Closeness Does Not Mean a Shared Path

I want the people close to me to live well. It is easy to let that wish turn into deciding what living well should mean for them.

Author: Koutian Wu; GitHub: ktwu01

On October 5, Guo Yu (@turingou) posted a question on X. Stories he shares online inspire some strangers, yet the people around him rarely change or want to work with him, even when he invests much more money and energy in helping them directly. He described this feeling as a “curse of freedom.”

There is a particular disappointment here. People far away understand, while those nearby do not respond. It is hard to keep from asking: I have done so much already. Why has it made so little difference?

But being inspired, changing how you live, and working together are each separated by a considerable distance.

The people who respond online have already been selected

Fenng offered an arithmetic example in the replies. If one of ten people close to you changes, that is ten percent. If five of a thousand readers change, that is only half a percent. Yet the feedback from five people is more noticeable than the feedback from one.

These are hypothetical numbers illustrating the point. They cannot tell us how many people Guo Yu actually influenced. They do remind me to consider how many people had a chance to encounter the stories before comparing the numbers who responded.

Online audiences also pass through a kind of selection. Someone might follow you because they are interested in the life you lead. They might be searching for an answer similar to yours and leave a reply after reading your essay. People close to you may remain in your life because of family ties or a period of life you shared long ago. That relationship does not require you to still want to do the same things today.

SuperMao made this point clearly: the readers who feel moved may already want to change and simply happen upon your story. People willing to listen have approached you first; then you see that your words were useful to them.

People who leave a thank-you message are also easier for a writer to notice. Readers who feel nothing usually move on. Even when someone says they were inspired, we may never learn whether they acted on it.

The responses online are valuable. They are still insufficient evidence that the same words lose their force when they reach people close to us.

What you want to give may not be what they want

For me, the harder part of this discussion is the word “help.”

Money and time are real contributions. The person giving them can become exhausted and reasonably hope their effort will improve things. But the person receiving help still needs a say in what that improvement should be.

Suppose I offer to cover a friend’s expenses so they can leave their job and join my project. I might believe I have removed their biggest obstacle. They might like their current life. A steady income reassures them, and after work they have time for their family. They envy my control over my schedule without wanting to live with uncertain income.

Money can cover some losses. It can hardly decide for them whether that way of living is worth choosing.

Even if they want to do the work, they may not want to do it with me. Working with a friend introduces concerns beyond the project. Could disagreements at work damage the friendship? If the project fails, would meeting again still feel natural? Saying “I only want what’s best for you” cannot resolve those concerns.

Expectations can also grow inside an offer of help. At first I want to make life easier for someone. Later I want them to take more initiative. Eventually I want them to choose the life I consider worthwhile. The more I contribute, the easier it becomes to feel that they ought to take my advice seriously.

They can feel that expectation too. Refusing means turning down both a proposal and a person who has helped them. A disagreement that could have been discussed plainly can become a debt neither person knows how to describe.

If my support has conditions, I should state them. The expected return on an investment in a collaboration should be clear from the beginning. A gift should not turn into a debt of gratitude that I later demand someone repay. Using closeness as a reason to skip that conversation often postpones the discomfort.

People close to you see the life outside the story

Some replies attributed the difference to familiarity. People who knew you when you were immature may struggle to see you as a role model. That explanation may sometimes fit. I would hesitate to use it to describe everyone nearby as jealous, stubborn, or unwilling to acknowledge your growth.

They may also have more information.

An online reader encounters a story that has been organized. It has a beginning, a turning point, and judgments that only became clear in retrospect. Someone close to you may have seen the life left out of the essay: your temper after sleepless nights, decisions you kept reconsidering, and the days before success when nobody knew how much longer the wait would be.

In the same experience, a distant reader sees possibility while someone nearby also remembers the cost. Both perspectives can be useful.

Familiarity can certainly preserve an outdated impression. It hurts when someone has changed but their family still treats them as their former self. Yet with any particular refusal, it remains worth hearing what the other person is worried about. Explaining every hesitation as “they don’t understand me” can make me miss advice worth considering.

This matters especially when working together. Admiring someone’s ability and wanting to work with them every day require very different judgments. A stranger can read only their essays. A collaborator has to live with their temperament too.

Freedom includes declining my invitation

When Guo Yu writes of a “curse of freedom,” I understand the helplessness: the conditions are ready, the opportunity is there, and the other person still does not join you.

But if I value freedom, I have to accept that someone can have the means to choose my way of life and choose another.

Their choice may disappoint me. I may even consider it unwise. I can explain my reasons and decide how much support I am willing to continue giving. Freedom does not require a helper to give endlessly. What I have contributed simply cannot be converted into a right to decide for them.

In “Genes, Evolution, Wisdom, Transmission, Love, and the Future”, I wrote about wanting what I leave behind to keep influencing others. Returning to that wish now, I think the person who accepts an influence will also decide where to use it. They might learn persistence from my story, then persist in a job I would never want.

Could I be happy with that outcome? That is harder to answer than asking why they did not join me.

I also disagree with reducing the answer to “don’t try to change adults.” People do change their minds because of other people. Close relationships can have lasting effects that are difficult to notice. Someone may remember how you handled a failure and only put that lesson to use years later. Your continued presence may give them the confidence to deal with something they have put off for a long time.

Those changes may never return with your name attached. They certainly do not automatically make that person your collaborator.

Working together needs a separate conversation

If I want a friend to work with me, I should invite them seriously and ask what they hope to get from it. Do they like the project, or are they uncomfortable saying no? Is the risk they are willing to take the same as the risk I have in mind?

Then we should make the work specific: who does what, for how long, and how compensation works. We can begin with a small task that has a clear end before deciding whether to continue. We should also discuss how leaving will work.

These conversations may sound less warm than “come do this with me,” but they leave room for an answer. When someone feels safe saying no, their yes is more credible.

An inspired stranger may eventually become a friend. A friend of many years may remain uninterested in my work. I do not want to assume that someone understands me better merely because they want to work with me. Nor do I want to discount an old friendship because that person declines to participate.

Some people are good to work with. With others, I still have plenty else to talk about. I will value those who want to join me. Those who decline can still meet me for a meal next time, as usual.