I had always believed that if I just tried harder, I could fix everything. When something went wrong, I rushed to solve it. When people argued, I jumped in. I thought that if I didn’t do something, things would fall apart. But then came a day I’ll never forget—a day that taught me to let go.
It started in the village near the foot of Green Mountain. I had been helping people all morning. Fixing roofs, chasing lost goats, running messages between neighbors. My name is Shen, and everyone said I was dependable. But lately, I had been so tired. My chest felt heavy, like I was carrying invisible bags of stones.
That afternoon, I walked to the edge of the forest, hoping the trees could give me some peace. I sat under a tall pine tree, closed my eyes, and listened to the breeze. That’s when I heard footsteps.
It was Old Yan, a quiet man with a long gray beard and slow steps. He once traveled with masters of the Tao but now lived in a small hut by the forest. He looked at me and smiled gently.
"Doing much again, Shen?" he asked.
I nodded and sighed, rubbing my sore shoulders. "People need help. If I don’t act, who will?"
Old Yan chuckled and sat beside me. “Tell me,” he said, pointing to the tree above us, “do you see this pine? Has it done anything today to grow so tall?”
I looked up at the long, still branches. “It just stands there. But it’s strong.”
“Exactly,” Old Yan said. “It does not rush. The sun shines, the rain falls, and still—it grows. That is the Way of Tao. Sometimes, forgetting yourself is the way to truly find your place. Act only when the moment calls, not before, not beyond.”
I frowned. “But that feels like doing… nothing.”
“Not nothing,” he said softly. “Just not forcing. That is Wu Wei—effortless action.”
We sat in silence. A squirrel darted up the tree. A bird chirped. The world moved without needing to be pushed.
After a while, I returned to the village. I didn’t rush to fix things. When someone lost their hat to the wind, I waited and simply pointed when the wind brought it back. When two boys argued, I didn't shout—I let them settle it, and soon they laughed again.
To my surprise, everything still worked out. Even better, actually. The weight in my chest lifted.
That day, I learned I don’t have to hold up the world. The Tao flows without my hands forcing the river. I began to see how beautiful it is when you work with life, not against it.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, when I feel the urge to fix things too fast, I remember the pine tree. I remember Old Yan’s words. And I let life unfold, quietly and wisely, like the Way itself.
I had always believed that if I just tried harder, I could fix everything. When something went wrong, I rushed to solve it. When people argued, I jumped in. I thought that if I didn’t do something, things would fall apart. But then came a day I’ll never forget—a day that taught me to let go.
It started in the village near the foot of Green Mountain. I had been helping people all morning. Fixing roofs, chasing lost goats, running messages between neighbors. My name is Shen, and everyone said I was dependable. But lately, I had been so tired. My chest felt heavy, like I was carrying invisible bags of stones.
That afternoon, I walked to the edge of the forest, hoping the trees could give me some peace. I sat under a tall pine tree, closed my eyes, and listened to the breeze. That’s when I heard footsteps.
It was Old Yan, a quiet man with a long gray beard and slow steps. He once traveled with masters of the Tao but now lived in a small hut by the forest. He looked at me and smiled gently.
"Doing much again, Shen?" he asked.
I nodded and sighed, rubbing my sore shoulders. "People need help. If I don’t act, who will?"
Old Yan chuckled and sat beside me. “Tell me,” he said, pointing to the tree above us, “do you see this pine? Has it done anything today to grow so tall?”
I looked up at the long, still branches. “It just stands there. But it’s strong.”
“Exactly,” Old Yan said. “It does not rush. The sun shines, the rain falls, and still—it grows. That is the Way of Tao. Sometimes, forgetting yourself is the way to truly find your place. Act only when the moment calls, not before, not beyond.”
I frowned. “But that feels like doing… nothing.”
“Not nothing,” he said softly. “Just not forcing. That is Wu Wei—effortless action.”
We sat in silence. A squirrel darted up the tree. A bird chirped. The world moved without needing to be pushed.
After a while, I returned to the village. I didn’t rush to fix things. When someone lost their hat to the wind, I waited and simply pointed when the wind brought it back. When two boys argued, I didn't shout—I let them settle it, and soon they laughed again.
To my surprise, everything still worked out. Even better, actually. The weight in my chest lifted.
That day, I learned I don’t have to hold up the world. The Tao flows without my hands forcing the river. I began to see how beautiful it is when you work with life, not against it.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, when I feel the urge to fix things too fast, I remember the pine tree. I remember Old Yan’s words. And I let life unfold, quietly and wisely, like the Way itself.
