Introduction
What If Everything We Teach Children About Success Is Wrong?
A fictional conversation among five experts inspired by Min Jin Lee's American Hagwon
A boy comes home with a 98 on his mathematics examination.
His mother looks at the paper and asks, "What happened to the other two points?"
She thinks she's preparing him for success.
He wonders whether he'll ever be good enough.
What if the greatest danger of our education system isn't that children will fail, but that they'll succeed at everything except learning how to live?
In American Hagwon, Min Jin Lee explores the extraordinary hopes, sacrifices, and pressures surrounding education, immigration, family, and the pursuit of success.
But the questions raised by her novel reach far beyond Korean private academies.
Why do loving parents sometimes make their children afraid of disappointing them? Why can wealthy families purchase educational advantages that others cannot afford? And what happens when someone achieves everything society celebrates, only to discover that something essential is missing?
Research makes these questions difficult to dismiss.
The OECD's Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA) examines educational achievement alongside equity and student well-being. Meanwhile, the Harvard Study of Adult Development has spent decades investigating the relationships between adult lives, health, and happiness.
In this imagined discussion, Jennifer Breheny Wallace, Angela Duckworth, Andreas Schleicher, Ju-Ho Lee, and Robert Waldinger confront three unsettling questions:
Are we raising successful children or anxious adults?
If education is the great equalizer, why can wealthy families buy more of it?
What if everything we call success is missing the point?
They don't agree on everything. Some defend perseverance and academic excellence. Others question the emotional price of relentless competition. Together, they explore whether education should merely prepare children to win, or help them decide what makes a life worth living.
Editor's Note: This is an original imaginary conversation inspired by Min Jin Lee's American Hagwon. The five participants are real experts, but their dialogue is fictional, informed by their published research and perspectives. It does not represent an actual meeting, interview, or endorsement.
Topic 1: Are We Raising Successful Children or Anxious Adults?
An imaginary conversation inspired by Min Jin Lee's American Hagwon
Participants: Jennifer Breheny Wallace, Angela Duckworth, Andreas Schleicher, Ju-Ho Lee, and Robert Waldinger.
Editor's Note: This is a fictional conversation. The participants are real scholars and experts, but the dialogue is imagined, informed by their published research and perspectives. These are not their actual words.
Jennifer Breheny Wallace: I want to begin with a boy who scored ninety-eight on his mathematics examination.
He's fifteen. He has studied for weeks. He's exhausted, but he's proud. He walks into the kitchen and hands his mother the paper.
She looks at the grade.
Then she asks, "What happened to the other two points?"
I want to know what everyone here thinks that boy learned in that moment.
Angela Duckworth: I want to know how she asked.
Jennifer: Does that change the question?
Angela: Completely. Imagine she smiles, hugs him, and says, "Ninety-eight! That's wonderful. What did you miss? I'm curious."
Now imagine she frowns, pushes the paper back across the table, and says, "What happened to the other two points?"
Same words. Two different experiences.
Jennifer: That's fair. But I'd go further. Even the affectionate version can carry a message if it's repeated often enough.
If every celebration is immediately followed by an analysis of what's missing, the child may eventually stop hearing the celebration.
Andreas Schleicher: Before we decide that the mother is doing something wrong, perhaps we should ask why she is so interested in those two points.
Jennifer: Go ahead.
Andreas: Suppose those points could influence which academic track her son enters. Suppose she knows that another student, with access to expensive private tutoring, is preparing to compete for the same opportunity.
Her question may sound unreasonable in this kitchen. In the larger system, it may be entirely understandable.
Robert Waldinger: Understandable doesn't necessarily mean harmless.
Andreas: No. But it changes where we look for the solution.
Ju-Ho Lee: And in Korea, that distinction is especially important.
Many parents aren't sitting at home thinking, "How can I make my child miserable tonight?"
They're thinking, "If I don't prepare my child, someone else's child will be better prepared."
They don't necessarily love competition. They fear the consequences of losing it.
Angela: I agree. But there's another problem with our story. We don't know whether the boy himself wants to excel at mathematics.
What if he loves it?
Jennifer: Then I'd hope his mother helps him love it more.
Angela: Exactly. And that may involve asking difficult questions. Challenge is not the enemy of well-being.
Jennifer: Neither is achievement. I've never argued that children shouldn't work hard.
My concern is what happens when achievement becomes the price of belonging.
Robert: There's a difference between a child who thinks, "I failed the examination," and a child who thinks, "I am a failure."
Adults sometimes underestimate how easily children move from one sentence to the other.
Angela: But don't we have to teach them that distinction? We can't remove every examination or disappointment.
Robert: Certainly. Yet children don't learn that distinction only through lectures. They learn it through the faces of the people they love.
When a child fails, does the parent's expression say, "We'll figure this out together"?
Or does it say, "You've become a problem"?
Jennifer: That's precisely the issue.
And here's what worries me about the boy with ninety-eight.
Perhaps he doesn't cry. Perhaps he smiles and says, "I'll do better next time."
Everyone thinks he's fine.
Then, ten years later, he's a successful young man who cannot enjoy a promotion because he's already worried about the next one.
We call him ambitious.
He calls himself exhausted.
Angela: I want to challenge that connection. You're describing a possible trajectory, not an inevitable one.
Some children grow up with demanding parents and become confident, capable adults who genuinely enjoy difficult work.
Jennifer: Absolutely.
Angela: Then the question isn't whether expectations are high. It's whether the child has developed a healthy relationship with effort, failure, and personal purpose.
I've studied perseverance for years. One lesson is that sustained effort matters. But persistence is most meaningful when it's directed toward something a person values.
A child can work very hard and still be working toward someone else's dream.
Ju-Ho: And that's where cultural expectations become complicated.
In many immigrant families, education represents something more than personal ambition.
It represents protection.
A parent may have lost professional standing, economic security, or social connections after moving to another country. They know how quickly a life can change.
They look at their child and think, "At least education is something nobody can take away from you."
Andreas: Which is an understandable belief, though not an absolute guarantee.
Ju-Ho: Yes. But imagine telling such a parent, "Your child should worry less about achievement."
They may hear, "You should gamble with your child's future."
Jennifer: Then we need to speak to the fear underneath the pressure.
Ju-Ho: I agree. But I don't think telling individual parents to relax will solve a collective problem.
If everyone else is purchasing tutoring, a parent who refuses may believe they're sacrificing their child's opportunities.
Robert: Let me ask you something, Ju-Ho.
Suppose a father works an extra shift every Saturday to pay for his daughter's tutoring.
He comes home exhausted.
His daughter knows exactly why he's working.
Does she experience that sacrifice as love?
Ju-Ho: I hope so.
Robert: So do I. But what if she experiences it as debt?
The father says, "I work because I love you."
The daughter hears, "I must succeed because you work."
Neither has said anything cruel.
