《我始终是我》

上一篇文章里，我讲了一套很冷的东西。重量、杠杆、交易、破圈——听起来像一台精密运转的机器。有人可能会觉得，这个人是不是太理性了，是不是把一切都算得太清楚了，是不是已经把自己活成了一个算法。

不是。

所以这篇文章，我想讲讲框架之下的那个人。

我确实热衷于拆解世界。GPU 集群怎么互联、IPO 招股书里的商业模式怎么运转、社会资源怎么流动、人脉的本质是什么——我看到任何复杂的东西，第一反应都是：它的底层逻辑是什么？它为什么会是这个样子？既然它是人制造出来的，那我就应该能理解它。

这是我的乐趣所在。我不满足于”它很厉害”这种模糊的评价，我要知道它厉害在哪，为什么能成立，以及这个逻辑能不能被我用在自己身上。

但这种拆解世界的冲动，并没有把我变成一个冷血的人。

我会在网络上刷到一个陌生人受苦的视频，沉默很久。我会因为路边一朵桂花被雨打落满地，站在那儿看半天，然后写”百年古树千年朽木，十里繁荣万里荒芜”。我会在看到国际新闻里某些无力改变的事情时，心里堵着，说不出来。

我没有关掉我的感性。我只是给它画了一条边界。

这条边界是：我的情绪和共情能力，只分配给那些我力所能及的事情。

听起来像一种冷漠。但恰恰相反——这是一种保护。如果我每天对世界上的每一件苦难都倾注全部情感，我会被压垮。不是因为我不行，是因为任何人都不行。人类的共情能力是一种有限资源，像体力一样，会耗尽。心理学管这个叫”同情疲劳”——长期沉浸在无法改变的苦难中，人会从共情变为麻木。

我不允许自己麻木。所以我做了选择：我能帮的，我尽全力；我帮不了的，我承认，然后暂时放下。

这不是”不在乎”。这是先让自己足够强，再回来面对那些我现在还扛不动的东西。

很多人以为，像我这样一天到晚想着”重量””杠杆””涟漪”的人，一定活得很紧绷、很累、很焦虑。

不是的。

我是一个会摆烂的人。我会刷一天抖音，打一整天游戏，什么都不想，什么都不做。但我不会因为摆烂而愧疚。因为我心里清楚：我远期的方向没有变，我今天躺平，不代表我迷失了。我只是在休息，不是在放弃。

这个区别很重要。

很多人摆烂之后会陷入自责——“我又浪费了一天””我怎么这么不自律””我是不是根本不够努力”。这种自责本质上是因为你没有一个锚。你不知道自己要去哪，所以每一分钟的偏离都会让你恐慌。但如果你有方向——一个真正想清楚了的、长期的方向——那短暂的偏离就不是迷失，是休整。

方向感比执行力更稳定。执行力会波动，方向不会。

这就是我这几年建立起来的松弛感。松弛不是因为不在乎，是因为我知道自己在哪条路上。走快走慢不是问题，只要方向对。

还有一个我想说的。

这套”重量-杠杆”的思维模型，只是我个人打磨出来的。但我不希望读者把它当成一个”人生公式”去套。因为没有一个模型能解释全部的人生。

纯粹理性的逻辑思维能分析商业，但它分析不了为什么一个母亲会在深夜给孩子掖被角。

纯粹理性的逻辑思维能拆解人脉的本质，但它拆解不了人为什么会在雨天的桂花树下站一整个黄昏。

纯粹理性的逻辑思维能用来优化我自己的成长路径，但当我的理性触达边界——碰到那些怎么想也想不通的东西——我会停下来。托靠于Allah。承认自己的有限。

这听起来矛盾：一个用逻辑拆解一切的人，同时也是一个信Allah的人。但在我看来，这两者恰恰构成一个完整的闭环：

穷尽理性，承认边界，交托信仰。

这不是分裂，这是自知。

这篇文章没有方法论，没有框架图，没有”第一步第二步第三步”。

它只是一份诚实的自述。

我是一个理性的人，但我没有抛弃感性。我是一个拆解系统的人，但我承认系统的边界。我会因为远方的苦难感到无力，但我选择聚焦于眼前能改变的事情。我会摆烂、会偷懒、会刷一天抖音什么都不做，但我清楚地知道我明天要去哪。

我的理想和道路，充满了冷静的解构和计算。但驱动这一切向前走的那个东西——不是理性。

是雨中的桂花。是陌生人的眼泪。是不愿意再做一个无能为力的旁观者的那种决心。

我自始至终都是我。

浮尘落尽后的清醒，没有让我冷漠。破局的物理学，没有让我变成机器。我依然会哭，会笑，会在某些瞬间停下来，认真地看着这个世界，然后对自己说——好的，继续走吧。

无论世界如何复杂，我始终是我。
无论世界如何苦难，我托靠真主。
即使世界终将毁灭，那便回归主。

I Have Always Been Myself

In the previous essay, I laid out something very cold. Weight, leverage, transactions, breaking out of one’s circle—it sounds like a precision machine running at full tilt. Some might wonder: is this person too rational? Does he calculate everything too clearly? Has he turned himself into an algorithm?

