二十年，可能是人生的全部，也可能只是人生的一半、四分之一，甚至五分之一。無論比例如何，對一個人的生命而言，二十年絕對不算短。足以習得無數技能，完成無數有意義的事；足以從平地起高樓，足以讓新生嬰孩長成挺拔成人。

然而，二十歲之後的二十年，與五十歲之後的二十年，注定不會一樣。至少，觀點會變，生命的厚度也截然不同。

回顧二十年前的今天，我做了兩個重要的選擇：其一，不再以賺錢為工作唯一的目標；其二，全力以赴養好這條命，因為唯有健康，才可能承載其餘的一切。

 

老實說，我並不確定自己是如何度過這二十年的，這段路很長，在持續學習、不斷成長中，逐步累積出「做該做的事」的座右銘。

在這二十年間，我的父母與妻子先後離世，兩個兒子從少年邁入壯年，而我，也終於領悟這一世來到人間的目的。

當我問自己：這二十年，是否真的把時間用在刀口上？答案留存在書市裡的每一本著作，那是靈感不再空耗的證明，是歲月的深耕印記。

 

活到今日，時間的定義已然改變。未來的二十年，不能複製過去的模組；身體、心理、時間與空間，必須重新取得最適當的平衡。

我對自己許下承諾，也具備十足的決心：將工作做得更深、更好、更有成果。

我自創「Selfasteam」這個詞，自律的斷食團體（Self + Fasting + Team）與「Self-esteem」（自尊）幾乎同音。這絕非巧合。失去健康就失去自尊，沒有自律便無健康。

我們所做之事，終將形塑生命的格局，而一切，終究回到「自己與自己的關係」。

二十年前的我，絕不會相信自己二十年後還這麼辛苦，更不會料到能將養生深化至今日的程度。

我曾寫下：「你必須體悟身體的潛能，方能看穿醫療的無能。」那一刻，人生的大方向已逐漸明朗，隨之而來的，則是更加嚴峻的修行與考驗。

 

記得在這段路程的前期，我曾在部落格寫下：「人生只有兩條路，一條不斷進步，另一條原地踏步。」這不是對他人說的箴言，而是對自己不斷鞭策的提醒。

我始終相信：進步的維度，應該勝過銀行存款的深度。生命的價值，不在外求，而在內修。

這些年來，有許多貴人陪伴在身邊。有些是學生，有些是摯友。他們的出現，也許不是偶然，而是一段未竟的緣分延續。有時，一句話、一個眼神，就足以在關鍵時刻點醒我。

將自己定位為一個「必須不斷進步」的存在，那是一種智慧的選擇，也是我樂在其中的生命節奏。

當我做得還不夠好時，總會有事件來提醒我，或是有某人帶來重要的對話。

當自問「何德何能？」時，我便自答：「那就持續精進，往上爬升。」。聽懂「要就要最好的」這句開示，提醒自己，應專注於生命的維度，而非物質的層次。

 

若再給我二十年，人類對健康的認知是否能全面翻轉？理智上我明白，這樣的觀念汰換可能需要更多時間，甚至五十年也未必足夠。

但我深信：凡是真正進入「身體之道」的人，都有機會在有生之年逆轉身體的病痛，前提是，你必須先選擇相信自己的身體。

每一位希望斷根病痛、甚至逐步脫離藥物的人，請以我這二十年的軌跡為基礎，對照自己的人生節奏，不要操之過急，也絕不能停下學習的腳步。

說到學習，我發現最大的障礙來自人類大腦的思辨，你以為你懂了，其實還不夠。因為有些理解，無需證據，也不依賴數字，而是透過不斷的體悟與內省。

 

如果二十年後我還在，一定還會繼續研習養生，繼續寫字、聽音樂、走路、打坐。

不奢求桃李滿天下，只願我們能為下一代留下豐富的知識資料庫，為後代子孫保留一份傳承的實力，願我們開枝散葉的版圖，終能遍及世界。

 

（能在這個行業堅持二十年，真的是一種很棒的感覺，這種感受，我甚至難以形容。）

 

Twenty Years

Twenty years—
it could represent the entirety of a life, or half of it, perhaps a quarter, even just a fifth.
Regardless of the proportion, twenty years is by no means short in the span of a human life.
It’s enough time to master countless skills, accomplish meaningful work, raise skyscrapers from flat earth, or witness a newborn grow into a tall, full-grown adult.

