A New Father's Reflections on the American Dream

One of my July 4th traditions is to do a crossfit hero workout at my local gym. This year, my gym chose the workout Witten. I finished it in 51 minutes and 41 seconds this morning; it was a slog!

Another one of my July 4th habits is to reflect on the shifting meaning of the American Dream. This year, the reflection got more complex, because we had a baby boy late last year. The meaning and prospect of this dream is no longer just about my future, but more so his future.

I’ve sworn the oath to protect the US constitution three times in my life so far -- once to become a naturalized citizen, once to work at the Commerce Department, once to work at the White House. And I’ve taken that oath seriously and sincerely every time. A big part of that sincerity comes from a worship of the American Dream’s promise and a desire to protect that promise, so it’s always available to myself, the people around me, and my future generation. That future generation is no longer a concept but a real person I care for everyday.

Nowadays, I often lie awake in the middle of night thinking about whether the American Dream will still be intact when he grows up and how I would tell him about it. (Sleepless nights are frequent occurrences when you have a baby in the house, so might as well make good use of them!) I’m sure he will get a healthy dose of the usual sales pitches of the American Dream, all of which have a materialistic overtone: buy a big house, be an entrepreneur, become a billionaire or a star athlete (or Meta’s highest paid AI researcher), etc. If he ever asks his dad about it, I would offer him a more nuanced, less grandiose definition:

In a world where no one can choose where they are born, America is this special place, where regardless of where you came from, you can be anything you want to be and not be bothered.

I arrived at this definition a couple of years ago (probably during another July 4th reflection), because so much of the immigrant intent is rooted in a simple hope to be left alone to be who they want to be. Some of them are indeed ambitious and driven in the conventional sense; they are the ones the media celebrates. But most aren’t, yet they went through the same hardship and extraordinary risk of uprooting to a foreign country. Why? So they can live in a safe place, be ordinary and anonymous, and humbly do right by their family, community, religion, and acquire some normal human needs that their countries of origin somehow don’t let them have.

What I struggle with is: do I tell my son that the “anything” part actually has a limit and the “not be bothered” part can’t be assumed? These caveats are rooted in my own immigrant experience.

I had never thought I would have the opportunity to work in the White House earlier in my career – an honor and privilege I carry to this day. For a while, I was dead set on devoting my life to public service, work in multiple administrations hopefully, and rise up the ranks to the top. Maybe national security advisor, heck even an ambassador or a cabinet position one day, so I can use my story and multilingual, multicultural skills to propagate the American Dream around the world for peace and harmony. Yes, I was naive as the world changed, especially for people who look like me or with my last name or anyone with inconvenient last names.

Senator Andy Kim of New Jersey shared his struggle, when he was a senior staffer in the State Department, where he realized that he wouldn't be trusted and would hit a ceiling if he had worked on North Korean issues because of his Korean heritage. More recently and sinisterly, Alex Wong, the principal national security advisor under Trump’s second term, was “bothered” by the MAGA provocateur, Laura Loomer, alleging that he had CCP connections through his father-in-law who already passed away eight years ago. This race-baiting allegation led to him losing his post and being sidelined. Many similar cases of indignity happen throughout the American foreign policy and national security establishment, full of intelligent and hard working true believers of the American Dream, who are saddled with inconvenient last names.

I have lamented half-jokingly in private over the years that if only my last name wasn’t spelled in the Mandarin Chinese pinyin way, perhaps my aspiration in public service would have gone farther. My son bears my last name. “Anything” is not anything.

When it comes to “not be bothered”, my son already got bothered during his short time on this planet; he just doesn’t know it yet. Because I now run my own investment fund and work for myself, I buy healthcare from the Obamacare marketplace for my family. After my son was born, I needed to add him onto our family’s plan. As it turns out, the hardest, most cumbersome part was to prove that he is a US citizen! Providing his birth certificate was not enough. I had to send in a second form of identification, which we managed to get from his pediatrician. Since when did babies in America need “two-factor authentication” to secure healthcare? How worried are we, as a nation, with newborns scamming health benefits?

As I dutifully sent in my son’s multiple proofs of citizenship, I was bothered. Joe Wilson’s infamous and shameful scream of “you lie!” during President Obama’s state of the union address fifteen years ago rang loud in my ears. The latest legal controversies over birthright citizenship rang louder.

These aren’t complaints, just equanimous if not uncomfortable recognitions of reality. There are still many “shots on goal” to take in this land of opportunities for the curious and industrious. I had a fruitful career in tech after leaving DC. I'm now fully absorbed in the art of investing, a craft I love and excited to hone for the next 30 to 40 years. (Our first half performance was very solid, by the way, and I look forward to sharing the result and some takeaways in a few weeks!)

The one reality none of us get to choose is where we are born. I didn’t choose to be born in China in the 1980s, any more than my son chose to be born in the United States at this moment in time. Did he win the ovarian lottery? It is hard to tell.

He is born into a country that is rife with xenophobia and drunk on debt – the “Big Beautiful Bill” just added another $3.4 trillion to the tab and will require even more paperwork to maintain healthcare coverage under Obamacare. (Two-factor document authentication may no longer be enough.) As his dad, I’m already thinking about ways to earn and save more, so his prospects won’t get dragged down by irresponsible politicians vis-a-vis other kids. (Parenthood can make you both more selfless and more selfish.)

On a micro level, he is growing up in a safe area on a quiet street, where neighbors still bring cookies to welcome newcomers, wave when they drive by, and look out for each other. It is a small piece of paradise that sometimes feels like a time machine – not a bad setup to live his own version of the American Dream.

In the end, all I want to give my child (and hopefully children) is the standard that Warren Buffett set: give them enough so they can do anything, but not so much that they can do nothing.

Except anything isn't aaaanything. Some dreams stay dreams.

If my son wants to be ordinary, have a normal life, and just enjoy his local gym, I would support him all the way, but remind him to finish his workout no matter how long it takes. But if he ever tells me that his dream is to become the national security advisor, the secretary of state, or heck even the president, I’ll tell him about the tales of Andy Kim and Alex Wong, then support him all the way just the same and fight back the Loomers.