Yet something heavy has entered the relationship.
Jennifer: And children can become remarkably skilled at carrying that weight without revealing it.
They understand their parents' sacrifices. They feel grateful. They may even admire them.
But gratitude can turn into a sense that their lives no longer belong entirely to them.
Angela: Let me complicate that.
Isn't learning to honor sacrifice part of growing up?
My parents made sacrifices for me. Many parents do. I wouldn't want children to conclude that they owe nothing to the people who raised them.
Jennifer: Neither would I.
But there's a difference between gratitude and surrendering the right to choose your own future.
Angela: Yes. And the distinction matters.
Andreas: There's another issue. We keep discussing parental pressure as though it exists independently of educational opportunity.
International assessments show that students' academic experiences vary widely across countries and social backgrounds.
Some systems achieve strong learning outcomes while providing comparatively equitable opportunities. Others allow family resources to play a much larger role.
We shouldn't assume that the only way to achieve excellence is through relentless pressure.
Ju-Ho: Nor should we assume that removing pressure produces excellence.
Andreas: Agreed.
Jennifer: Let me bring us back to the child.
Suppose he receives ninety-eight.
What should his mother actually say?
Not what educational policy should change. Not what society should value.
What should she say in that kitchen?
Angela: "You worked hard. What are you proudest of?"
Robert: I like that.
Jennifer: So do I.
Angela: Then, if he's interested, I'd ask what he learned from the questions he missed.
Jennifer: And if he's not interested?
Angela: I'd probably let him eat dinner.
Robert: A revolutionary intervention.
Angela: I'm serious.
Robert: So am I.
The table breaks into laughter.
Robert: I think we've become so accustomed to treating every experience as preparation for the next achievement that we forget children are living their lives right now.
Dinner is not merely a recovery period between examinations.
It's part of their childhood.
Andreas: But I'd be careful not to romanticize childhood at the expense of preparation.
Education matters enormously. A child who lacks foundational knowledge may face serious limitations later.
The challenge is to provide both competence and well-being.
Jennifer: Yes. The question isn't whether children should succeed.
It's whether they can remain emotionally secure while trying.
Ju-Ho: I want to introduce a different child.
A girl who scores sixty-two.
Her parents cannot afford private tutoring. She studies alone. Her teacher tells her she needs improvement.
What should her parents say?
Angela: First, I'd want to understand why she struggled.
Was the material too difficult? Did she lack support? Was she anxious? Did she study effectively?
Ju-Ho: Good. Now imagine her father says, "Don't worry about grades. I love you exactly as you are."
Is that enough?
Jennifer: No.
Ju-Ho: Why not?
Jennifer: Loving a child unconditionally doesn't mean abandoning responsibility for helping them learn.
We can say, "Your grade doesn't determine your worth," and still say, "Let's find a way to help you understand the material."
Those ideas belong together.
Angela: That's where we agree strongly.
Children need support and challenge. Neither should be confused with the other.
Andreas: And this girl's story reminds us that some children need more educational resources, not less academic attention.
If we respond to achievement pressure by dismissing achievement altogether, we risk leaving disadvantaged students even further behind.
Robert: I think we're discovering that the grade itself isn't the central issue.
It's the meaning adults attach to it.
A ninety-eight can become evidence of inadequacy.
A sixty-two can become the beginning of genuine learning.
Jennifer: Or a ninety-eight can become a moment of joy, and a sixty-two can become a moment of compassion.
The numbers don't tell us what happened inside the family.
Angela: Exactly.
For a moment, the conversation settles.
Jennifer: I want to ask something harder.
What happens when a child doesn't want the future their parents have planned?
Ju-Ho: That's a very difficult question in families where parents have invested heavily in education.
Jennifer: Imagine a seventeen-year-old girl. Her parents want her to become a physician.
She's capable. Her grades are excellent. She could probably succeed.
But she wants to become a teacher.
She tells her father.
He says, "After everything we've sacrificed?"
What should she do?
Angela: I would begin by asking whether she understands what each career involves.
Seventeen-year-olds don't always know what they'll enjoy at thirty.
Jennifer: Neither do forty-seven-year-olds.
Angela: Fair point.
But parents may possess valuable experience. I wouldn't dismiss their concerns as mere control.
Andreas: And the financial differences between professions can be substantial. Economic security is a legitimate consideration.
Robert: Yet so is the emotional cost of living a life someone else selected.
Ju-Ho: I wonder whether we're asking the wrong question.
Instead of "Should she become a physician or a teacher?" perhaps we should ask, "How can this family discuss the choice without turning it into a test of loyalty?"
Jennifer: That's beautifully put.
Angela: Yes.
Ju-Ho: The father may be terrified that his daughter will struggle financially.
The daughter may be terrified that choosing her own life means rejecting her father's love.
Both fears deserve to be heard.
Robert: And neither person may recognize the other's fear.
The father thinks she's dismissing his sacrifices.
She thinks he's dismissing who she is.
Jennifer: There's a sentence I'd want that father to hear.
"Your daughter can appreciate what you gave her without becoming the person you imagined."
Angela: And I'd want the daughter to hear something too.
"Your parents' concerns may contain wisdom, even if their preferred answer isn't right for you."
Andreas: That's a more constructive conversation than telling either side to surrender.
Robert: It also requires a relationship in which disagreement is safe.
That's something we haven't discussed enough.
If a child believes that disagreeing with a parent threatens the relationship, the child may comply outwardly while withdrawing inwardly.
The family appears peaceful.
But the peace is purchased through silence.
Jennifer: And years later, parents sometimes say, "We gave our child everything. Why don't they talk to us?"
Ju-Ho: That's painful.
Jennifer: It is. Especially when the parents really did give everything they could.
Angela: I think we should be cautious about suggesting that demanding parents inevitably produce distant children.
Jennifer: Of course. I'm describing a risk, not a destiny.
Robert: And there's no single parenting formula that guarantees a close relationship.
But one question is worth asking repeatedly:
Does this child feel able to tell me the truth?
Not the truth that earns praise.
The truth that might disappoint me.
Andreas: I'd like to connect that to education itself.
We say we want students who think critically, solve problems, and exercise independent judgment.
But if every important decision in their lives has already been made by adults, where do they practice those abilities?
Angela: That's a good point.
Perseverance isn't simply doing what you're told for a very long time.
It requires commitment. And genuine commitment is difficult when the goal has no personal meaning.
Ju-Ho: Still, we have to acknowledge that young people don't make choices in a vacuum.
Their decisions affect their families. Their opportunities are shaped by economics, institutions, and culture.
Robert: Certainly.
But perhaps the goal of parenting isn't to eliminate those realities.
It's to help children navigate them without losing themselves.
Jennifer: Or losing their relationship with the people who love them.
The room grows quiet.
Robert: May I tell you what strikes me about the mother who asked about the missing two points?
