throwing away the iron rice bowl
the "Iron Rice Bowl" is a Chinese metaphor for job security and stability (aka, what we, as artists and entrepreneurs, didn’t choose).
this is a beginning of a series about wayfinding, in which I’ll share the phases of my own decade long journey, from (almost) the very beginning. I’m unveiling the ghosts of my past, and untangling a few themes:
inherited cultural blueprints of what “success” means
immigrant Chinese-American values and programming
quitting the marathon of accomplishment & prestige
on choosing to be a writer, with a 9-5 day job.
then, I begin to open the question: if not Iron Rice Bowl, then what?
***
hello friends,
{🌸 this is botanical studies of internet magic — a podcast on tending to digital worlds, and alchemizing creative power through the vessel and portal of the internet. my name is Kening, and I’ll be your guide.}
*
in the first episode, I opening by sharing my intentions for this podcast, and exploring my approach to the words: botanical / studies / internet / and magic.
this past week, as I was thinking about how I want to speak to you — I think that before I dive into the vision that I have for Art and the Internet… I need to share my own story — how I got here, after a decade-long saga — much of which felt like wandering in the dark wilderness.
(I’m kind of scared to tell you this, to be honest — because it’s so personal, and makes me feel tired to even think about — but I believe that it’s important to ground shared values in lived, embodied experience — and perhaps my struggles will help you feel that wherever you are in the journey, you’re not alone.)
SERIES INTRO: ON WAYFINDING
…and rather than telling you what, exactly to do — I believe, above all, in commiting to yourself fully — to hone your personal navigation systems, so that you can find your own way. wayfinding is about venturing off the safe paths — and believing in yourself enough to walk out — and seek what feels true to you.
and I think that anytime we seek out a new way — it’s always a reaction to deep discontentment with the known paths. I think that my repulsion and low tolerance to what doesn’t feel good has helped me so much over the years — in abandoning all the paths. (because: I get miserable really fast, and it took me time to trust that misery didn’t mean that something was wrong with ME — it’s sign post yelling: WRONG WAY! wrong way, for you.)
so, these next few episodes will be about wayfinding.
I’ll share all the phases of my journey — all the paths I abandoned, and the series of jumps I made:
from my Chinese-American cultural conditioning to… deciding that I wanted to be a writer with a day job
from my 9-5 day job… to working for myself, hustling my creative skills however I could
then, to committing to being an artist.
then, as a creative person trying to make a living — attempting all the ways you’re supposed to market, sell, and self-promote on the internet — how and why I totally abandoned, that, too.
and each time, I attempted the paths I saw — and felt so much resistance, like, this is miserable. I don’t want to force myself to do that.
and so, I kept jumping.
I left NYC — my home for 9 years — because it was too expensive to live in. I started traveling. I kept jumping — until there was nowhere to jump to except… into the void. into myself, my deepest process — from which my ethos for how I wanted to be on the internet, as an artist — was born.
I’m reminded of this quote by Joseph Campbell, writer of the Hero’s Journey.
”It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life.
Where you stumble, there lies your treasure.”
and I think anytime we dare to do things differently - to imagine other possibilities — and in the process, we undergo a wreckening, an interrogation of “wait, what really IS the end goal, or purpose, anyway? what am I running towards? what is my definition of success, and what do I truly desire?”
as I relate my saga to you, perhaps, I’ll invite you to keep that question in the back of your mind.
thank you for being here, and for listening.
this first episode will be about the first jump: from my Asian-American cultural conditioning inherited blueprints, the SOS alarm bell of panic, and what it meant to choose myself.
so, let me take you to the beginning.
Chapter 1: Throwing Away “The Iron Rice Bowl”
episode intro:
I’ve been really tempted to gloss over this chapter in as few words as possible — but I won’t. because, over these last 10 years, the themes I’ll unpack in this chapter — is, by far, are the ghosts that come back to haunt me the most. in my series of jumps into the void — this is my primordial Jump; Jump #1.
I want to talk about this, because I think our family origin stories give us the original blueprint that we need to work from — in order to make any alchemy in our lives. we didn’t choose them, but we can choose how to transform ourselves through them.
The “Iron rice bowl” is an idiom in Chinese to refer to the notion of job security — traditionally, it meant government-owned positions, or university jobs, or public service — that feeling of being taken care of, financially, for the rest of your life. of always having enough rice to eat.
in our context, I’ll interpret it to mean ANY job that feels “stable.” and while job stability may or may not be an illusion — I think that as artists, creatives, or business owners, what we choose in embarking on wayfinding is definitely the opposite of “The Iron Rice Bowl.”
in my story, I’ll share how I grew up with those values deeply embedded into my psyche — and how, at age 22, I choose something else entirely.
