In early July 2001, I was sitting on a bus, heading to a law firm in Asian Games Village.

This is my first day back at work after quitting my previous job. Before this summer arrived, I went through a period of painful reflection. The organization where I’ve been working since graduating with my master’s degree has always placed great trust in me—so much so that just over a month ago, my direct supervisor actually spoke to me again, mentioning that the department head is about to retire and that the Party Committee is considering entrusting me with this key position. They encouraged me to start preparing myself for the role.

While the deputy role is relatively relaxed, often allowing me to handle my own tasks in my spare time, I feel a bit anxious about stepping into the full-time position ahead. I can clearly see how hard the department heads work—many even put in extra hours on weekends—and their responsibilities are far greater than mine as deputy.

How do you choose your path ahead? Do you continue working hard within the established system, pursuing that stable career with a clear future in sight, or do you revisit the dreams of your student days and embark on a challenging yet rewarding journey—becoming a lawyer, a profession that allows you to fully realize your potential? And how will this decision impact not only yourself but also your family?

I analyzed myself from several angles. Personally, I’m quite emotional and don’t enjoy sticking to rigid routines. I dislike dull or monotonous atmospheres, and sometimes I even act impulsively—when I see something that bothers me, I can’t help but speak up. Clearly, I still lack the maturity of a man in his thirties. Not long after graduating, I found myself on the bus on my way to work when I witnessed a guy making inappropriate advances toward a woman. Without hesitation, I grabbed him and refused to let go, even following him off the bus. I then used a public pay phone nearby to call the police (back then, cell phones were still out of reach for most people). When the officers arrived, they took both of us to the local police station. After hearing our accounts, though, they concluded there wasn’t enough evidence to press charges and ended up releasing the man. Fuming with frustration, I started arguing heatedly with the station chief. To my embarrassment, he slammed his hand on the desk and warned me, “If you keep this up, we’ll have to notify your workplace and ask them to pick you up and take you back.”

At the office meeting, I’m definitely the one who speaks up the most—often saying way too much. Even though I’ve matured a bit under my leader’s guidance, deep down, my natural tendency to blurt out both helpful and unnecessary suggestions hasn’t changed. Before I know it, I end up sharing insights—or maybe even oversharing—that I shouldn’t. Sure, my leaders have been incredibly understanding and continue to appreciate my work. But if this pattern persists, I’ll inevitably start ticking off more and more people along the way. And let’s face it, that doesn’t bode well for my career prospects. On the other hand, if I decide to become a lawyer, things could be much simpler: just focus on doing my job well without worrying too much about what others think or getting tangled up in delicate workplace dynamics.

Of course, I’m also very worried—being a lawyer requires even more rationality and calmness. I wonder if my personality might not be a good fit for this role after all?

When it comes to my career aspirations, I still carry the same passionate ideals that defined college students in the 1980s. I still enjoy reading Wang Guozhen’s poetry and regularly flipping through *Southern Weekend*, a magazine I subscribed to back when I was pursuing my graduate studies. I often dream of a brighter societal vision—envisioning myself playing a small but meaningful role in advancing the nation’s journey toward democracy and the rule of law, striving to contribute my modest efforts and ultimately fulfilling my sense of purpose. Yet, within my workplace, even my off-duty comments are tightly controlled, leaving me feeling as though I’ve been denied a stage to truly shine.

At the time, financially speaking, I had just become a father a few months earlier. While thrilled by the arrival of my newborn, the new addition also brought about a dramatic shift in our family expenses—suddenly, our financial pressure soared. With our combined household income hovering around 3,000+ yuan, we were already feeling the strain. Later, when I decided to resign, the top leader at work summoned me to his office. He asked me directly how much monthly income I thought would be enough to meet our family’s needs. Without hesitation, I grabbed a pen and paper right there and quickly calculated: I’d need at least 6,000 yuan per month. My boss sighed deeply and replied, “That’s twice your current salary—and frankly, even with that kind of income, I still wouldn’t be able to help you out.”

Fortunately, I’ve already consciously addressed some of the foundational challenges of being a lawyer—like improving my public speaking skills and overcoming stage fright. Perhaps influenced by my blood type and astrological sign, before finishing graduate school, I only felt comfortable chatting confidently in front of people I knew well. But as soon as the audience grew larger, I’d freeze up completely, losing my train of thought and stumbling over my words. However, after deliberately choosing to work as an instructor at a university—and delivering lectures for a year or two—I’ve largely managed to shake off that lingering fear and panic of speaking in public. My ability to structure speeches has now returned to normal, and my on-the-spot performance has steadily improved. On top of that, with my household registration and housing situation now settled, I’ve established a solid foundation for both personal stability and professional confidence.

Finally, I’ve decided to walk away from the new position and embrace the uncertain yet liberating path of freelance work—though one that may well be fraught with challenges and obstacles. I no longer want to live a life bound by convention; instead, I crave freedom—and more than that, I’m eager to pursue the ideals I first embraced back in the late 1980s when I first stepped onto campus. My goal has always been to contribute, even in a small way, to fostering integrity and transparency as our nation continues to grow and evolve. Of course, being a lawyer isn’t exactly a stable career—it comes with its own set of risks, after all. But here’s the thing: it doesn’t require you to get bogged down in endless meetings or administrative red tape. Instead, it offers the flexibility to manage your own schedule, allowing for a healthier work-life balance. And let’s not forget the potential financial freedom that could come with higher earnings—factors that make this path irresistibly appealing to me.

After a family meeting and discussion, we agreed on my major decision in an atmosphere where disagreements were minimal. It was shortly after the turn of the millennium, and the legal industry—along with its income prospects—remained uncertain. Venturing out into the unknown carried unpredictable risks, but my family’s support was unwavering: "If things ever get really tough and we can’t make ends meet, we still have steady salaries to fall back on. We’ll manage—we won’t starve."

After a month of persistent persuasion—soft and hard—I finally managed to convince the leaders to agree to my resignation from public service. In that moment, feelings of reluctance toward my current organization mingled with hopeful anticipation for the future, creating a complex mix of emotions.

As an outsider who’s only been working in Beijing for a few years, my unfamiliarity with the city hasn’t improved yet. I don’t have any influential relatives or friends to lean on, and there isn’t even a senior lawyer around to guide or protect me. So, suddenly jumping into this uncertain world—do I still have a future?