Angela: Please.
Robert: I suspect she would be heartbroken to discover that her son heard her question as disappointment.
She might say, "I never meant that. I only wanted you to have a good future."
And he might answer, "I know, Mom. That's why I was so afraid to tell you when I was struggling."
That exchange interests me more than the examination.
Jennifer: Why?
Robert: It contains two people who love each other and have misunderstood what that love requires.
The mother believes love means preparing her son for every possible hardship.
The son believes love means never becoming a hardship for his mother.
Neither realizes what the other is carrying.
Ju-Ho: And the mother may still be right that the world is competitive.
Robert: Yes.
Angela: And the son may still need to study harder.
Robert: Perhaps.
Andreas: And the educational system may still need reform.
Robert: All true.
But tonight, in that kitchen, none of those problems can be solved immediately.
There is something the mother can do.
She can look at her son and ask whether he's happy.
Then she can listen without correcting his answer.
Jennifer: I wonder how many children would know what to say.
Angela: Some might say, "I'm happy when I get good grades."
Jennifer: Then I'd ask, "What else?"
Ju-Ho: And if he says, "I don't know"?
Jennifer: I wouldn't rush to fill the silence.
Andreas leans back in his chair.
Andreas: We have spent this entire conversation examining the choices parents make. Yet many of those choices are responses to institutions that reward competition.
We can help parents speak differently to their children.
But what happens tomorrow morning when those children return to schools where the competition continues?
Ju-Ho: That's the question.
A parent can decide to stop comparing her child with the neighbor's child.
But she cannot necessarily persuade the university admissions office to do the same.
Angela: Or persuade every other parent to stop investing in preparation.
Jennifer: Then perhaps the next question isn't why parents put so much pressure on their children.
It's why we've created a world in which so many parents believe they have no choice.
Robert: And whether the children with the fewest resources are paying the highest price.
No one answers immediately.
Ju-Ho: Let me give you a picture.
Two children sit down for the same examination.
One has spent years receiving private tutoring. The other has never been able to afford it.
The examination treats them equally.
But have we?
Topic 2: If Education Is the Great Equalizer, Why Can Wealthy Families Buy More of It?
An imaginary conversation inspired by Min Jin Lee's American Hagwon
Participants: Jennifer Breheny Wallace, Angela Duckworth, Andreas Schleicher, Ju-Ho Lee, and Robert Waldinger.
Editor's Note: This is a fictional conversation drawing on the participants' published research and perspectives. The dialogue does not represent their actual words or an actual meeting.
Ju-Ho Lee: I want to return to those two children.
Same examination. Same questions. Same time limit.
One has received years of private tutoring. The other has studied alone because his parents cannot afford it.
The first child scores ninety-five. The second scores eighty-one.
Who deserves the university place?
Angela Duckworth: You're asking a question that sounds simple but isn't.
Ju-Ho: That's why I'm asking it.
Angela: If the university is selecting students based on their preparation for advanced academic work, the first student may be better prepared.
Jennifer Breheny Wallace: Even if the difference comes from family wealth?
Angela: I didn't say the system was fair. I said the student may be better prepared.
Those aren't the same thing.
Andreas Schleicher: That's an important distinction. A test can measure something real while the opportunities to develop that ability remain unequal.
We sometimes talk as though assessments create inequality. Often they reveal inequalities that already exist.
Jennifer: But they can reinforce those inequalities too, can't they?
Andreas: Certainly. Particularly when the results determine access to scarce opportunities.
Robert Waldinger: I have a question about the second child.
Does he know the first student received tutoring?
Ju-Ho: Let's say he does.
Robert: Then imagine what happens when he sees the examination results.
He knows he studied hard. He knows his parents worked hard. He knows they couldn't afford the help another family purchased.
But the result arrives as a number beside his name.
Eighty-one.
Does he think, "I had fewer resources"?
Or does he think, "I'm not as smart"?
Angela: That's why feedback matters.
Robert: Yes. But I wonder how many children have enough information to interpret their results accurately.
Andreas: The broader research on educational inequality gives us reason to take that seriously.
In PISA 2022, South Korea performed strongly in mathematics, reading, and science. Yet socioeconomic differences in achievement remained substantial.
We should recognize both facts.
Korean education has achieved impressive results, and family background still influences educational opportunities.
Ju-Ho: Which brings us to hagwons.
I think people outside Korea sometimes misunderstand what they are.
They hear "private academy" and imagine one kind of institution.
In reality, private tutoring can serve different purposes. Some students receive help because they're struggling. Others study advanced material. Some prepare for entrance examinations. Some attend for enrichment or supervision after school.
And the quality varies enormously.
Jennifer: So you wouldn't say hagwons are inherently harmful?
Ju-Ho: No. That would be too simple.
Imagine a student who is falling behind in mathematics. Her school has forty students in a classroom. Her parents find an excellent tutor who explains the material patiently.
She begins to understand.
Why would we call that harmful?
Angela: We shouldn't.
Ju-Ho: Now imagine another student who attends regular school all day, then spends hours at an academy learning material he already understands because his parents fear the neighbors' children are getting ahead.
That's a different situation.
Jennifer: And yet both families might describe what they're doing as investing in education.
Ju-Ho: Exactly.
Andreas: This is why we need to distinguish learning from competition.
Suppose everyone in a classroom receives an additional year of excellent mathematics instruction.
That could improve everyone's knowledge.
Now suppose everyone receives an additional year of coaching designed exclusively to improve their relative position in a ranking.
If the number of university places remains fixed, the competition may simply become more expensive.
Angela: But the students might still learn mathematics during that coaching.
Andreas: Yes. We must not assume the learning is worthless.
The question is whether the educational benefits justify the financial and psychological costs, particularly when participation depends on family income.
Robert: And whether the children have any time left for anything else.
Ju-Ho: That's a real concern. But I want to challenge something.
We sometimes hear that Korean students study too much.
Compared with what?
If we mean they're exhausted, we should examine their well-being.
If we mean they're learning too much mathematics, I don't think that's a serious argument.
Angela: Thank you.
Jennifer smiles.
Jennifer: I suspected you'd appreciate that distinction.
Angela: I do. There's a tendency to treat academic effort as though it were automatically unhealthy.
Learning something difficult can be deeply satisfying.
The moment when a problem that seemed impossible suddenly makes sense is one of the great pleasures of education.
Robert: I agree. But pleasure requires some freedom.
A child who chooses to spend Saturday solving mathematical puzzles may be having a wonderful time.
A child who spends Saturday solving those same puzzles while fearing parental disappointment may experience something very different.
Angela: Absolutely. Motivation matters.
Jennifer: And children can lose the ability to distinguish their own interests from what earns approval.
A student might say, "I love mathematics."
But what does that mean if mathematics is the only activity that reliably brings praise?
Angela: We shouldn't assume the interest is inauthentic.
