By Jane Sonnenschein
First written on April 8, 2026 · Revised on October 28, 2026

Today, while scrolling through the list of WeChat Official Accounts I follow, I came across one I had subscribed to many years ago. WeChat Official Accounts are publishing channels within the Chinese messaging app WeChat, somewhat like a combination of blogs and email newsletters.

I have to admit that I haven’t spent much time reading articles there over the past two years. If I hadn’t started writing again last year, I probably would have forgotten many of the accounts I used to follow. So the names that are still on my list feel strangely familiar, almost like old friends from a different period of my life.

This writer was one of them.

She is a fairly well-known figure in China’s WeChat publishing community. She didn’t become popular overnight because of one or two viral articles. She had been writing and building her audience for years, and her story was often used as an example in writing courses.

I happened to read one of her recent articles today. What caught my attention wasn’t another writing method or a new lesson about success. It was the fact that she had begun talking about why she wanted to slow down.

Looking back on her earlier life, she described herself as someone who was always extremely goal-oriented. Take losing weight, for example. She didn’t particularly enjoy the process, nor did she pay much attention to how she felt along the way. Almost all her attention went toward the final result: Had she lost the weight? Had she reached the number she wanted?

She approached many other things in much the same way. Once she had decided on a goal, she would work hard to remove distractions and direct as much time and energy as possible toward achieving it. Whether the process was enjoyable, or whether other parts of life deserved her attention, seemed less important at the time.

As I read her reflections, I began to think that she wasn’t describing only herself. She also reminded me of many people who became successful during the early boom of WeChat Official Accounts and China’s wider online content industry.

These people often seemed to have an extraordinary drive. It wasn’t simply a matter of being hardworking or disciplined. They knew exactly what they wanted, and they were willing to put almost everything else aside to get there.

If they wanted to make money, gain followers, or build a business to a certain size, they could set aside things that had little to do with that goal and focus on the actions most likely to produce results.

During the years when online content platforms were growing rapidly, that ability could be especially rewarding.

Platforms offered many opportunities to people who were willing to keep producing content and act quickly. If you published enough, learned how the platforms worked, and were prepared to explore new ways of earning money, you had a chance of growing your audience and increasing your income.

Of course, effort and success have never had a guaranteed cause-and-effect relationship. But during that period, the connection often seemed more direct than it does today. It was easier to believe that if you kept working, became more efficient, and pushed yourself a little harder, your next achievement would be greater than your last.

That was why I found it so interesting to see someone who had once done so well under those rules looking back and wondering whether she had neglected too much of life along the way.

Her article made me curious enough to revisit some of the success stories that writing courses had promoted for years. I wanted to understand what those people had in common, and whether the qualities that had helped them succeed were still just as effective today.

The more I looked, the more I noticed something that is easy to overlook.

Many of these successful writers were not necessarily the most talented or thoughtful people among those learning to write. Nor were they always the ones with the strongest writing skills. But they generally had a very clear idea of why they were writing, and they were prepared to keep taking action toward that goal.

Over the past couple of days, I came across some remarkable examples. One person wrote four hundred articles in a year. Another kept writing while holding a baby. Someone continued staying up late to write television reviews around the time of her mother-in-law’s funeral. Another completed thirty-five pieces in a single month.

Some had very little writing experience when they started, but once they decided to pursue writing professionally, they actively looked for opportunities to submit articles, take on paid assignments, and earn money from their work.

These were exceptional cases, of course, and they shouldn’t be treated as examples everyone ought to follow. When I read about people continuing to work through major family events, I admire their commitment, but I also wonder what such a way of living must have cost them.

Still, there is something about their abilities that I genuinely admire, partly because it is something I have always struggled with myself.

When it comes to writing, I often spend a great deal of time thinking about questions that arise before I have even begun.

Which account would be the right place for this article? Is my account focused enough? Does this writing style feel too formulaic? Is the title too ordinary, or does the way I’m expressing an idea go against what I originally wanted to say?

