Jensen Huang may never see this blog post. If he does, he may be too busy to reply. Even if he replies, he may not stop to listen to a piece of qin music.
Still, I would like to call out: Jensen, how about trying the qin?
After all, a suggestion need not receive an answer to be worth making.
Let me begin with an ordinary official who lived more than a century ago.
More than a century ago, an ordinary Chinese official began learning the qin.
His name was Li Boren, and he came from Guiyang in Hunan. He studied, went abroad, returned to China, and entered public service. In 1912, after taking up a post in Beijing, he began studying with Huang Mianzhi. Later, he continued with Yang Zongji.
In the long course of Chinese history, he was an ordinary official. In the qin world, his name also survives. But this is not an account of his achievements, nor an attempt to turn him into an example everyone should follow.
What interests me is simpler: a qin became part of his life.
Outside his official duties, he learned pieces, explored finger techniques, and recorded his discoveries. He began studying Qiu Hong in 1921. In 1929, he was still writing about new insights into the same piece. One expression in his diary particularly moves me: “only now understood.”
A piece he had played for years still offered something new.
These records cannot tell us what he felt every time he sat before the instrument. They do show that, beyond public duties and everyday affairs, he kept a part of his life for the qin.
I like to think of that companionship this way:
After half a lifetime of public service and restless journeys, amid the noise of the world, the qin became a home for his inner life.
That thought is something I would like to offer to everyone.
Li Boren had not discovered a new path. For more than two thousand years, people in China have turned to the qin to express feelings and cultivate their inner lives. Its stories survive in poetry and scores, but also in the lives of generations of players.
Some served at court. Others lived far from it. Their circumstances differed, as did the place of music in their lives. Yet the instrument offered a possibility: time apart from the business of the world, spent in one's own company.
Playing did not require abandoning a career. Duties remained. Responsibilities still mattered. They simply did not have to occupy every corner of the mind.
The qin is quiet and restrained. It does not always need an audience. Every session need not become a performance. Sitting alone, plucking a string, and listening as its sound fades can be a complete experience in itself.
Feelings we cannot quite put into words may find expression in sound. Thoughts crowded out by daily affairs may have room to return.
To me, this is one reason the qin continues to matter. Yet many people know that it is ancient without knowing what it might have to do with their own lives.
So let me call out across the distance:
Jensen Huang, how about playing the qin?
Recently, a fan-made AI parody on Douyin imagined you in a leather jacket, dancing like Michael Jackson. The internet suggests dancing; William suggests the qin. Movement or stillness, either can be a pleasure outside work.
The suggestion is also for Elon Musk, Donald Trump, and others whose days are filled with politics, business, and technology.
On television and social platforms, at talks and launches, even in coverage of state visits, I keep seeing some of you. Speaking, presenting, answering questions, heading toward another engagement. It can look as though you never clock out.
Often, I am resting when I see you working. Your busy lives become part of our quiet moments.
Of course, a screen does not show an entire life. You have your own leisure and interests. Trump plays golf; others have other ways of taking a break.
I am not here to teach you how to rest. Nor is this about political positions or judgments on anyone's career. I simply believe that busy people need rest too. When you choose to take it, I would like to suggest another possibility: listen to the qin, and, if it interests you, try playing.
It need not replace anything you already enjoy. It is one more choice.
Generation after generation, people pursue goals. Some seek fulfillment in their own lives. Some work for others. Some hope to contribute to humanity.
Lasting work needs both commitment and renewal. A full life can include knowing when to concentrate and when to set a task aside.
Even the robots Musk develops need to stop and recharge. Humans need pauses too.
It is almost as though the creator built this rule into us: however important the task, however strong the ambition, eventually we must turn away for a while. Sleepiness does not wait for a convenient deadline. Fatigue does not make exceptions for famous names.
Work may have no end. People still need pauses.
There are many ways to take them: golf, fishing, walking, traveling, or spending time on something we enjoy. Attention can move away from the matters that have occupied it. Those matters have not disappeared. For this moment, we can simply stop thinking about them.
The qin is one such possibility.
Listen to a piece, or pluck a few strings yourself. Bring your attention to the sound: how it begins, changes, and fades. Let the day's questions wait a little.
But listening or playing should not become another source of pressure.
You do not need a deadline for learning a piece, a plan to perform, or another scorecard. There are techniques to learn, certainly, but your pace can follow your interest and available time.
As with a leisurely fishing trip, there need not be a required catch. As with a round of golf, every outing need not finish below par. Taking something seriously can be enjoyable; a result need not be the reason for every attempt.
If you feel like listening today, listen. If you feel like playing, begin with one string.
Stay longer when you are interested. Return another day when life is busy. If you cannot play yet, that is fine. Listen first, and see whether you like what you hear.
Not every interest needs to become an achievement. Not every hour needs to prove something.
For those who want to explore deeply, the qin offers a world that can last a lifetime. Li Boren's “only now understood” reminds us that familiar music can still hold unfamiliar discoveries.
For someone who simply wants to hear a piece after a working day, it can be quiet companionship.
There is no need to rank these ways of enjoying it. Follow your interest as far as it takes you.
Jensen Huang's background across Chinese and American cultures made me think of calling out to him first. Not because I assume he will enjoy the qin, but because I hope this old Chinese instrument might enter his field of view.
This article, however, is not only for him, or for people shaping the world.
It is also for those still thinking about work after leaving it, those running a small shop, and those caring for families while managing everyday demands.
You do not need a famous name to deserve some time of your own.
More than a century ago, Li Boren began learning the qin outside his official duties.
Today, you have your own life and your own ways of resting. If you wish, let a little qin music become one of them.
Listen first. If you are interested, try playing.
Amid the noise of the world, may you too find a home for your inner life.
0 comments