Jennifer: I'm not assuming. I'm asking how we would know.
Angela: We'd need to listen to the child over time.
Robert: Which takes time that some families no longer seem to have.
Ju-Ho folds his hands on the table.
Ju-Ho: Let me tell you what makes this difficult from a policy perspective.
Suppose the government announces that private tutoring has become excessive.
Parents agree.
Teachers agree.
Students agree.
Everyone says children need more free time.
Then the government introduces a reform designed to reduce dependence on hagwons.
What happens?
Andreas: Families look for other ways to gain an advantage.
Ju-Ho: Precisely.
If admission to prestigious universities still offers significant advantages, families will continue searching for ways to improve their children's chances.
Jennifer: So the pressure moves rather than disappears.
Ju-Ho: It can.
Tutoring may become more individualized, more expensive, or less visible.
Some families hire private instructors. Others purchase educational materials or move to neighborhoods with stronger schools.
The underlying competition remains.
Angela: But isn't some competition unavoidable?
Ju-Ho: Of course.
Angela: There will always be more applicants than places at certain universities.
There will always be jobs requiring specialized skills.
We can't promise every child admission to their first-choice institution.
Andreas: Nor should we confuse equality of opportunity with identical outcomes.
But we can ask whether the system gives talented students from disadvantaged backgrounds a reasonable chance to develop and demonstrate their abilities.
Jennifer: I want to ask a question that may sound unfair.
If wealthy parents can purchase advantages for their children, why shouldn't they?
Robert: That's a provocative question coming from you.
Jennifer: I'm serious.
Imagine you've worked hard your entire life. You have enough money to hire an excellent tutor for your daughter.
You know it will help her.
Are you supposed to refuse because another family cannot afford the same opportunity?
Angela: I wouldn't expect a parent to withhold useful educational support from their child.
Andreas: Nor would I.
Ju-Ho: Which is why this is fundamentally a collective problem.
We cannot build an equitable education system by asking individual parents to disadvantage their own children.
Jennifer: Then who is responsible?
Ju-Ho: Public institutions must provide strong enough educational opportunities that families do not feel compelled to purchase basic quality privately.
Andreas: And we should examine how resources are distributed.
High-quality teaching, early support for struggling students, effective curricula, and fair access to advanced learning matter.
A system should not require parents to become educational consultants merely to navigate it successfully.
Angela: I like that. But I want to preserve something.
We should not design a system in which advanced students are discouraged from pursuing difficult material.
Educational equity doesn't require suppressing excellence.
Andreas: Agreed. The goal is to expand opportunity, not diminish achievement.
Robert: May I bring in a family that doesn't appear in our two-student example?
Ju-Ho: Please.
Robert: A father drives a delivery truck six days a week.
His daughter attends a private academy because he believes it will give her a better future.
He cannot comfortably afford the fees.
He postpones dental treatment. His wife takes extra shifts. They stop visiting relatives because travel costs money.
The daughter notices.
She begins to feel responsible for every sacrifice.
One evening she tells her father she wants to stop attending the academy.
He says, "Don't worry about the money. We can manage."
But she knows they can't.
What should she do?
Jennifer: That's heartbreaking.
Angela: And there's no easy answer.
Robert: Exactly.
We often discuss tutoring expenditure as an economic statistic.
But inside a household, those expenses can reshape relationships.
The daughter may stop asking for ordinary things. She may feel guilty when she rests.
She may begin to believe that her family's happiness depends on her examination results.
Ju-Ho: That's why affordability matters so much.
Jennifer: And why children need to understand that they're not responsible for justifying their parents' existence.
Angela: I agree with the sentiment. But the father may be making a rational investment.
If the academy substantially improves his daughter's opportunities, telling him to stop could have consequences.
Robert: Yes. I wouldn't presume to know what's best for that family.
I would want them to be able to discuss the sacrifice without the daughter believing she has become a financial obligation.
Jennifer: Perhaps the father could tell her, "We're choosing to spend this money because we believe it may help you. You don't owe us a particular result."
Ju-Ho: That would be a valuable conversation.
But there's still a financial decision to make.
Andreas: Which highlights the limits of individual solutions.
We can improve how families communicate, but we must also address why families face such difficult trade-offs.
Angela leans forward.
Angela: I want to challenge the assumption that wealth always wins.
I've met students who accomplished extraordinary things with limited resources.
Their determination mattered.
Their teachers mattered.
Their willingness to persist mattered.
If we talk exclusively about structural disadvantage, don't we risk teaching children that their efforts are powerless?
Andreas: That's a legitimate concern.
Jennifer: But isn't there an equal danger in telling every disadvantaged child that perseverance is all they need?
Angela: I don't tell them that.
Jennifer: I know. But popular discussions of grit sometimes sound that way.
A child studies hard, fails to enter a prestigious university, and hears, "You should have wanted it more."
What if the problem wasn't insufficient desire?
Angela: Then that interpretation would be wrong.
Grit isn't magic. It doesn't eliminate poverty, discrimination, poor teaching, or unequal opportunities.
Perseverance can help people make progress within their circumstances. It doesn't mean circumstances are irrelevant.
Ju-Ho: That's an important distinction.
Angela: And there's something else.
We should be careful about what we're asking children to persevere toward.
If the goal is meaningful learning, persistence can be deeply valuable.
If the goal is defeating the child sitting beside you, we may be cultivating something else entirely.
Robert: Competition without companionship.
Angela: Perhaps.
Andreas: Or competition that becomes an end in itself.
Jennifer: Let me offer a hypothetical.
Two students attend the same hagwon.
One helps the other understand a difficult problem.
The second student's score improves.
But now the first student may lose a place in the rankings.
What has the first student done?
Angela: Helped someone learn.
Jennifer: Yes. A wonderful educational act.
Yet in a narrowly competitive environment, that generosity may appear irrational.
Ju-Ho: That's one of the challenges of excessive competition. Cooperation and collective benefit can become secondary to relative advantage.
Andreas: And modern societies need people who can collaborate, not merely outperform one another.
Robert: It's striking, isn't it?
We tell children to be kind.
We tell them to help their classmates.
Then we place them in environments where another child's success may threaten their own opportunity.
Angela: But competition and kindness aren't mutually exclusive.
Athletes compete fiercely and can still respect their opponents.
Robert: Certainly.
Angela: The problem isn't the existence of competition. It's the belief that another person's success diminishes your worth.
Jennifer: That's a distinction I wish more parents understood.
Andreas glances at the notes in front of him.
Andreas: There's another assumption I'd like to question.
We keep talking about prestigious universities as though their value is self-evident.
Why do families pursue them?
Ju-Ho: Employment opportunities. Professional networks. Social recognition. Perceived security.
Andreas: And perhaps because employers use educational credentials as signals.
Angela: Which can be reasonable if those credentials reflect relevant abilities.
