Mazes

I’m standing at a crossroad with three options: turn left, turn right, or walk forward. Where is the way out? I wonder.

I love mazes. As a child, this meant solving puzzle books and life-size mazes like it was my part-time job. Later, I moved on to enjoy solving more complex mazes, including number theory conjectures and Sudokus. As I matured, I started to recognize the maze-like qualities in other areas of my life. As a songwriter, I approach both composing and maze-solving with unconventional methods. I love to experiment with breaking boundaries set by the conventions of genres or by exploring rare chord and melodic progressions. I might use a jazzy A9b13 chord to spice up a ballad, for example, or add trumpet to an alternative rock demo. Though it may sound odd, as a researcher, I’ve also found maze-like qualities in my research. Particularly, the obstacles I’ve encountered, such as experimental failure or absences of data have shaped me to accept and enjoy retracing steps, or even starting over completely.

But there’s one maze that I haven’t quite solved yet.

I remember once encountering a young girl lost in a life-size maze. She grasped tightly onto the wooden fence and called out for her mother. The interesting thing was that she could see the exit; she just couldn’t get there on her own. Following my gut, I turned around to help and walked her through the exit. I felt proud and relieved as she was reunited with her mother.

Years later, though, I wondered if my intuition was correct. While I believe my heart was in the right place, to this day, I wonder if walking her to the exit was the best choice. Should I have let her solve the maze on her own—to stay lost just a bit longer, and maybe find her own way?

This wasn’t an isolated event. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve begun seeing it as a representation of something larger.

Five years ago, I founded Dream4Reading, an education-focused NGO that aims to improve extracurricular education for underprivileged students in China. Initially, we decided to donate books to schools. But then, we decided to enter the schools and teach in-person. Three years later, we’ve developed an e-learning platform in order to reach more students. Along the way, however, I’ve wondered: as educators and mentors, when should we closely follow the progress of the students, and when should we remain hands-off and let them explore independently?

In my own life, I haven’t always received help on critical decisions. I was one of the first students in my town to study in the United States. I taught myself to tie a tie for my first campus interview, and I independently joined my first interscholastic sports team.

Surely, it’s sometimes good to directly help someone, but there can also be great value in letting someone figure things out on their own. At Dream4Reading, I’m constantly returning to this paradox. For example, in lessons, while I try to only give hints instead of telling answers outright, I also attempt to walk the students through every step of a problem. It’s not perfect, but I can only keep trying.

So, back to my dilemma: if I could meet that girl in the maze again, would I act differently? Frankly, I don’t know.

I can’t help but feel that, in some ways, I am that girl. I stand in a maze in which I can see the exit—in this case, helping my students receive a well-deserved education—but the way to reach there remains unclear. Yes, I’m trapped in the maze, but that’s not so scary after all. The best I can do is to watch, listen, and trust my experience in finding unconventional means of success to best help the students I serve.

Pause. Take a breath. There’s a long way to go.