關於醫療，我一向懷有與多數人不同的觀點，而這觀點的源頭來自一個關鍵人物：我的父親。

我熟悉我父親的思想邏輯，甚至可以說，對他的處方思維也瞭若指掌。

他受到病患高度推崇，與其說是因為醫術，不如說是他對處方所抱持的特定信念與策略。若真要為此尋找一個背書，他的台大醫科背景也許是重要指標。

病患需要醫生，是因為他們將自己定義為「需要被醫治的人」，而醫生的角色，往往只是滿足病患的安全感。

只要他還擁有那張合法執照，偶爾出席學分講座，診所每日開門，就會有絡繹不絕的病人上門。

就我現今的世界觀與生命觀來看，我父親近六十年的執業歷程，幾乎成為台灣醫療生態的縮影。即便還有另一部分醫者投身進修，其方向也多半脫離了人體的自然法則。

 

當一個人對知識失去好奇、對生活與工作僅以「熟悉」應對，他便默許了自己的停滯。

而這種停滯，在醫師、教育者，甚至政治工作者身上，既不妥，也不應該。

一個有志於活得有意義的人，應當擴大視野，保持對知識的好奇和渴望。大腦，應是一塊永不飽和的海綿。

閱讀與思考是人類大腦的基本運作方式，然而，當前的世界早已悄悄倒車，文字創作雖依舊茂盛，閱讀力卻日漸凋零。

早在父親仍在世時，我便看清他執業的本質，那是一種「已無需進步」的穩定狀態。直到我踏入教育領域，這份領悟才變得格外明晰。

自從挑起「斷食」與「身體智慧」的教育責任，我將閱讀與書寫視為生活的紀律，深知，我所熟知的正是當代最稀缺的健康視角。

 

回憶延續至我母親生命最後十年，我們常帶兩位長輩出遊。父親尚能行走，卻極度懶得動彈。無論在日本或台灣，我們總是四人分工攙扶，而他總是尋找最近的座位就坐。這樣的畫面，讓我對自己的未來立下嚴苛要求。

記得某次全家十餘人前往鶯歌老街，中途搭乘接駁火車。車廂座位已滿，我便目標明確的向一位年輕男子懇求讓座，為我父親爭取一席之地。那一刻，我毫無猶豫。

然而，我內心對於「長者理當被禮遇」的觀念，始終存有微妙的糾結。

也許是我的骨氣使然，畢竟，我心中明確的定見是「老」不必然「衰退」。當社會習慣一種標準，我們更應自我要求，以更高的準則鍛鍊身心。

斷食者皆知，身體會給予回饋。這種練習，不只是健康策略，更是一種超前部署的養生態度。

 

標準，可以自訂；目標，也能自訂。當多數人將健康的判別交給那張健檢報告時，我卻選擇傾聽身體的回音，對我來說，那才是真正的「報告」。

檢查與報告，固然形成一種制度性的驗收，卻也制約了我們的判斷。我反覆驗證後，毅然否定了這種「交卷式」的養生觀。

我更認真踐行自己曾書寫的內容：「不拖累下一代的承諾」。從選擇提早準備、承擔責任，到經營紀律、信任身體，做的是一種逆思維的實踐。

我們的所作所為，常被誤解，但唯有推翻舊有思維，我們才得以與身體建立真正的互動關係：一種逆轉老化、卻又自律承擔的方式。

每當聽到「醫生也會生病」這句話，我總會想起父親，以及那些不諳身體之道而倒下的醫者。他們或許專注工作，但往往忽略了自己最該做、卻從未做的事，那也是九成九的民眾尚未意識到的空白。

 

醫療公式未變，老化趨勢未變，子女照顧父母的命運循環亦未變，真正能改變的，是我們那份選擇走出定調命運的決心。

每天，惰性與舒適圈都在召喚著我們，而我們必須，在「活得更好」與「維持現狀」之間，做出選擇。

人不能懶，也不該惰。那一步，無需懸念。有時，是直覺；有時，則是長期思辨與鍛鍊的結果。

 

（有時候，你必須先拿起槍，才能真正放下它。（唯有經歷，才能真正放下。））

A Decisive Step Forward

When it comes to medicine, I’ve always held a perspective different from most people—and the origin of that perspective stems from one key figure: my father.
I understand his way of thinking intimately; in fact, I could say I know his prescribing logic inside and out.
He was highly respected by his patients—not so much for his medical skills, but for the conviction and strategy he brought to his prescriptions. If one had to cite credentials, his background in medicine from National Taiwan University might serve as a powerful endorsement.