Andreas: Yes. But a society may become overly dependent on a narrow set of signals.
If employers disproportionately reward graduates of a small number of institutions, the competition for admission becomes extraordinarily intense.
Families respond by investing more in preparation.
Ju-Ho: And private tutoring becomes part of that process.
Jennifer: So what appears to be a parenting problem may actually be connected to hiring practices.
Andreas: Among other things.
Robert: Then why don't we talk more about creating different paths to a satisfying adulthood?
Ju-Ho: We should.
Strong vocational pathways, respected alternatives to elite universities, and broader employment opportunities can reduce the perception that a child's entire future depends on one examination.
Angela: But we shouldn't tell children that academic achievement doesn't matter.
Ju-Ho: No. We should make it possible for achievement to take different forms.
Jennifer: That may be one of the most important things we've said today.
If there's only one socially acceptable definition of success, every family feels pressure to chase it.
Robert: And every child who chooses another path risks feeling like a disappointment.
Andreas: Education should expand possibilities, not reduce them to a single ranking.
For a moment, nobody speaks.
Jennifer: I want to return to the two students we began with.
The one who scored ninety-five and the one who scored eighty-one.
Suppose both are now twenty-five.
The first graduated from a prestigious university but dislikes her job.
The second attended a less selective university, found an excellent mentor, and discovered work he loves.
Which student succeeded?
Angela: Both may have succeeded in different ways.
Ju-Ho: Or neither. We don't know enough.
Jennifer: Exactly.
Andreas: Their examination results told us something about their academic performance at a particular moment.
They didn't tell us everything about their future.
Robert: Or their happiness.
Angela: But I want to resist the temptation to turn this into a story where the student with the lower score becomes happy and the student with the higher score becomes miserable.
That's just another oversimplification.
Jennifer: You're right.
Angela: Academic achievement can create real opportunities. Some people love their prestigious careers.
We shouldn't romanticize disappointment any more than we glorify success.
Robert: Agreed.
The question isn't whether achievement is valuable.
It's whether achievement is sufficient.
Ju-Ho: And whether society gives children enough different opportunities to discover what they can contribute.
Andreas: That's a more useful definition of educational success than simply maximizing examination scores.
Jennifer: Can I ask each of you to answer one question?
If you could change one thing about the way we educate children, what would it be?
Ju-Ho: I'd reduce the extent to which a family's economic resources determine access to high-quality learning.
Andreas: I'd strengthen education that develops genuine understanding, critical thinking, and the ability to apply knowledge beyond examinations.
Angela: I'd help students develop the confidence to work hard at meaningful goals and the judgment to reconsider goals that no longer serve them.
Robert: I'd make relationships a more visible part of education.
Children need to learn how to listen, cooperate, handle conflict, and care for others. Those abilities shape their lives long after examinations are forgotten.
Jennifer: I'd make sure every child has at least one adult who communicates, through actions rather than slogans, "You matter to me regardless of what you achieve."
Angela: Those are five worthwhile changes.
Ju-Ho: But notice something.
None of us proposed eliminating education.
Andreas: Or eliminating effort.
Robert: Or eliminating ambition.
Jennifer: We questioned what those things are for.
Ju-Ho looks toward Robert.
Ju-Ho: Let me ask you something.
Suppose we achieved everything we've discussed.
Every child receives excellent schooling.
Tutoring is affordable or unnecessary.
Universities provide fair opportunities.
Students learn perseverance, cooperation, and critical thinking.
Would we finally have solved the problem?
Robert: Which problem?
Ju-Ho: The problem of preparing children for a good life.
Robert: No.
Angela: Why not?
Robert: Consider someone who received every educational advantage.
Excellent schools. Supportive parents. Financial security. A prestigious career.
At forty-five, that person wakes up one morning and realizes they have no close friends, little connection with their family, and no idea what they want from the years ahead.
Education may have prepared them exceptionally well to perform.
But did it prepare them to live?
Andreas: Schools cannot be responsible for every dimension of human happiness.
Robert: Of course not.
Andreas: Families, communities, workplaces, and individuals all have responsibilities.
Robert: I agree.
But education occupies so much of childhood that we should at least ask whether our priorities reflect what matters across an entire lifetime.
Jennifer: Especially when children absorb those priorities as definitions of their own worth.
Angela: I think there's another question.
If a student spends twenty years working toward a particular achievement, reaches it, and discovers it doesn't bring the satisfaction they expected, was the effort wasted?
Robert: Not necessarily.
Angela: Then perhaps we need to teach children something beyond how to achieve goals.
We need to teach them how to examine their goals.
Ju-Ho: And how to change direction without feeling they've failed.
Andreas: That's an important capability in a changing economy.
Jennifer: And an important capability in a changing life.
Robert sits quietly for a moment.
Robert: Let me leave you with an image.
A mother spends twenty years telling her son, "Study hard now so you can enjoy life later."
He studies.
He succeeds.
He becomes a physician, just as she hoped.
One evening, he calls her and says, "Mom, when does later begin?"
The room falls silent.
Angela: That's a painful question.
Ju-Ho: Especially if the mother sacrificed her own happiness for the same promise.
Jennifer: Perhaps she was told the same thing when she was young.
Andreas: Which means the promise can pass from one generation to the next without anyone examining it.
Robert: Yes.
And perhaps that's the question Min Jin Lee's novel invites us to consider.
Not whether education is worthwhile.
Not whether parents should sacrifice for their children.
But whether we have confused preparing for life with postponing it.
Angela: Then we need to ask what success is actually supposed to provide.
Jennifer: Security?
Ju-Ho: Opportunity?
Andreas: Competence?
Angela: Purpose?
Robert: And somewhere in that conversation, I hope we remember love.
He looks around the table.
Robert: We have spent a great deal of time discussing how children can become successful adults.
Perhaps it's time to ask what makes an adult life worth living.
Topic 3: What If Everything We Call Success Is Missing the Point?
An imaginary conversation inspired by Min Jin Lee's American Hagwon
Participants: Jennifer Breheny Wallace, Angela Duckworth, Andreas Schleicher, Ju-Ho Lee, and Robert Waldinger.
Editor's Note: This is an original fictional conversation inspired by the themes of Min Jin Lee's novel. The participants are real experts, but their dialogue is imagined, informed by their published research and perspectives. These are not their actual words.
Robert Waldinger: I'd like to begin with a man who has everything his parents wanted for him.
He's forty-two. He's a surgeon. He earns an excellent income. He owns a beautiful home. His children attend good schools.
His parents immigrated to America with very little. They worked long hours, saved carefully, and told him that education would give him the security they never had.
And they were right, in many ways.
He has security.
But last month, his wife asked for a divorce.
He hasn't spoken to his brother in three years. His closest friend is someone he occasionally exchanges messages with from medical school. He sleeps five hours a night.
