May 2026 · 6 min read
Every time I see someone talk about side hustles and entrepreneurship, I think back to 2010.
I was working at a hospital in Suining. Stable job. Decent pay. But I was young — mid-20s — and I felt like I should be doing more. Building something. Making real money.
A friend mentioned that some local farmers were raising chickens. Low barrier to entry. High demand. It sounded easy. I didn't think twice.
I rented land. Bought 2,000 chicks. All in, from day one.
Here's what I didn't think about: I was still working full-time at the hospital. Shifts were long, exhausting, and unpredictable. The chicken farm needed daily feeding, vaccination, cleaning, monitoring. Who was going to do all that?
Me. Only me.
I spent my days at the hospital and my nights at the chicken farm. Feed the chicks. Clean the coops. Check for sick birds. Rush home, sleep a few hours, repeat.
I thought hard work would be enough. It wasn't. I didn't know the first thing about chicken farming — disease prevention, feeding cycles, temperature control. I was learning on the job, and the job was brutal.
The chickens started dying. First a few, then dozens, then hundreds. I panicked. I tried everything — called other farmers, searched for solutions, worked even harder. But I was fighting blind. I didn't have the knowledge, and I didn't have enough hours in the day.
Almost all 2,000 chickens died. The money I put in — upfront costs, feed, equipment — gone.
Months of effort. Zero return. Negative profit.
I sat there looking at the empty coops, and I felt something I'd never felt before: the specific kind of exhaustion that comes from failing at something you poured everything into.
That experience taught me something I've never forgotten: a side hustle is not a shortcut.
I jumped in with enthusiasm and nothing else. No expertise. No time buffer. No backup plan. Failure wasn't just possible — it was inevitable.
Fifteen years later, that lesson still shapes every decision I make about side income. Before I start something now, I ask myself three questions:
I'm 40 now. Still working a salaried job. Still carrying the weight of family responsibilities. And sometimes, late at night, the same questions creep in: Is this all there is? What happens if something goes wrong with my job?
I don't have the answers. The chicken farm taught me that jumping blindly doesn't work. But doing nothing doesn't feel right either.
So I keep looking. Keep trying. Keep writing about it.
That's the only thing I know for sure.
— Kuang Shan, still figuring it out at 40
2026年5月 · 阅读约6分钟
想做副业，想创业，总觉得上班拿死工资太局限。每次看到这类话题，我都会想起十几年前那场失败的养鸡经历。
那是2010年，我在遂宁一家医院上班。工作稳定，但心里总想着趁年轻拼一把。偶然了解到周边农户养鸡，觉得门槛不高，市场需求大，脑子一热就干了。租地、进鸡苗，一口气投了2000多只。
那时候完全没想清楚。一边是医院的工作，每天忙得脚不沾地，一边是养鸡，喂食、防疫、清理鸡舍，全靠自己。白天上班，下班直奔养鸡场，忙到深夜才回家，几乎没有休息时间。
我以为够努力就行。但现实很快就打了我的脸。我根本不懂养鸡技术，不懂防疫，精力也不够用。鸡开始生病、死亡，越来越多。我慌了，想各种办法补救，但不懂技术，手忙脚乱，最后2000多只鸡几乎死光，前期投入的钱全赔了。那段时间，我满心挫败。折腾了几个月，业余时间全搭进去了，钱没赚到，反而赔了不少。
这件事让我明白了一个道理：副业从来不是捷径。当时我凭着一股热情盲目入局，没有专业能力，精力也顾不过来，失败是必然的。
但说实话，十几年过去了，我现在依然会焦虑。40岁了，上班拿固定工资，上有老下有小。想改变，不知道从哪下手。想做点副业，又不知道做什么。有时候半夜睡不着，脑子里全是这些问题：我这辈子就这样了吗？万一工作出了问题怎么办？
我也不知道答案。那场养鸡的经历让我明白，盲目冲动不行。但不折腾，心里又不踏实。写这些，就是想说说自己的真实经历。
—— 况山，还在想这些问题的中年人