Yet, the twenty years after turning twenty are not the same as those after turning fifty.
At the very least, the perspective shifts. The depth of life deepens.

Looking back at myself two decades ago, I made two crucial decisions:
First, I chose no longer to make money the sole purpose of my work.
Second, I committed to doing everything I could to care for my health—because only with health can anything else take root.

To be honest, I’m not quite sure how I made it through these twenty years.
It was a long road, paved with constant learning and growth.
Along the way, I gradually formed a life motto: Do what must be done.

In these two decades, my parents and my wife passed away.
My two sons grew from teenagers into men.
And I, too, finally understood the deeper reason I came into this world.

When I ask myself, “Did I truly put my time to its best use?”—
I find my answer in every book I’ve published.
Each one holds the proof that inspiration was not wasted, that time was not lost in vain.

Now, at this point in life, I view time differently.
The next twenty years cannot simply replicate the last.
My body, mind, time, and space must be rebalanced to meet the future with wisdom.

I made a promise to myself—and I stand firm in it:
I will make my work deeper, better, more impactful.

I coined the word Selfasteam, a fusion of Self, Fasting, and Team—a near homonym of Self-esteem. That is no coincidence.
Lose your health, and you lose your self-respect.
Without self-discipline, health cannot be sustained.
What we do ultimately shapes the architecture of our lives.
Everything, in the end, returns to the relationship between you and yourself.

Twenty years ago, I never would have believed I’d still be laying foundations two decades later.
Nor could I have imagined I’d explore the depths of health and healing to this extent.

I once wrote, “Only when you comprehend the body’s potential can you see through the medical system’s limitations.”
When I penned those words, my direction in life had begun to clarify—and with it, came even greater challenges and trials.

I recall, early in the journey, writing in my blog:
“Life offers only two roads—either you keep moving forward, or you stand still.”
It wasn’t meant to be wise counsel to others—it was a stern reminder to myself.

I’ve always believed:
The dimension of one’s personal growth should far exceed the depth of one’s bank account.
The value of life is not in outward gain, but inward cultivation.

Over the years, many kind souls have walked beside me.
Some are students, some close companions.
Perhaps their presence wasn’t chance, but a continuation of bonds from before.
Sometimes, a single phrase, a look, a moment of affirmation—
is enough to bring clarity at just the right time.

Positioning myself as someone who must keep progressing—
That, to me, is a wise arrangement.
And I take joy in this rhythm of living: to be better today than I was yesterday.

When I fall short, life sends me reminders—
or someone brings along an important conversation.
When I question, “What have I done to deserve this?”,
I answer: “Then keep rising higher.”

The teaching, “If you want it, want the best,”
guides me to stay focused not on material accumulation, but on the spiritual dimension of life.

If I were given another twenty years—
could humanity’s understanding of health be transformed?

Logically, I know such a paradigm shift may take far longer—
perhaps fifty years, and even that might not suffice.

But I am certain of this:
Anyone who truly walks the path of the body
has the chance to reverse illness within their lifetime.
The first step, though, is to believe in your own body.

To those hoping to heal, to those seeking freedom from medication—
Use my twenty years as a foundation.
Measure it against your own rhythm.
Don’t rush.
And above all, never stop learning.

When it comes to learning, the greatest obstacle I see lies in the human brain’s tendency to overthink.
You think you understand—but often, you don’t.
Some forms of understanding require no proof, no statistics.
They rely solely on continuous realization and inner reflection.

If I’m still here twenty years from now—
you’ll find me still writing about health,
still answering questions,
still listening to music,
still walking,
still meditating.

I don’t long for widespread recognition.
I only hope we can leave behind a rich library of knowledge for the next generation—
a legacy robust enough to be passed on to our children’s children.
And may the branches we’ve nurtured eventually stretch to every corner of the world.