Yesterday, his mother called to congratulate him on another professional award.
He thanked her.
Then he sat alone in his car for twenty minutes because he couldn't bring himself to go inside his house.
Is this man successful?
Angela Duckworth: Professionally, yes.
Jennifer Breheny Wallace: Personally, perhaps not.
Andreas Schleicher: We don't know enough to judge his life.
Robert: Good. I'm glad you said that.
Andreas: Why?
Robert: Because the first mistake we make when discussing happiness is believing we can understand someone's entire life from a handful of visible achievements.
Ju-Ho Lee: But I would caution against making the opposite mistake.
We shouldn't assume that because a successful professional is unhappy, the success caused the unhappiness.
Robert: Exactly.
Ju-Ho: He might have been unhappier without financial security.
Angela: Or perhaps his professional work gives him tremendous meaning. We shouldn't dismiss that because other parts of his life are struggling.
Jennifer: I agree. But I want to know something about his childhood.
When did he first learn that being admired was the same as being loved?
Angela: That's a powerful question, but it assumes he learned that.
Jennifer: Fair correction.
Let me ask it differently.
Did he grow up believing that achievement was one way to express who he was, or the only way to prove he was worth something?
Robert: That distinction matters enormously.
In the Harvard Study of Adult Development, we've followed people's lives across decades. One of the most consistent findings is the importance of good relationships to long-term well-being and health.
Not perfect relationships. Not relationships without conflict.
Relationships in which people feel connected and supported.
Andreas: Yet educational achievement can help people establish the material conditions for those relationships.
Financial insecurity creates real stress.
Robert: Certainly.
Andreas: I worry that discussions about happiness sometimes become too comfortable for people who already have enough money.
It's easy to tell someone that wealth isn't everything when you aren't worried about paying the rent.
Ju-Ho: That's especially important when discussing immigrant families.
A parent who experienced poverty or professional instability may regard financial security as the foundation of a good life.
We should not treat that concern as shallow materialism.
Jennifer: No. But we can distinguish security from status.
A parent might reasonably want a child to earn enough to live comfortably.
That's different from needing the child to attend a particular university because its name impresses relatives.
Angela: Sometimes those motives are mixed.
Jennifer: Often.
Angela: I think we should admit something uncomfortable. Most of us enjoy recognition.
We like being respected. We like achieving difficult things.
There's nothing inherently wrong with that.
Robert: Of course not.
Angela: But if recognition becomes the primary reason we pursue something, it can create a problem.
Because recognition doesn't stay still.
You receive one award, and someone else receives a more prestigious one.
You earn a promotion, and another position appears above yours.
There's always another comparison.
Jennifer: And the finish line moves.
Angela: Yes. But that doesn't mean ambition itself is the enemy.
I've met people who are deeply fulfilled by pursuing demanding goals. Scientists, musicians, teachers, athletes.
Their work is difficult. Sometimes frustrating.
But they love what they're trying to accomplish.
Robert: I would never argue that meaningful work doesn't matter.
Angela: Then perhaps the question is whether we're pursuing achievement because we love the work or because we're afraid of what we'll be without the achievement.
Jennifer: That's an important distinction.
Ju-Ho: But how many seventeen-year-olds can make that distinction clearly?
Angela: Not many.
Ju-Ho: Then perhaps parents aren't entirely wrong to emphasize practical considerations.
A teenager may love music but not understand the difficulty of earning a living as a musician.
Jennifer: Parents should help children understand those realities.
But should they decide the answer for them?
Ju-Ho: Not necessarily.
Andreas: Education should help young people develop the judgment to evaluate choices.
That includes understanding economic consequences, recognizing their own interests, and adapting when circumstances change.
Robert: Which brings us to a problem that no amount of planning can eliminate.
Life changes.
Robert places a photograph on the table.
It shows a middle-aged man standing outside a small restaurant, wearing an apron.
Robert: Imagine this man was once a respected professional.
He immigrated to another country believing his qualifications and experience would provide a stable future.
But the transition proved more difficult than he expected.
His credentials were not valued in the same way. His professional network disappeared. Eventually, financial circumstances forced him to accept work far removed from his original career.
Now he washes dishes.
What has he lost?
Ju-Ho: Income, perhaps. Professional status. Possibly a sense of identity.
Andreas: And opportunities to use skills he spent years developing.
Angela: But not necessarily his abilities.
Jennifer: Or his dignity.
Robert: Exactly.
Yet suppose he doesn't see it that way.
Suppose every evening he comes home and apologizes to his family.
"I'm sorry I couldn't give you the life you deserved."
What would you say to him?
Angela: I'd ask whether he's treating this period as a permanent verdict on his abilities.
Losing a position doesn't erase the qualities that helped him succeed before.
He may need to adapt, learn new skills, or pursue opportunities he hadn't previously considered.
Ju-Ho: I would acknowledge the structural difficulties first.
Professional immigrants can encounter credential-recognition barriers, language challenges, and unfamiliar labor markets.
It's not always a question of individual perseverance.
Andreas: And societies waste human capital when qualified people cannot apply their knowledge.
Jennifer: I'd want him to understand that his children may value him for things he hasn't included in his definition of success.
Robert: Such as?
Jennifer: The fact that he comes home.
That he asks about their day.
That he keeps his promises.
That he treats people respectfully, even when he's exhausted.
Those things don't appear on a résumé.
Angela: I agree, but I'd be careful not to romanticize his hardship.
If he wants to return to his profession, we should support that ambition.
Jennifer: Absolutely.
Angela: Sometimes conversations about dignity sound as though people should simply accept difficult circumstances and stop trying to improve them.
I don't believe that.
Robert: Neither do I.
Dignity and ambition can coexist.
Ju-Ho: And that may be the real lesson.
We should help people rebuild their careers without suggesting that their human worth disappeared when their careers collapsed.
Andreas: A society that respects only high-status occupations has a problem.
It depends on people performing essential work while treating some of those workers as less successful human beings.
Jennifer: Including the people who prepare our food, clean our buildings, care for our elderly, and deliver what we order.
Robert: Let me ask a difficult question.
If that man never regains his former professional status, can his life still be successful?
Angela: Yes.
Ju-Ho: Yes, though he may reasonably grieve what he lost.
Andreas: Certainly.
Jennifer: Of course.
Robert: Then why do we so often speak as though success is something that can be taken away by an employer?
Nobody answers immediately.
Angela: I think we need to distinguish accomplishment from identity.
A career can be lost.
A position can disappear.
An examination can be failed.
But those events don't define the totality of a person.
Jennifer: And yet many children grow up receiving the opposite message.
"Become a doctor."
"Get into the best university."
"Make us proud."
What happens when they cannot?
Ju-Ho: Sometimes they discover another path.
Jennifer: And sometimes they feel they've lost the right to be proud of themselves.
Robert: Or the right to disappoint the people they love.