Sometimes I take those questions even further. If people follow an account because they enjoy one type of content, will they lose interest when I write about something completely different?

These are not meaningless concerns. For someone who hopes to write over the long term while keeping a personal voice, questions about positioning, style, and readers’ expectations do deserve attention.

But I also have to admit that when the same questions appear before every attempt to do something, they can gradually become a source of exhaustion rather than a useful part of making decisions.

People with very clear goals seem better able to reduce these questions to something practical: Will this help me move closer to what I want?

If the answer is yes, they are willing to start. If not, they put it aside for the time being.

So while I might still be wondering how to write something in a way that feels right to me, or how to arrange my content without confusing my audience, someone else may already have written an article, submitted it, taken on a paid assignment, tried a new platform, or earned money from the first attempt.

Whether the process feels natural, whether every sentence reflects their personal taste, or whether the approach seems too commercial often comes second.

I used to think these differences were mainly about writing ability or how quickly someone could learn. But looking at those examples again has made me realize that what separates people is sometimes not just their writing skills.

It may also be their ability to keep working toward a goal over a long period of time, and their willingness to set aside concerns that don’t directly affect the result.

This has led me back to a question: Why is it that, when people begin writing, some eventually manage to earn money from it while others make very little progress?

Of course, income depends on many things, including individual ability, available opportunities, and the stage of development a platform has reached. It would be too simple to explain success entirely through personality.

But judging from these examples, writing ability may not be the only important factor.

For people whose goals are to earn money and grow an audience, the ability to produce content consistently, look for opportunities, and avoid getting stuck in endless hesitation may be just as important.

In a way, this realization has also made me reconsider some of the principles I have tried to follow in my own writing.

I have always felt that writing should come as naturally as possible and reflect what I genuinely think and feel. I don’t want every article to follow the same formula simply because that is what a platform rewards. Nor do I want to keep repeating things I don’t really believe just to attract more attention.

These preferences are not an attempt to appear superior to anyone else. Writing simply means something different to me. I don’t want it to become entirely a process of producing content in exchange for numbers and results.

But from another perspective, the choices made by people who approach writing as a business are easy to understand.

If the goal is to make money, reach more readers, and build a successful account, then studying platform rules, adjusting content, increasing output, and even setting aside some personal preferences are all practical decisions.

Perhaps the difference between us is not that one side understands writing better than the other. Perhaps writing has simply been serving different purposes in our lives from the beginning.

What stayed with me most about that writer’s article, though, was not just the difference between people like her and people like me.

It was why, after so many years, she had begun questioning the way she used to live.

One possible explanation that came to mind was that the environment itself had changed.

When content platforms were growing quickly and attracting followers was relatively easy, strong ambition and sustained effort often brought visible rewards. Someone might gain more attention by publishing regularly, improve their results by learning how an algorithm worked, or increase their income by recognizing a new opportunity early.

When hard work repeatedly leads to measurable progress, it is natural to believe that your approach is working. You become more willing to keep going in the same direction.

But once a platform matures, competition increases, and more and more content becomes available, the relationship between effort and reward may become less direct.

Methods that once helped an account grow quickly may no longer work as well. Posting more frequently may no longer bring the attention it once did.

That doesn’t mean effort has become worthless. It means that the rewards for effort increasingly depend on factors beyond any individual’s control.

For someone who has grown accustomed to measuring their efforts through results, this can be difficult.

Even if they maintain the same discipline and work just as hard as before, they may no longer be able to achieve the growth they once enjoyed. The approach that used to work so well begins to reach its limits.

In the past, setting aside other parts of life in pursuit of a goal may have seemed worthwhile because each achievement made up for what had been sacrificed along the way.

But when the outcome becomes less certain, a question that could once be postponed becomes harder to avoid:

If I have already put so much into something, yet still cannot be sure of getting the results I hoped for, what does the process itself mean to me?

