Between History and Case Studies: Navigating Two Ways of Thinking

Two Starting Points, One Mind

My life has unfolded between two worlds: the deep-rooted traditions of China and the pragmatic pace of Canada. Most of my formative years were spent in China—immersed in classrooms, family gatherings, and early career moments—before I moved to Vancouver, where a new rhythm of thinking took hold. This uneven split shaped not just my habits, but the very way I approach ideas and conversations.

What surprised me most wasn’t just the obvious differences in language or custom, but how each culture begins a conversation. The starting point—the first reference, the first question—quietly steers the entire dialogue. It’s less about who’s right or wrong, and more about where the journey of thought begins.

Beginning With Five Thousand Years

In China, conversations often begin with a sweeping view: “If we look at the five-thousand-year history…” Whether the topic is education, career, or social change, the discussion opens wide before narrowing in. History isn’t just background—it’s the foundation. Referencing dynasties, philosophies, or long social cycles makes every present moment feel like part of a much larger story. Even small choices seem to echo with collective memory.

This approach feels circular, revisiting themes from many angles before reaching a conclusion. But the circle isn’t inefficient—it’s holistic. The goal is to see the forest before the tree, to understand the big picture before the details. This creates depth, patience, and a sense of meaning that goes beyond the merely practical.

Entering Through the Specific

In Vancouver, the starting point is different. Conversations begin not with centuries, but with cases: “What’s the objective?” “Do we have an example?” “What does the data say?” Instead of expanding outward, the discussion narrows in. A professor introduces a theory through a single scenario. A meeting starts with SMART goals, not philosophical context. The focus is on movement—define the problem, test a solution, refine it quickly.

At first, this felt abrupt, like skipping the prologue of a book. But I grew to appreciate its clarity. Starting with specifics creates momentum. The conversation doesn’t circle; it moves forward, step by step. It’s less ceremonial, more experimental—less about continuity, more about progress.

Two Rhythms, Two Strengths

Over time, I realized these aren’t opposites, but different rhythms of thought. One begins with context and identity; the other with action and measurement. The history-first approach cultivates depth, collective awareness, and a long-term view—always asking, “How does this fit into the bigger story?” The case-first approach values precision, efficiency, and accountability—always asking, “What can we test right now?”

In school, this meant connecting ideas across disciplines in one place, and isolating variables in another. At work, I saw how one style encouraged harmony and vision, while the other pushed for decisiveness and iteration. Neither is superior; each reveals what the other might miss.

Learning to Switch Lenses

Spending more years in China, then adapting to Canada, didn’t split my thinking—it layered it. I noticed when my instinct was to zoom out too far, tracing origins before addressing the immediate issue. I also saw when colleagues wanted to zoom in quickly, sometimes missing the broader implications.

Gradually, I learned to switch lenses. In strategy, starting with context builds alignment and meaning. In operations, starting with a clear case accelerates progress. The real skill isn’t choosing one style over the other, but knowing which entry point fits the moment. It’s less about culture, more about cognitive flexibility.

Where the Two Paths Meet

What stays with me isn’t the contrast, but the complement. Beginning with history prevents tunnel vision; beginning with a case prevents stagnation. One roots direction in understanding, the other turns understanding into action.

Growing up with more years in China and formative experiences in Canada didn’t force a choice between circular and linear logic. It showed me that thinking styles are tools, not identities. Some conversations need the wide circle that honors continuity; others need the straight line that moves ideas forward.

In the end, the most valuable insight isn’t picking a side. It’s realizing that perspective is adjustable—that the mind can hold both the long arc of history and the urgency of the present, without losing sight of either.