The bank counter was so busy it became numb, but using asset allocation thinking saved their mind and body.

After a busy day at the bank counter, looking up at the clock on the wall, it’s often already past closing time. The rhythm of fingers flying across the keyboard, the tone of clients’ inquiries, all blend into the nonstop background noise of the branch. Many people think this job is glamorous and respectable, with suits and stable income, but who knows that those hands worn numb from repetitive tasks, or nerves stretched tight by performance targets, are silently crying out for a breather too.

Thinking back to when I first started, my badge shining on my chest, every successful transaction filled me with a sense of achievement. My suit was new, my eyes bright, full of reverence and anticipation for this career. But as days passed, the suit became just a daily uniform, and that initial enthusiasm gradually settled into a steady sense of responsibility. Change isn’t a bad thing; it’s just that sometimes this responsibility feels so heavy that it makes you forget you also need to be cared for.

Actually, loving yourself is never just a luxury slogan. It’s like managing client assets—taking seriously stock of your mental and physical state. When clients come for financial advice, we carefully analyze risk and return, helping them hedge. But when it comes to ourselves, we often treat rest as an optional luxury. Sitting for long periods makes the body stiff, repetitive work dulls the senses, and the pressure of performance tightens emotions like a stretched string, trembling at the slightest touch. Over time, the deficit in our mental accounts grows, affecting not only our personal state but also the quality of service we provide to clients.

I started trying to make adjustments, creating clear contrasts between weekdays and weekends. Weekdays are filled with the sound of keyboards and numbers; weekends are dominated by natural sounds. Picking up a copy of Walden, the tranquility of the lake seems to gradually dissolve workplace anxiety. Or flipping through biographies of financial figures, seeing how predecessors stood firm amid storms, instantly gives me the strength to move forward. Writing also became a habit—jotting down small stories and insights from service experiences, organizing my thoughts while also reviewing my experience. When tired, I listen to classical music to soothe my restless mind; when I need to recharge, I turn on some rock, and the beat seems to ignite my fighting spirit again. Sometimes I even play eSports, fingers flying swiftly, team coordination seamless—those long-lost sharp instincts come rushing back.

These seemingly unrelated activities to work are actually giving my brain some space. Just like ecosystems need diversity to stay healthy, thinking also requires different rhythms of stimulation to stay vibrant. After recharging, when I return to the counter, my eyes are clearer, and my words carry more warmth. Once, during a fraud prevention campaign, traditional methods made clients drowsy. I changed my approach, telling a dramatic love scam story, weaving in transfer risks and personal information protection into the plot. When the victim’s regret was expressed, the scene fell silent, and some even asked how to prevent such scams. I suddenly realized that financial services are not just cold rules; adding a touch of human warmth and storytelling often doubles the effect.

Later, I started applying my literary background. When promoting products, I no longer just list parameters; I say things like “nourishing wealth like spring rain” or “building a safety wall for retirement.” When communicating with elderly clients, I use patience and listening to ease their resistance to mobile banking—one warm sentence is worth ten instructions. During compliance training, I use a down-to-earth phrase, “Eat to live, don’t live to eat,” which makes everyone laugh and makes serious rules easier to remember. These cross-disciplinary attempts made me realize that what I learned in college was not wasted. They are like seeds, planted in the soil of reality, and they grow even stronger.

Ultimately, loving yourself is a kind of compound interest investment. I’ve seen too many colleagues quietly giving their all, only to become exhausted from long-term overextension. I’ve also seen some who learn to leave space for themselves, and their work becomes more stable, their service more patient. Resilience increases, warmth rises, and potential naturally emerges. In this fast-changing industry—market fluctuations, policy adjustments, technological iterations—what doesn’t require us to stay alert and flexible? Taking good care of yourself first allows you to better earn others’ trust.

Have you ever thought that while busy helping others safeguard their wealth, maybe your own inner peace also needs insurance? When we treat self-care as a core asset to manage, our career path becomes longer and more composed. On the ICBC soil, everyone is cultivating wealth and cultivating themselves. Only with internal and external balance can personal growth and organizational development be like two trees with deep roots and lush leaves, together welcoming all four seasons.