*
my inherited cultural blueprint
So - I’m Chinese (even though I forget and struggle with that often). I was born in China, and immigrated as a child to the United States. these days, I live in Istanbul, Turkey with my dog and partner.
but. I grew up in small town North Carolina, where I was the only Asian child in my entire school. Every morning during elementary school, while eating microwavable oatmeal or grits for breakfast, I did math and Chinese homework that my mother assigned. on Saturday mornings, my parents drove my brother and I over an hour to attend Chinese language and extracurricular school.
All this to say: I was raised in a family and culture where our mission — the ultimate mission in life is to get into a “top college.” to then get a stable, high paying job that will provide the “iron rice bowl,” — an old symbol of unshakeable stability — (And… whether or not that kind of job stability is actually stable is another question.) my parents were born in the 60s in China, during the Cultural Revolution — a period of deep turmoil and scarcity.
and so, as an immigrant child of the next generation, I inherited the blueprint-belief that our mission in life is to take the opportunities of America and make our parents and our relatives SO proud; to give our mother something to brag about to her friends and relatives — and then, to have a warm, happy family of our own, where we pass down the same values, where we can take care of our parents in their old age, as well as our own children and grandchildren.
we believed in diligence, hard work, certainty, and extreme practicality — which, inevitably, must come with personal sacrifice - we were programmed to choose the safe, known path — where you use your individual depositions for a suitable career — but without becoming TOO individual, TOO out of the box — because unquantifiable, uncontainable individuality that didn’t quite fit in the capitalist system — it wasn’t (and many people still believe) — isn’t safe.
*
SOS loudspeaker alarms
and the safe path was THE WAY. and anything but that will trigger an SOS alarm of nuclear grade panic (which is a form of Chinese parental love, masked in fear and shame).
And the notion of “success” is something rigidly pre-determined and pre-defined — quantifiable by diplomas collected and income accrued per year.
and I want to add that in many ways, what I’m describing is our capitalist culture as a whole — not just the Asian cultural mentality.
but, I do think that growing up in this culture, as an immigrant child — is to live with these values of conformity and job security — as a constant, suffocating amount of pressure — such that for me, as I ran towards the vision of my wild, artist self — it felt like living with SOS loudspeaker nuclear alarms, blaring in my head.
the initial effort it took to run from these loudspeakers felt like such an act of inner violence. but over the next many years, even as I accrued small victories, these loudspeakers would still sound in my head:
that: I’m not doing enough, that I’m on the wrong path, that I’m not making enough money, that I haven’t won any awards or any accomplishments to be proud of, that I’m a failure, that I’m throwing away my life, that, after all my parents did for me — I’m bringing shame to myself, and to my family.
it took me many years to find the dial, and turn down the volume.
*
the non-duality of values
and it took me a decade to carve my own path — defined neither by the cultural programming that I inherited, nor by my tortured angsty rejection and rebellion against its values — that is: yes, values deeply programmed by “the system,” but also, another way to look at it is — the earthy material values, which, at its core, is a form of love defined by safety and bounteousness — in having the means and resources to provide, care, and offer a feast of life for your family.
-
it took me a long time to believe that in following my artist dreams and visions didn’t mean that I, also, had to choose. that I had to be a rebel in the name of nonconformity; to decide which one I wanted:
safety, or freedom?
money, or art?
abundance, or truth?
family, or myself?
perhaps you can guess, creative friends, which one I choose — for the longest time, and why, as I was discovering my true self, those years were amongst the loneliest of my life.
while it took me such effort to deprogram myself from my inherited blueprint — it took me even longer to give up that either/or dichotamy; and instead, to say YES to all of it:
to believe that bounteousness was possible in upholding my highest truth. to believe that I didn’t have to sacrifice for ART, or, to sacrifice Art.
but, before I get ahead of myself.
let me back up, and very briefly, finish telling my story.
*
the marathon race of childhood & adolescence
I grew up in a family of engineers, scientists, and civil servants. since I was a young child, the response to “I want to make art” was always met with “but how will you make money?”
at sixteen, I attended a public residential high school focused on STEM subjects, but — where I spent all of my time reading poetry, and painting. I thought that I wanted to go to college to be an architect, or to work in creative advertising; in other words, to do something creative, for someone else, and get paid for it. to be professionally artsy, but still… maintain a legibility to my family.
like most of my Asian-American peers, I worked extremely hard, because the culturally programmed mission — the aim — was to get into an Ivy League school. I didn’t question this mission — I just believed that this was what I had to do to make my parents proud, and to give myself a stable future. so, I did it.
