Finding Your True Passion

A friend shared his experience traveling to Nepal over Spring Festival.

His strongest impression? Stepping into a world that feels a full era behind China.

For example:

  • Two cities just over 100 km apart take six or seven hours by bus.
  • A five-kilometer ride from downtown to the airport takes 40–50 minutes.
  • Local street food, as he put it, is “chemically dirty and physically dirty.”
  • Average monthly income hovers around ¥400–500.

Yet people there radiate high levels of happiness—harmonious, content, unburdened.

That happiness likely stems from strong religious culture—or perhaps from blissful ignorance of what lies beyond their horizon.

Happiness isn’t linearly tied to material conditions. It hinges far more on psychological expectations and the frame of comparison.

After returning home, my friend told me he saw his own life with fresh eyes. The trip was deeply worthwhile.

But for those of us living in relative comfort—and already aware of the world’s complexity—the most reliable path to lasting fulfillment isn’t escape. It’s finding your true passion: not as a spectator, but as a creator. And then pursuing it with sustained, deep engagement.

In our massive, diverse market, turning passion into profession isn’t just possible—it often leads to both mastery and meaningful income.

Still, two real barriers stand in the way:

First, most people genuinely don’t know what their passion is. Scrolling short videos doesn’t count. Here, “passion” means making, not consuming.

Second, even when someone names a hobby, they rarely pursue it with enough depth or consistency to reach professional fluency—so it remains emotionally rewarding but economically inert.

My friend recalled his childhood obsession with musical instruments: whole days spent alone in his room, experimenting, refining. That passion has lasted decades—from college band days to today, still evolving.

I asked: “Were you seen as odd back then?”

He laughed: “Almost certainly.”

And I nodded. That’s universal. A little “oddness”—a slight misfit—is often the quiet prerequisite for guarding your time against social conformity and investing it instead in what truly moves you.

For those still searching, the work is real: keep asking, keep testing, keep listening—until the answer clicks. Because beneath “What’s my passion?” lies an even sharper question: What is the one thing that must come first?

Investing in the Top 10%

Seek out the top 10% of people—not in wealth or status, but in one dimension that matters: exceptional skill, unwavering integrity, rare judgment, or relentless execution.

“Investing” here doesn’t mean writing a check. It means choosing to:

  • Become friends,
  • Collaborate closely,
  • Learn deliberately,
  • Invite partnership.

In the workplace, it might be the colleague who ships flawless solutions under pressure.
In startups, it’s the founder who spots inflection points before others do—and acts.
In daily life, it’s the person whose kindness is uncompromising, whose word is unbreakable.

Being around such people can feel uncomfortable—even threatening to your self-image. You may lose the illusion of “being good enough.”

That discomfort is not a warning sign. It’s proof you’re growing.

So here’s a core interpersonal principle: Invest in the top 10%. Short the bottom 10%.

“Shorting” doesn’t mean cutting people off or judging them harshly. It means consciously rationing your finite attention and energy—limiting deep engagement with those who drain your clarity, shrink your vision, or erode your momentum. They aren’t bad people; they’re just poor ROI for your growth.

This echoes a well-worn truth: You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with. Choose those five wisely.

Travel Slows Down Time

Travel literally stretches subjective time.

Psychologically, time flies when we’re on autopilot—repeating familiar routines in predictable settings. Our brains stop encoding rich detail. Memory blurs. Years vanish.

But travel disrupts that loop. New sights, sounds, smells, languages, and customs flood our senses. The brain lights up, allocating extra resources to process novelty. We become present—intensely so.

That’s why childhood summers felt endless: everything was first-time. Curiosity was default. Every experience left a vivid neural imprint.

Neuroscience confirms it: novelty triggers dopamine release—sharpening focus and emotional resonance. In retrospect, travel doesn’t feel slow while it’s happening (in fact, it often races by). But later, memory replays it in high definition—full of texture, contrast, and meaning. That density makes it feel longer, richer, more alive.

It’s natural mindfulness—especially in places that stir awe.

So yes: travel more. Not just anywhere—but well. High-quality travel isn’t leisure. It’s one of the most effective ways to extend your effective lifespan.

Premium Accounts Aren’t About Scale

Met a new acquaintance today—an AI-focused independent creator.

15,000 followers. Yet each sponsored post commands ¥20,000.

That’s premium—not viral. Why?

  1. Audience quality > quantity: His readers aren’t casual scrollers—they’re AI engineers, product leads, and startup founders.
  2. Amplification layer: He shares every post to his WeChat Moments feed—where his audience includes dozens of active tech executives and investors.
  3. Extreme verticality: He writes only about applied AI—no tangents, no fluff.
  4. Precision alignment: His followers aren’t “interested in AI.” They live it.

Dig deeper, and the real value drivers of a high-premium account become clear:

  • Trust density: He’s built unshakeable credibility in a narrow domain.
  • Audience fidelity: Small, but surgically matched to advertisers’ ideal customers.
  • Influence concentration: Tight-knit community → high engagement → high conversion.
  • Authority weight: When he speaks, peers listen—and act.

In the AI era, broad reach is becoming less valuable than deep resonance. Brand value now lives in influence quality—not vanity metrics.

The “Zero Moment”

In The Cold Start Problem, author Andrew Chen introduces the “zero moment”: the exact instant a user’s expectation collapses.

Contrast it with the “magic moment”—when a product delivers unexpected delight (e.g., tapping Uber and seeing a car arrive in 90 seconds).

The zero moment? Tapping Uber… and waiting. And waiting. And watching the map stay empty.

That’s not just friction. It’s value failure. For that user, the product has no utility—yet.

For two-sided platforms, zero moments compound fast. Each unmet request chips away at trust, retention, and word-of-mouth. And unlike bugs, they can’t be fully eliminated—only relentlessly minimized.

How? Prioritize local saturation over national sprawl. Build dense, active user bases city-by-city—rather than thin, scattered presence across dozens of markets. Depth beats breadth.

Also: zero moments are chronically undermeasured. Even I hadn’t tracked them closely—until reading Chen’s analysis. At Uber, teams embedded zero-moment metrics into every city-level dashboard. Not because they expected perfection—but because seeing the problem clearly is the first step toward fixing it.

Why does this matter? Because macro metrics (conversion rate, DAU) mask micro failures. The zero moment is where user experience actually lives.

Logging My AI Team’s Work

I’m drafting a piece titled: A Week With My AI Colleagues.

It’ll be fun.

Right now, my active “AI employees” include:

  • AI Sales Rep
  • AI Customer Support Agent
  • AI Lead Generator
  • AI Operations Coordinator
  • AI Strategy Planner
  • AI Think Tank (for brainstorming & synthesis)

Each day, I brief them, review outputs, refine prompts, adjust workflows—and learn. It’s collaborative, iterative, and quietly joyful.

I’m also beginning to share this mindset with other teams. Today, I spoke with the CEO of a healthcare company I advise. I shared my guiding principle for 2025: Do only what sits at the intersection of AI and genuine personal joy.

I’m cutting out anything draining or non-compounding—like launching initiatives without clarity or conviction.

He agreed instantly. Said this discipline might, paradoxically, generate more revenue.

I couldn’t agree more.