No.

So in this essay, I want to talk about the person beneath the framework.

I am indeed obsessed with taking the world apart. How GPU clusters interconnect, how the business model inside an IPO prospectus operates, how social resources flow, what the essence of personal connections really is—whenever I see anything complex, my first reaction is: what is its underlying logic? Why is it the way it is? Since it was built by humans, I ought to be able to understand it.

This is where my joy lies. I am not satisfied with a vague verdict like “it’s impressive.” I want to know precisely what makes it impressive, why it holds together, and whether that logic can be used on myself.

But this urge to dismantle the world has not turned me into a cold-blooded person.

I will come across a video of a stranger suffering and sit in silence for a long time. I will see a roadside osmanthus beaten to the ground by the rain, stand there watching it for ages, and then write: “A tree may stand a hundred years, yet becomes rotten wood across a thousand; ten miles of prosperity, ten thousand miles of desolation.” When I see things in the international news that I am powerless to change, something presses on my chest and I cannot put it into words.

I have not switched off my sensitivity. I have only drawn a boundary around it.

The boundary is this: my emotions and my capacity for empathy are given only to what lies within my power to affect.

It sounds like a kind of coldness. But it is exactly the opposite—it is a form of protection. If I poured all my feeling into every suffering in the world each day, I would be crushed. Not because I am incapable, but because no one is capable of it. Human empathy is a finite resource, like physical strength—it can be exhausted. Psychology calls this “compassion fatigue”: immersed for too long in suffering one cannot change, a person slides from empathy into numbness.

I will not allow myself to go numb. So I have made a choice: what I can help, I help with everything I have; what I cannot help, I acknowledge, and then set it down for now.

This is not “not caring.” It is making myself strong enough first, and then coming back to face the things I cannot yet carry.

Many people assume that someone like me, thinking about “weight,” “leverage,” and “ripples” all day long, must live in a state of constant tension, exhaustion, and anxiety.

Not so.

I am someone who slacks off. I can scroll Douyin for an entire day, play games all day long, think about nothing, do nothing. But I do not feel guilty about slacking off. Because I know clearly in my heart: my long-term direction has not changed. That I lie flat today does not mean I am lost. I am resting, not giving up.

That distinction matters.

Many people fall into self-reproach after slacking off—“I wasted another day,” “Why am I so undisciplined,” “Maybe I’m simply not hard-working enough.” At bottom, this self-reproach comes from having no anchor. You do not know where you are going, so every minute of deviation throws you into panic. But if you have a direction—one you have genuinely thought through, a long-term direction—then a brief detour is not being lost. It is regrouping.

A sense of direction is steadier than execution. Execution fluctuates; direction does not.

This is the ease I have built up over the past few years. Ease is not because I do not care. It is because I know which road I am on. Whether I walk fast or slow is not the problem—so long as the direction is right.

One more thing I want to say.

This “weight–leverage” mental model is something I hammered out for myself alone. But I do not want readers to treat it as a “life formula” to apply. Because no single model can account for an entire life.

Purely rational, logical thinking can analyze business, but it cannot explain why a mother tucks the blanket around her child in the middle of the night.

Purely rational, logical thinking can take apart the essence of personal connections, but it cannot account for why a person would stand beneath an osmanthus tree in the rain for an entire evening.

Purely rational, logical thinking can be used to optimize my own path of growth—but when my reason reaches its boundary, when it runs into what cannot be thought through no matter how hard I try, I stop. I entrust myself to Allah. I acknowledge my own limits.

This may sound contradictory: a person who dismantles everything with logic is also a person who believes in Allah. But to me, these two form precisely one complete loop:

Exhaust reason, acknowledge the boundary, entrust it to faith.

This is not a split. This is self-knowledge.

This essay has no methodology, no framework diagram, no “step one, step two, step three.”

It is only an honest account of myself.

I am a rational person, but I have not abandoned my sensitivity. I am someone who dismantles systems, but I acknowledge the limits of systems. I feel powerless before suffering in distant places, but I choose to focus on what I can change right in front of me. I slack off, I get lazy, I can scroll Douyin all day doing nothing—but I know clearly where I am going tomorrow.

My ideals and my path are filled with cold dissection and calculation. But the thing that drives all of it forward—is not reason.

It is the osmanthus in the rain. It is the tears of strangers. It is the resolve never to be a powerless bystander again.

I have, from beginning to end, always been myself.

The clarity after the floating dust settled did not make me cold. The physics of breaking through did not turn me into a machine. I still cry, still laugh, still stop at certain moments to look earnestly at this world, and then say to myself—alright, keep going.

However complex the world may be, I remain myself.
However full of suffering the world may be, I place my trust in Allah.
Even if the world is doomed to perish, then I return to the Lord.

随笔 - 《我始终是我》

《我始终是我》