-
at eighteen, I moved to New York City, and started my freshmen year at Columbia University. Going to an “elite” university — to find myself in a place of such prestige and privilege — it felt like having won the competitive marathon of my life — to that point. I gave my parents something to be proud of.
except… once I got there, it was like showing up at the next marathon of adulthood and yet… feeling like I didn’t quite belong. even though I did feel deeply intellectually stimulated by my education — overall, I still carried the feeling that I was at the wrong party. I thought: actually, maybe, I don’t want to run in this race, whatever this race is. and I think maybe it was… the culture of prestige, hustle, elitism, and the relentless pursuit of accomplishment.
my Columbia education expanded my mind — but left me spiritually and emotionally malnourished. I felt the faint calling of something in my soul.
at twenty-two, I declared a major in creative writing — and history.
after taking classes in architecture, film, sociology, philosophy, and nonfiction writing — I decided, over two years, that I wanted to be a writer.
*
writing as a calling into personal truth
I saw that writing was a way of seeing; of distilling, finding words for, giving form to, and shaping the stories and narratives of our lives — thus, giving meaning and beauty to life itself. it was a way in which I could be in conversation with myself, with the world, and with creative, life energy — to speak to it, and have it speak to me.
to commit to writing felt surprisingly easy — because it felt like the only true choice there was — and for me, truth is everything — and yet, it was so hard.
the year I declared my major was the year when the SOS alarms started to go off in my head — and, every conversation with my mother ended in tears.
when I started Columbia, the very last thing I expected of myself was this.
it was as if I spent my entire life collecting the gold stickers of excellence — defined by my Asian-American cultural programming — and suddenly, I trashed everything. I had taken the opportunities of America — that my parents struggled and worked hard for — and then, decided that I didn’t want the prestigious path, defined by cool companies, or money, or diplomas, or the security of a stable job — any job — which could provide the proverbial illusion of “The Iron Rice Bowl.”
and so…
while I watched my peers recruit for consulting, or finance, or PhD, or tech jobs … I graduated and took a 9-5 at a small business doing digital marketing — something I thought of as deliberately undemanding and unrelated to my ambitions to be: a writer.
And then, I had no idea what to do next, but I trusted that I would find my way and figure it out. So I started by doing what you’re told writers should do: I woke up every morning before my 9-5 — to sit at my computer for an hour, or thirty minutes, or ten — and write.
*
ending notes
dear friend, this concludes the end of my chapter 1.
I decided to stop here, because this first part of my origin story — the first jump from my cultural blueprint — hold themes that I know I’ll return to, again and again: most notably, in doing any kind of shadow work around money, beliefs, values, and safety — you could say, root chakra topics.
themes such as:
that SOS alarm of panic — that voice of scarcity and judgement — and how a valid desire to be safe can be masked in shame and fear (self-inflicted, or from those who love us)
the inherited belief that to express your creative individuality through your work feels unsafe — in a capitalist world.
on choosing the wild path of the soul (instead of what is given social currency, prestige, or family approval)
and: confronting the dichotomy of either/or, of sacrifice, of compromise — and seeing the non-duality of values.
and, ultimately —
choosing yourself — over the stability represented by the metaphor of The Iron Rice Bowl — and trusting yourself to create your own stability.
and from where I am, here and now — let me tell you this:
while choosing to be an artist or entrepreneur does feel like the opposite of the Iron Rice Bowl — I believe that, if embarked with full commitment, the journey can and will lead to a bountiful feast — of real nourishment for your heart, mind, body, and soul.
and that — is what this podcast is about.
it’s a process that takes so much time. it doesn’t happen overnight. and it won’t be handed to you.
but for me, I’d choose, any day, to walk through a decade in the dark — to get to that feast.
because, actually, the journey, too — is a part of the feast. choosing yourself is the feast.
*
next week, I’ll share Chapter 2, about my Jump #2 — in how I quit my 9-5 — and tried to figure out how to survive as a creative in the world: how to be a writer, an independent creative, or to start a business. I’ll explore the roads I saw other people take, and the path I took, instead.
*
🐦 thank you, creative friends, for listening to botanical studies of internet magic.
you can find more of my work and writings on my website, keningzhu.com.
I also send a weekly newsletter on the creative process, and digital world-building.
I’ll look forward to speaking to you next week. until soon.