Many friends and classmates often envy how freely I live my life. I sometimes wonder—why is that?
Looking at it overall, it’s probably because I’ve always moved to the rhythm of my own little universe, operating at my own pace without being easily disturbed by the outside world.
If I had to work a regular job, I would definitely struggle to adapt, because society as a whole moves fast and expects everything to be “fast and excellent.” But to truly be fast and excellent, you have to live under constant tension.
Even from the way I dress, you can tell I don’t follow the crowd. I love ethnic styles—I often wear bold, oversized earrings with bright, colorful dresses. People sometimes ask if I’m from a minority group. I also love wearing qipaos, and I have enough of them to wear a different one every day of the week. I stroll down the street in my modernized qipao and feel completely at ease. Honestly, how many people like that do you see every day?
In terms of my career, my work simply can’t be rushed—hurrying would only make it worse.
Most people’s jobs, like my husband Yangyang’s father’s work, are all about racing against time. If they fall behind, their work loses value, prices drop, competition swoops in, and they’re out of the game.
Every day, it’s endless calls and typing away at the keyboard. It looks easy, but their minds never stop racing. Sleep comes late, stress piles up, and much of their income ends up spent just to cope with the pressure. After deducting expenses, there’s only a little left for retirement. But what about health? That’s often the price they pay—aging faster, needing even more retirement funds down the line.
Even if they watch the stock market daily and listen to economists passionately analyzing trends, nothing can fully stop inflation or the rise in housing prices.
I always advise him not to worry so much and to prioritize his health. But he just rolls his eyes at me and says, “Easy for you to say—you don’t have to support a family.”
So I usually stay quiet.
Fortunately, after a few tough years in my small business, things slowly turned around.
As my products gained recognition and I built a loyal customer base, Yangyang’s father began to see me differently too.
In the past, when people asked to buy my moxa wool and I refused, he couldn’t understand it. He would get annoyed, thinking, “Why not make money when you can?” He assumed my products could be mass-produced anytime, just like the goods his company sells.
But in my field, I knew what needed to be preserved, and I stuck to it.
Later, when my customers truly embraced my products, he had no choice but to admit I was right.
There was one particular moment that completely changed his mind:
He had a terrible episode of kidney stones and was in unbearable pain, crying out, “I’m finished! I’ve never felt pain like this!”
Yet after just a few moxibustion sessions with some moxa sticks, his pain eased dramatically.
That experience did more than a thousand words ever could—it convinced him that some things can’t be rushed, and that slow and steady really does work.
The products he sells lose value the longer they sit, while my products grow more precious over time.
So I can afford to be slow—and must be slow.
He, on the other hand, has no choice but to move fast, fighting every day like a soldier at war, where speed is life.
Even my way of speaking reflects my nature—slow and unhurried.
Many people describe me as gentle, but really, it’s just that I speak slowly. Maybe it’s because of my naturally low energy levels. It’s just the way I am.
My lifestyle habits also align with this slow pace.
I prefer traditional, natural things.
I avoid processed foods, and I love wearing cotton and linen clothes.
I’m wary of electronic devices and slow to pick up new technology.
Driving, in particular, isn’t something I enjoy. I’m afraid of losing control because my reactions are slow, and high-speed driving makes me nervous and distracted.
From every angle, I’m definitely a “snail-paced” person.
In today’s fast-moving world, I can’t spin as quickly as everyone else.
I’m truly grateful to my family for supporting me, giving me space in the moxibustion industry to find my little stage.
I’m also thankful for all the friends and classmates who have stood by me—allowing someone as slow as me to survive in this fast-paced world.
Maybe you’re a little envious of this kind of slow life?
Here’s a secret:
I once lost my health.
During the long, patient journey of reclaiming it, I learned to truly cherish life.
Nothing is more important than health—nothing matters more than simply being alive.
When I light a moxa stick and hold it over the acupuncture points along the Sanjiao meridian, I gradually slip into a deeply peaceful state.
At that moment, I feel like life is complete: having food, drink, and a few moxa sticks—that’s enough.
This was the mindset I developed during those long months at home doing moxibustion after I fell ill.
When you’ve tasted the depths of suffering, you come to understand what simple happiness truly means.
Here’s to embracing slow living—savoring life, step by step.