping in closer contact with my family.
Sometimes I share plans or reflections; sometimes I just want to spend a little time talking — for no reason other than to accompany them.

Before leaving, I upgraded some of the home devices to make things smarter and save them time on trivial tasks — partly to make life more comfortable for them, and partly to ease my guilt for not being there.

In the final days before my departure, we had a farewell dinner with relatives and friends. I thought I had prepared myself well for goodbyes, that I had grown used to distance and absence.
But when my sister hugged me tightly and cried, I couldn’t hold back my tears either.

Perhaps I am not as strong or rational as I thought.
But maybe it is precisely these emotions — the ability to feel deeply — that keep me human.

Now, compared with five years ago, I am still alone.
But I no longer see that as loneliness.
Even across oceans, I carry my family’s love and support with me.
That love steadies my steps — and keeps me moving forward.

On Intimacy

Desire brings people close; understanding keeps them together.

Having written about family, it feels natural to speak next about intimacy.
Among my friends — especially within my circle of PhD peers at UCLA CS (laughs) — this topic is a recurring one.

As for me, I don’t consider myself a traditionally conservative Chinese person. I make no attempt to hide the fact that, as a human being, I have natural, biological desires.
At the same time, I have no doubt about my longing for genuine emotional connection — for two minds that resonate, for two hearts that truly understand one another.

Only in the past couple of years have I begun to understand love more deeply.
Before that, I too was part of the so-called “repressed overachiever generation,” those diligent students from small towns who learned early to suppress feelings in the pursuit of results.

Although I often claim that I’ve never been in a relationship, I did once experience an ambiguous bond — a connection that ended in failure, but taught me to treat emotions more seriously and to enter future relationships with greater care.

Now, I’m in no hurry.
What I value most is the meeting of minds — the communion of two spirits breathing within the same silence.

Before I came to California, I heard stories about the imbalance of dating here, and the so-called competition among male students. To be honest, life here does feel comfortable in many ways — but I don’t fully subscribe to that culture.

I’d rather devote my time to self-improvement — in both body and spirit — to first learn how to live well for myself.
After all, physical desire is fleeting; what lasts is the shared rhythm of companionship over time.

In the end, I hope to find someone whose soul can breathe alongside mine —
quietly, gently,
in understanding.

On the PhD Journey

The years of a PhD may well be the happiest time of my life.

There are, of course, countless challenges in pursuing a PhD.
Publishing papers can be excruciating, especially in today’s hyper-competitive field of AI. Yet I have never once regretted this choice.

Because, perhaps for the first time in my life, I can devote myself entirely to something I genuinely love — without worrying about money, titles, or the pragmatic pressures of work and life.

I’ve also been lucky.
From undergraduate to master’s, and now to doctoral study, I’ve had exceptional advisors — mentors who have been deeply supportive. In an academic environment where toxicity still exists, especially back home, that kind of trust and kindness is rare and precious.

After recovering from illness, I spent more than two years in Guangzhou — and I can honestly say that was the happiest time of my life so far.
When I say I love Guangzhou, it’s not only for its charm, its warm people, or its exquisite Cantonese food —
but because it’s where I was surrounded by teachers and friends who made me feel whole again.

As for my PhD, there were perhaps other options — choices that, from the outside, might have seemed “better.”
But I still chose my advisor without hesitation.

I don’t care much about university rankings, fame, or prestige.
What I value most is character — the humanity of the people I work with, and the feeling of mutual respect and joy in collaboration.

Now, after a little more than three weeks at UCLA, I already feel grateful for my decision.
The lab environment is warm and collegial, and I’ve met wonderful friends.

Of course, there’s still pressure —
I’m the only new student recruited from outside this year, and by far the least experienced one.
But at the very least, I want to make sure that my advisor's choice in taking me on will never be doubted.

On Research and Academia

“A general on the march does not chase rabbits along the way.”

To be honest, the past year has been one of burnout — a long stretch of wandering through fatigue and doubt.
I am someone driven by curiosity: if I have no interest in something, I would rather not do it at all.
I dislike monotony, which is why I chose research — a life defined by exploration and uncertainty.

Yet much of my pain in academia stems from one persistent question:
What kind of researcher do I want to become?

It’s well known that AI research has been accelerating at a dizzying pace, and researchers across the world are locked in relentless competition.
In this climate, I sometimes feel I can’t keep up — or more precisely, that I don’t want to.