I wonder whether this may be one reason why some people who have spent ten or even fifteen years creating online content are beginning to talk more openly about life, feelings, and their relationship with themselves.

When they were younger, their strong sense of purpose and remarkable ability to get things done helped them take advantage of the opportunities available at the time. Through years of effort, they built something substantial.

But as they grow older, gain more life experience, and face changes in the platforms they depend on, things they once felt able to ignore may gradually become important again.

A person cannot spend an entire lifetime thinking only about the next increase in followers, the next target, or the next achievement. Especially when those results become harder to obtain, experiences that cannot be translated directly into numbers or income may begin to matter more.

Of course, I don’t know exactly why that writer has changed her perspective now.

I cannot conclude from a single article that she wants to slow down because the opportunities of an earlier era have faded. Perhaps the change has come naturally with age and experience. Perhaps she has achieved enough to give herself more freedom to decide how she wants to live.

But her reflections did help me see another side of a life built around goals.

The advantage of that approach is that it can keep a person moving for a long time and improve their chances of getting results.

Its limitation is that when someone spends years placing results at the center of life, and becomes accustomed to judging their own worth by whether they have achieved their goals, changes in the outside world can leave them struggling to find a new sense of direction.

The same may happen when a goal no longer provides the satisfaction it once did.

As I reached this point in my writing, I realized that the time I had spent looking through those old success stories had not been wasted.

In the past, I tended to notice how much those people worked and how relentlessly they pursued their goals. Then I would turn the comparison back on myself and wonder why I couldn’t do the same.

I admired their efficiency, but I was also puzzled by my own habit of hesitating over details that seemed to cause them very little trouble.

Now I can see their achievements a little more clearly.

Much of their success came from knowing what they wanted and making consistent, practical choices in pursuit of it. They were not necessarily smarter than everyone else or more capable in every respect. Their way of working simply gave them a particular advantage in the environment they were in.

At the same time, I have begun to understand that this way of living is not suitable for everyone.

And just because some people succeeded with it during a particular period does not mean it is the path everyone must follow if they want to achieve something.

For me, recognizing this doesn’t mean giving up my expectations for what I write or how I express myself. Nor does it mean I should turn myself into someone who cares only about how efficiently writing can be turned into income.

I still want writing to make room for personal thought and feeling.

But I also need to acknowledge that my tendency to question everything before taking action has sometimes held me back. Some of the questions I spend so much time worrying about could probably be answered after I have actually started doing the work.

I can learn from successful writers’ clearer sense of purpose and their ability to act without having to adopt their entire way of living.

After all, learning a useful skill and accepting a particular lifestyle are two different things.

And when I think again about the article I read today, what strikes me most is that someone who once placed goals and results at the center of her life has begun taking the experience of living itself more seriously.

Perhaps she has already spent enough years learning how to work tirelessly toward one goal after another. Now she is trying to learn something that sounds simple but may be surprisingly difficult: how to continue working and pursuing goals while also paying attention to how she feels, without treating every moment of life as merely another step toward a result.

I suspect this change is not limited to people who create online content.

It may be something many people who have spent years working hard, competing, and chasing achievements eventually have to face.

From a young age, many of us become familiar with the idea of working toward a goal. We learn how to become more efficient, how to persevere, and how to overcome difficulties.

But we may be far less familiar with how to value the life we are living when there is no clear result waiting at the end.

So what moved me most today was not simply that she had finally decided to slow down.

It was that she had begun to acknowledge something she had once overlooked: whether or not we reach our goals, the life we experience along the way, and the feelings that come with it, deserve our attention too.

For many people who have grown used to measuring themselves through hard work and results, perhaps learning this is even harder than learning how to work harder.

This essay is also available in other languages:

Chinese version: 为什么越努力的人，最后反而慢下来了？

German version: Warum werden ausgerechnet die Menschen, die am härtesten arbeiten, irgendwann langsamer?