Andreas: We should acknowledge that educational systems cannot solve every question of identity.
Robert: I agree.
Andreas: Schools can provide knowledge, skills, and opportunities. They can help young people develop judgment.
But we shouldn't expect teachers to replace families, communities, or the personal experiences through which people discover meaning.
Jennifer: No. But schools can avoid reinforcing the idea that students' value is determined by rankings.
Angela: And they can help students experience mastery without making every activity a competition.
Ju-Ho: That would require changes beyond classrooms.
If employers and universities continue rewarding a narrow hierarchy of credentials, families will respond to those incentives.
Robert: Then we keep returning to the same problem.
Everyone is responding to what someone else rewards.
Parents respond to universities.
Universities respond to employers.
Employers respond to economic competition.
And children grow up believing the entire world is waiting to grade them.
Angela: But the world does evaluate performance.
A bridge engineer needs to understand engineering.
A surgeon needs technical competence.
We can't replace standards with reassurance.
Robert: Of course not.
Angela: I want children to understand that they can be worthy human beings and still need to improve their work.
Those ideas are compatible.
Jennifer: That's precisely the message I wish more children received.
"You matter, and you have more to learn."
Not "You matter once you've learned enough."
Ju-Ho smiles slightly.
Ju-Ho: Perhaps we should put that sentence on the wall of every hagwon.
Andreas: Only if the students are allowed time to read it.
The group laughs.
Robert: I want to return to our successful surgeon.
Suppose he decides to change his life.
He reduces his working hours. He reconnects with his brother. He begins having dinner with his children without checking his phone.
Would you say he's becoming less successful?
Angela: Not if those choices align with what he values.
Ju-Ho: But there may be consequences.
His income could decrease. His professional advancement might slow.
Robert: Yes.
Ju-Ho: And his family may have to adjust.
Robert: Yes.
Ju-Ho: Then we're not talking about an easy choice.
Robert: No. We're talking about a real choice.
Jennifer: And perhaps the first one he's made without asking how it will look to other people.
Angela: I think that is where education could do better.
We teach students how to solve problems with correct answers.
But some of life's most important decisions don't have a single correct answer.
Should I accept the promotion?
Should I move to another city?
Should I continue a career that pays well but no longer feels meaningful?
Should I spend more time with my children?
Those questions require judgment, not simply intelligence.
Andreas: And judgment develops through experience, reflection, and exposure to different perspectives.
Students need opportunities to make decisions, explain their reasoning, and revise their views.
Ju-Ho: But parents must be willing to let them make some mistakes.
Jennifer: That's difficult when parents believe one mistake could destroy a child's future.
Robert: Which brings us back to fear.
Angela: Fear isn't always irrational.
Robert: No. But it isn't always a reliable guide to living, either.
Jennifer turns toward Ju-Ho.
Jennifer: Can I ask you something personal in the broader sense?
When parents sacrifice everything for their children's education, what do you think they most want in return?
Ju-Ho: Many would say they want their children to have better lives.
Jennifer: And what does "better" mean?
Ju-Ho: Greater opportunity. Financial stability. The freedom to make choices they themselves never had.
Jennifer: That's beautiful.
But what if the child uses that freedom to choose a life the parents don't understand?
Ju-Ho: Then the parents face a difficult test.
Angela: Perhaps a harder test than the child ever faced in school.
Ju-Ho: Perhaps.
Imagine parents who worked for twenty years so their daughter could become a physician.
She graduates from medical school.
Then she announces she wants to work in a rural clinic earning much less than she could in a prestigious hospital.
The parents are disappointed.
But isn't she using her education to make a meaningful contribution?
Andreas: Certainly.
Robert: And perhaps she's discovered something important about the life she wants.
Jennifer: Yet the parents may experience her decision as a rejection of their sacrifices.
Ju-Ho: Exactly.
So they must decide whether their sacrifice was intended to give their daughter freedom or to purchase a particular outcome.
The table grows quiet.
Angela: That's a difficult distinction.
Robert: It is.
Jennifer: And I suspect many parents don't discover which answer they believe until their child makes a choice they dislike.
Andreas: There's another dimension here.
A society needs people who pursue different kinds of work.
We need excellent physicians, teachers, engineers, artists, researchers, technicians, and caregivers.
If every talented student is encouraged toward the same narrow set of prestigious professions, we may not be helping society use its talents well.
Angela: Nor helping individuals discover what they love doing.
Ju-Ho: But we must make those different paths economically viable.
It's not enough to tell students that teaching or caregiving is meaningful while allowing those professions to become financially precarious.
Robert: That's an excellent point.
We cannot separate the meaning of work from the conditions under which people perform it.
Jennifer: And we shouldn't ask individuals to sacrifice their well-being to compensate for unfair institutions.
Angela: Agreed.
Robert closes his notebook.
Robert: I'd like to propose a final exercise.
Imagine that each of us could redesign education.
Not simply improve examination scores or university admissions.
We could change what children learn about becoming adults.
What would you add?
Andreas: I'd give students more opportunities to apply knowledge to unfamiliar problems.
The future will require them to navigate uncertainty, evaluate information, and continue learning throughout their lives.
Memorization has its place, but education must go beyond reproducing answers.
Angela: I'd teach students how to pursue difficult goals.
How to practice deliberately. How to respond to setbacks. How to distinguish temporary frustration from a genuine need to change direction.
And I'd want them to experience the satisfaction of becoming good at something that matters to them.
Ju-Ho: I'd make sure that the opportunity to learn those things doesn't depend heavily on family income.
I'd strengthen public education and create respected pathways into different careers.
A child's future shouldn't be determined by whether their parents can afford the most expensive preparation.
Jennifer: I'd make belonging central.
Every child should experience being valued for who they are, not merely what they produce.
I'd want schools and families to communicate that achievement is something children can pursue, not something they must purchase their worth through.
Robert: I'd teach relationships.
Not as a sentimental addition at the end of the curriculum.
As a fundamental human skill.
How to listen when someone is hurting.
How to apologize.
How to disagree without humiliating another person.
How to maintain friendships when life becomes busy.
How to recognize when someone you love needs your attention more than your advice.
Angela: That's a substantial curriculum.
Robert: It is.
Andreas: And we would need to think carefully about how to teach it.
Robert: Certainly.
Jennifer: But I wonder whether children would remember those lessons longer than some of the facts they memorize.
Angela: Some facts are worth remembering too.
Robert: Of course.
Angela: I think there's a danger in setting wisdom against knowledge.
Knowledge can deepen our understanding of the world. It can make us more capable of helping others.
Andreas: Exactly.
Ju-Ho: The goal isn't to replace academic education with life advice.
Jennifer: It's to stop treating academic achievement as the whole purpose of growing up.
Robert: Yes.
For a while, the five experts sit without speaking.
Angela: Can I ask something that may challenge our entire conversation?