In many academic systems, especially in China and Hong Kong, quantity still reigns supreme.
Sometimes, the entire process of research feels like an industrialized production line — a labor-intensive race to stack resources and manpower.
I acknowledge that reality, but I also can’t help wondering whether there might be another way.

Along my academic journey, I’ve been fortunate to have mentors and peers who set the right examples for me.
Because of them, I’ve learned to ask myself more carefully:
What kind of research do I want to do?

My answer, from the beginning, has always been clear in spirit —
to do research that is interesting, meaningful, and grounded in real-world value.

But when it comes to style — the rhythm and philosophy of doing research — I am still lost.
In the past, I spent too much time thinking and too little time doing, sometimes to the point of paralysis.

So for now, my provisional answer is simple:
think through doing.

In the coming year, I hope to dedicate at least five hours of truly focused work each day to research — not busywork, but deliberate effort.
And perhaps, in doing so, I will slowly come closer to answering that question.

On Hobbies and Passions

Talking about research naturally leads me to hobbies.
Many of my fellow PhD students have their own passions outside academia, and I’ve come to believe that cultivating such interests is not merely optional — it’s essential.

Research is a long journey with scarce immediate rewards.
As Kaiming once said, “Ninety-five percent of the time, research is pain.”
So, in that remaining five percent, it becomes vital to create sources of positive feedback — small joys that sustain one’s curiosity and sanity.
That, to me, is not an excuse; it’s simply human nature.

• Photography

My interests have changed quite a bit over the years, but photography has become the most defining one.
I used to think that seeing beauty was enough — that I didn’t need to capture it.
I rarely took pictures, even on family trips.

But recently, I’ve begun to see photography differently.
It’s not just about collecting images, but about recording the life I’m living — moments that might otherwise fade without a trace.
Before coming to Los Angeles, I took my parents on short trips to Sanya, Shanghai, and Nanjing.
We took many photos together — snapshots of time I now hold dear.

• Reading

Here I mean reading outside my field.
My reading habits have gone through two major shifts.

Before the age of twenty-two, I devoured books of all kinds — biographies, history, science, philosophy.
But over the next few years, I grew skeptical of much of what I read and stopped entirely.

Only in the past year have I rediscovered the joy of reading.
I realized that, under the sun, there is nothing truly new — that what has happened will happen again.
So I’ve returned to books, focusing more on economics and history, trying to understand the logic that underlies how the world works.

• Piano

I’ve always loved the sound of the piano, though I never studied it formally as a child.
After finishing my PhD applications, I bought a digital piano and began to teach myself for a while — though I couldn’t bring it with me to LA.
Once things settle down, I plan to resume my practice.

It’s funny — the Doctor of Philosophy, somewhere along the way, has truly brought me closer to philosophy itself — to literature, history, and art. (smiles ：)

On Solitude and Self-Discipline

“Nothing is more visible than what is hidden, nothing is more apparent than what is subtle; therefore, a gentleman guards himself most carefully when alone.”

(— from The Doctrine of the Mean, a Confucian classic)

Let me end with some thoughts on solitude — or, more precisely, on the discipline of being alone.

Many past experiences have deepened my understanding of this idea.
I must admit, I still haven’t truly mastered it.
But I am trying to be better.

There are things I know, yet choose not to do.
There are things I refuse to do — and thus prefer not even to know.
And there are things I understand fully, but still do anyway.

It sounds cryptic, I know.
But this quiet struggle has been one of my most profound realizations over the past two years.

In a world so tangled with human relationships and social noise, I am learning to stay independent — to keep a clear mind, to live as an ordinary person, nothing more.

Here in the U.S., 慎独 — the art of being principled in solitude — has taken on new weight.
There are fewer external forces here to point out one’s flaws, fewer familiar voices to offer correction.
And with family and friends now separated by oceans and time zones, solitude has become not only inevitable, but necessary.

So I remind myself to stay mindful when no one is watching.
To act in alignment with what I believe is right.
And to keep growing quietly, one small step at a time.

For now, my thoughts rest here.
These words are a reflection of how I perceive the world —
and the quiet ideals that continue to hold me up.

To you — whether familiar or a stranger — thank you for spending your time reading this.

I wish for you, my friend, as I wish for myself:

to stay present in the moment, and to look back without regret. 🌙