Error and Debug: One Ordinary Person's Self-Debugging

Lately, I've had more time to look back on the past and notice how I've changed over the years.

As I've grown older, I've come to realize that understanding myself isn't easy. I can see my outward appearance and feel my emotions, but I'm not always as familiar with my innermost thoughts, the attitudes I've developed over time, or the habits I fall into when facing problems as I imagine myself to be.

We seem to spend our lives getting to know ourselves. Only gradually did I begin to realize that perhaps I don't need to become someone remarkable to accept the ordinary person I am.

01 / Error | The Warning Notice on the Wall

I didn't begin to seriously confront the questions surrounding my own life until after I turned thirty.

Unlike the traditional Chinese saying that one should "establish oneself at thirty," I hadn't established much at all. I hadn't started a family or built a career. Now it's 2026, and I'm only a few steps away from forty. Looking back at what I have, I don't seem to be in a very different place from where I was a few years ago. By society's standards, I'm just another unremarkable person.

In the rural community I know, someone who reaches marriageable age without getting married or having children is often regarded as abnormal.

Marriage and having children seem to be more than personal choices. They're treated as milestones that should be reached by a certain age. If someone hasn't reached them, people start asking why. They speculate about whether something is wrong with the person's health or character, or whether there's some private matter they aren't willing to talk about.

I've heard plenty of comments like these.

"You're not getting any younger. Why aren't you married yet? Is something wrong with you?"

"Start a family first, then build your career. If two people work together, things will eventually get better."

"If you wait too long to get married, your parents will be too old to help look after your children."

Some people even connect marriage and parenthood with carrying on the family line, as though choosing a different path means letting someone down.

Behind these comments lies a default sequence for life: get married when you reach a certain age, have children after marriage, and then gradually put your family and career in order. If you don't follow this sequence, it's as if something has gone wrong.

My parents, for their part, understand me and haven't directly interfered with my choices. Even so, it's difficult to remain completely unaffected by the attitudes around me. When you live in an environment like this, certain standards don't need to be repeated every day. They're already embedded in everyday conversations and comparisons.

I've begun to realize that even when we disagree with a particular standard, we can still absorb it over time and unconsciously use it to judge ourselves.

This June, I took some time off and returned to my hometown. My father told me he was going to the old house the following day to tend to the crops, and I said I'd go with him.

The next day, we rode there on an electric scooter. Weeds had grown thick around the old house, and the yard was no longer as tidy as it used to be. A notice from the village committee warning that the house was unsafe had been posted on the wall.

Looking at all this, I suddenly realized that my parents really were growing old.

I used to take it for granted that my parents would always be there, and that home would always be there too. Wherever I went, I assumed there would always be somewhere to return to. But time doesn't stop and wait for us simply because we've grown accustomed to a certain way of life.

Their hair has turned white. Their bodies aren't as strong as they once were, and sometimes their memories falter. The things I once took for granted have been changing, little by little.

Every time I go home, I experience a mixture of emotions. I know my parents understand my choices, but I also wonder whether they have worries of their own that they've chosen not to turn into demands on me.

I hope they can worry a little less. And I hope I won't feel compelled to live up to other people's expectations simply because I don't want to worry my parents.

My parents are growing old. That's a change brought about by time. I'm not married and don't have children. That's my current situation in life. Both are facts, but neither means that someone has done something wrong.

02 / Debug | Debugging Without Seeking Perfection

If Error means detecting a problem, then Debug means investigating it again: where, exactly, has something gone wrong?

For me, the first thing I needed to debug wasn't why I hadn't married or had children. It was the assumption that had long surrounded me: if someone doesn't follow this particular path in life, does that mean something is wrong with them?

I've gradually come to understand that society has its preferred ways of living, and families have their own expectations. But those expectations don't necessarily apply to everyone.

Not getting married or having children doesn't mean someone is incapable of taking responsibility, nor does it mean they're unwilling to face life. Everyone has different circumstances, experiences, and needs. Even when people make the same choices, their reasons can be entirely different.

I don't need to prove that my choices are absolutely right in order to prove that I'm not wrong. What's more important is understanding what I actually want and what responsibilities I'm willing to take on as a result of my choices.

Living well in the present doesn't necessarily mean doing anything remarkable.

Take an ordinary Saturday, for example. I have no special plans. I cook myself a bowl of noodles, tidy up my room, and go for a run in the evening. The day passes without anything particularly noteworthy happening. There's nothing to show off to anyone, but I know what I'm doing, and I can manage my own life.