Robert: Please.
Angela: Suppose a child genuinely wants to become the world's greatest mathematician.
She loves mathematics. She wants to spend ten hours a day studying it.
She isn't doing it for her parents. She isn't chasing prestige.
She simply loves the work.
Would we tell her to slow down?
Jennifer: Not necessarily.
Robert: No.
Ju-Ho: I'd want to make sure she has the support and resources she needs.
Andreas: And access to excellent instruction.
Angela: Then we agree that extraordinary ambition can be a wonderful thing.
Jennifer: Yes, when it belongs to the child.
Robert: And when the child understands that life contains other important dimensions.
Angela: But what if she chooses mathematics over many of those things?
Robert: Then that's her choice to consider.
I wouldn't insist that every person live the same kind of balanced life.
But I would hope she understands the costs and has the freedom to reconsider.
Angela: Good.
Because I don't want our discussion to end with the message that children should aim lower.
Jennifer: Neither do I.
I want them to know they can aim high without believing that falling short makes them unworthy of love.
Ju-Ho: I want them to have opportunities that don't depend entirely on their parents' wealth.
Andreas: I want them to develop the knowledge and judgment to navigate a complicated world.
Robert: And I want them to have people they can call when that world becomes difficult.
Angela: That sounds like a good education.
Robert: It sounds like the beginning of one.
Jennifer looks toward the photograph of the former professional standing outside the restaurant.
Jennifer: I keep thinking about that man.
The one who lost his career.
Robert: What about him?
Jennifer: We've discussed how he might rebuild his professional life.
But suppose he never does.
Suppose he continues working in that restaurant for another twenty years.
His children grow up. They attend college. They find their own paths.
One evening, his daughter is asked to give a speech at a family celebration.
She stands up and says:
"My father taught me something no school ever taught me. He showed me that when life takes away everything you thought made you important, you can still be kind."
Angela looks down.
Jennifer: Wouldn't that be a remarkable legacy?
Ju-Ho: It would.
Andreas: Yes.
Angela: And I hope someone tells him that while he's still alive.
Robert: That's what I was thinking.
We have a habit of recognizing the value of ordinary people after they're gone.
At funerals, we don't usually hear much about examination scores.
We hear about who showed up.
Who helped.
Who forgave.
Who made people laugh.
Who sat beside someone during a terrible night.
Jennifer: The things that don't appear on transcripts.
Robert: Yes.
Angela: Though I hope the mathematician's discoveries are mentioned at her funeral too.
Robert laughs.
Robert: Absolutely.
Let her discoveries be celebrated.
And let someone remember that she was a good friend.
Ju-Ho: Perhaps that's what we've been searching for.
Not a rejection of achievement.
A fuller definition of success.
Andreas: One that includes competence, opportunity, contribution, and personal agency.
Angela: Effort and purpose.
Jennifer: Belonging and unconditional worth.
Robert: Relationships and love.
The conversation seems to have reached its conclusion, but Ju-Ho speaks once more.
Ju-Ho: I have one final question.
Imagine a father sitting beside his daughter after she fails an important examination.
He's disappointed.
She's devastated.
He knows the result may affect her opportunities.
He cannot pretend it doesn't matter.
What should he say?
Angela: He can acknowledge the disappointment.
"That hurts. I know how much you wanted this."
Andreas: And when she's ready, he can help her understand what options remain.
Ju-Ho: Jennifer?
Jennifer: I'd want him to say something that leaves no room for doubt.
"This result doesn't change how I feel about you."
Robert: And then?
Jennifer: Then I'd want him to stop talking.
Robert: Yes.
He nods slowly.
Robert: Because perhaps his daughter has spent years listening to what everyone expects of her.
Perhaps this is the first moment when someone is willing to listen to what she feels.
Ju-Ho: And if she begins to cry?
Robert: He stays.
Angela: He doesn't need to fix everything immediately.
Andreas: Tomorrow there will be decisions to make.
Jennifer: But tonight she's still his daughter.
The room becomes quiet.
Robert: Imagine how different education might feel if every child knew that, whatever happened in the examination room, there would be someone waiting at home who was more interested in the child than the result.
Angela: They would still have to study.
Robert: Yes.
Ju-Ho: They would still face competition.
Robert: Yes.
Andreas: They would still encounter inequality and uncertainty.
Robert: Yes.
Jennifer: But they wouldn't have to face those things believing their worth was at stake.
Robert looks around the table one final time.
Robert: Perhaps that's where a good education begins.
Not with the promise that children will never fail.
But with the knowledge that failure will never make them less worthy of love.
And for once, no one feels the need to improve upon the answer.
Final Thoughts: The Things Success Cannot Give Us
Final Thoughts: What If Success Was Never the Final Exam?
Five experts began with a simple question: Are we raising successful children or anxious adults?
But their conversation revealed something more troubling.
A parent may sacrifice everything to give a child a better future. A child may work tirelessly to honor that sacrifice. A school may reward excellence. A university may open doors.
And still, somewhere along the way, everyone may forget to ask whether the child is happy.
Angela Duckworth reminded us that perseverance matters. Andreas Schleicher and Ju-Ho Lee challenged us to examine the educational systems that shape opportunity. Jennifer Breheny Wallace questioned what happens when children confuse achievement with personal worth. Robert Waldinger brought the discussion back to the relationships that sustain us.
None argued that education should be abandoned.
The deeper question was what education is supposed to accomplish.
Perhaps one of the most moving lessons of American Hagwon is that parents can give their children extraordinary opportunities without being able to guarantee their happiness.
A prestigious degree cannot prevent heartbreak. A successful career cannot guarantee security forever. And a disappointing examination cannot measure the worth of a human being.
Imagine a father sitting beside his daughter after she fails an important test.
He knows the result matters. He knows there will be difficult decisions tomorrow.
But tonight, he puts the examination paper aside.
He asks, "Are you okay?"
For the first time all evening, she looks at him instead of the floor.
And perhaps that is where a different kind of education begins.
Not when children stop striving for excellence, but when they understand that their worth was never something they had to earn.
About the Experts:
Jennifer Breheny Wallace is a journalist and author of Never Enough: When Achievement Culture Becomes Toxic. Her work explores academic pressure, parenting, and why children need to feel valued beyond their accomplishments.
Angela Duckworth is a psychologist at the University of Pennsylvania and author of Grit. Her research examines perseverance, self-control, motivation, and achievement.
Andreas Schleicher is the OECD's Director for Education and Skills. He initiated the Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA) and works on international education quality and equity.
Ju-Ho Lee is a South Korean economist, former education minister, and professor emeritus at KDI School. His work focuses on education policy, economic opportunity, and institutional reform.
Robert Waldinger is a psychiatrist, Harvard Medical School professor, and director of the Harvard Study of Adult Development. His research explores relationships, well-being, and what makes a good life.
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