Patients seek doctors because they define themselves as people who need to be treated. And doctors, more often than not, serve primarily to satisfy that sense of security.
As long as he maintained his medical license, occasionally attended continuing education courses, and opened his clinic each day, a steady stream of patients would continue to arrive.

From the lens of my current worldview and philosophy of life, my father’s nearly sixty-year career seems to mirror the entire structure of Taiwan’s medical ecology.
Even those physicians who do pursue further education tend to steer away from nature’s laws as they pertain to the human body.

When one loses curiosity toward knowledge—and responds to both life and work only with the familiarity of routine—that person has tacitly accepted stagnation.
Such stagnation is unacceptable in doctors, educators, and politicians alike.

Anyone who aspires to live meaningfully must expand their perspective and maintain a deep curiosity and hunger for learning.
The brain should be an unsaturable sponge. Reading and reflection are its essential functions.
Yet the world today has quietly regressed: while content creation remains abundant, our capacity for reading is slowly withering.

Even when my father was still alive, I could see clearly that his practice had become a state of “no further need for progress.”
That awareness only deepened after I entered the field of education.
Since embracing the mission of teaching “fasting” and “body intelligence,” I’ve treated reading and writing as disciplines of daily life—knowing full well that the knowledge I cultivate represents one of the most scarce perspectives in modern health.

I often recall the last ten years of my mother’s life. We frequently took both parents on trips.
Though my father was still able to walk, he was extraordinarily reluctant to move. Whether in Japan or Taiwan, the four of us would coordinate to assist him, while he always sought the nearest seat.
Scenes like that shaped the strict standards I now set for my own future.

I remember one family outing to the old street of Yingge. During the trip, we boarded a shuttle train, and the seats were all taken.
Without hesitation, I walked directly up to a young man and asked if he could give up his seat for my father.
Yet even in that moment, I was subtly conflicted about the social belief that “the elderly deserve to be given seats.”

Perhaps it’s my sense of dignity—after all, I firmly believe that “aging” doesn’t necessarily mean “decline.”
When society becomes accustomed to a certain standard, we should hold ourselves to higher ones.
Those who practice fasting know this well: the body offers feedback.
This kind of practice is more than a health strategy—it’s a proactive and forward-thinking philosophy of wellness.

Standards can be self-defined; so can goals.
While most people rely on their annual health reports to determine their well-being, I choose to listen to my body’s messages.
To me, that is the true “report.”

Medical checkups and reports form a system of verification, yes—but they also restrict our own judgment.
After repeated self-testing, I’ve decisively rejected this “test-based” approach to health.

Instead, I’ve earnestly embodied a principle I once wrote about:
“The promise not to burden the next generation.”

This is a path of reverse thinking: choosing to prepare early, taking responsibility, cultivating discipline, and trusting the body.
What I do is often misunderstood, but only by dismantling outdated thinking can we truly build an interactive relationship with the body—one that reverses aging while embracing responsibility.

Whenever I hear the phrase, “Even doctors get sick,” I think of my father—and all those physicians who collapsed without ever understanding the true workings of the body.
They may have devoted themselves to their practice, but they neglected what was most essential—the very thing 99% of the population still hasn’t realized.

Medical protocols haven’t changed. Aging trends haven’t changed.
The generational cycle of children caring for their aging parents hasn’t changed either.
What can change is our resolve—to step outside of a predetermined fate and claim our own.

Every day, inertia and comfort zones call out to us.
But we must choose—between simply maintaining the status quo, or living better and fuller.

Laziness is not an option. Neither is complacency.
That next step must be taken—decisively.

Sometimes, it’s instinct.
Sometimes, it’s the fruit of long reflection and disciplined practice.