There's a sense of stability in this kind of ordinary routine. Life doesn't need to have a clearly defined goal at every moment, and every stage of life doesn't need to produce some achievement that proves our worth.

At least in moments like these, I don't have to explain to anyone why my life is different from theirs.

Of course, the expectations that are difficult to shake off aren't limited to marriage and parenthood. There are also more subtle social standards that have become so familiar we barely notice them.

People have their own ideas about how men and women should behave, and these ideas can become invisible constraints.

A man approaching forty who hasn't started a family or established a career may become the subject of all kinds of speculation. Is something wrong with his health? Is his sexual orientation different from what people expect? Does he lack the financial means to support a family? Or is there some private matter he's unwilling to disclose? Even silence can be interpreted as a clue. Whether you respond or not, people may find another reason to speculate.

On top of that, men are expected to be decisive and strong, and not to show vulnerability too readily. Show a little sensitivity, and someone may say you're not masculine enough. Hesitate over a decision, and you may be seen as lacking resolve.

I haven't been entirely immune to these expectations myself.

When I was at university, during one Spring Festival holiday, I rode an electric scooter with my younger sister to visit relatives. It was raining, and I was riding a little too fast when the wheel suddenly slipped. We both fell.

My sister was momentarily stunned. I quickly patted her and told her not to be afraid.

Later, a relative remarked, "He's a boy, after all. He stays calm when something happens and knows how to look after his sister."

I just smiled.

In that relative's eyes, I'd stayed calm because I was a boy. But what I remembered was the moment the wheel slipped and I lost control, the fear I felt as we fell, and the gradual sense of relief that came only after I made sure my sister was all right.

Being male didn't mean I wasn't afraid. In that moment, I was simply doing my best to deal with what had happened.

Over time, I came to understand that decisiveness and courage aren't qualities exclusive to men, just as sensitivity isn't a flaw. A person can be brave and still feel afraid. They can take responsibility and still acknowledge their vulnerability.

I can be moved by beautiful things and remain calm when facing reality. These qualities aren't contradictory, and I don't need to suppress one side of myself just to fit someone else's expectations of what a man should be.

I no longer want to divide myself into the parts that meet other people's expectations and the parts I feel compelled to hide.

The same principle applies to marriage and other life choices.

Most of my friends are already married and have careers and families of their own. Some are busy managing mortgages, paying for their children's education, and planning for the future. I still live on my own, following a path that's somewhat different from theirs.

At a gathering last month, almost all the conversations revolved around mortgages, school districts, children's extracurricular activities, and the practicalities of family life. I found it difficult to contribute to these conversations, and I didn't feel a particularly strong desire to join in.

Our group chat is still lively, but I find myself saying less and less. That doesn't necessarily mean we've grown apart. We've simply followed different paths, and the things that occupy our daily lives have gradually diverged.

I understand why these things matter to my friends, and I don't think there's anything wrong with the choices they've made. In the same way, I hope my own life can be understood rather than requiring me to explain myself repeatedly just because I live differently from most people.

At this stage of my life, of course I think about the future and weigh my circumstances and needs carefully. But I don't want to follow the same path as everyone else simply because that's what everyone around me is doing.

Debugging isn't about turning yourself into some kind of standard answer. It's about distinguishing what you genuinely believe from what you've accepted out of habit simply because you've heard it repeated so often.

03 / Run | Running Steadily Without Being Perfect

Once debugging is complete, it's time to run the program again.

At least after this round of reflection, I've begun trying to see myself differently.

I'm still an ordinary person. I haven't started a family or established a career in the conventional sense. I still live on my own, and I haven't suddenly discovered an answer that resolves every question in my life.

But I'm no longer in such a hurry to prove that my choices are right. Nor do I believe that I can earn recognition only by arranging my life according to some accepted standard.

I'm beginning to accept that life has no single, fixed path that works for everyone. Marriage, having children, and building a family can be a life someone chooses deliberately. Living independently can be another person's deliberate choice. These paths don't have to be divided neatly into right and wrong.

Of course, accepting myself doesn't mean giving up on thinking about the future, much less avoiding the responsibilities that come with my choices. I still have to face reality. I still need to consider how I'll manage life as my parents grow older, and I still need to make plans for my own future.

The difference is that these decisions no longer have to be dictated by other people's standards.

Perhaps a person begins to truly understand themselves not when they finally discover a flawless answer, but when they stop demanding that they themselves must become that answer.

Accepting an ordinary life isn't resignation. It's about reclaiming the energy spent explaining yourself to others and putting it toward the work of living your own life well.

Life has no single answer. The answer I'm looking for may lie in each present moment I choose to take seriously.