The wind blew gently through the trees, and I sat on the stone bench outside my small home, feeling lost. I had tried so hard to succeed—working through the night, pushing through every tired yawn, always chasing more. But no matter how much I did, I just felt emptier inside.
One morning, I decided to go into the mountains. I didn’t know what I was looking for—maybe peace, maybe quiet. Or maybe just a place to stop thinking.
The path was steep, and the sun peeked out now and then between the clouds. Birds sang soft songs above, and the sound of the leaves rustling calmed my heart. I walked for hours until I reached a little hut with smoke coming out of a crooked chimney.
An old man sat outside, feeding crumbs to a squirrel. His beard was long and white, and his eyes shone like morning dew.
“Lost something?” he asked without looking at me.
I blinked. “How did you—?”
“You’ve been searching hard,” he said, standing up. “Sometimes, the harder you chase the wind, the faster it runs away.”
I followed him inside the hut. It was very simple—wooden floors, a teapot, and a mat. It was quiet, but not empty. It felt… calm.
“I’m tired,” I said. “I work all day. I try everything. But I’m never happy.”
The old man smiled as he poured tea. “Let me show you something.” He picked up the teacup and poured it full—and kept pouring. The tea spilled over the side.
“Stop!” I cried. “You’re spilling it!”
He stopped and raised his eyebrows. “Your mind is like this cup. So full, it can’t hold any peace. You keep pouring more stress… more goals… more fear. What if you emptied it?”
“But if I don’t try,” I said, “how will I succeed?”
He stood and pointed to the tree outside. “That tree doesn’t try to grow. It just grows. It follows the Tao—the Way. It does nothing, yet everything gets done.”
I frowned, still confused.
“Try less,” he said gently. “Rest more. Let go. Let life come to you.”
That night, I slept in the quiet of the mountains. No buzzing thoughts. No rushing dreams. Just the sound of rain on the roof.
When I returned home, I didn’t quit my work—but I stopped pushing so hard. I took breaks. I listened to the river nearby. I noticed the sky.
Weeks passed, and something strange happened. I was happier. I was calmer. The world hadn’t changed… but I had.
I didn’t understand it all yet, but I knew one thing for sure: I didn’t need to grab at life. If I let go, the important things would come. Just like the breeze in the trees, they came softly, in their own time.
And so I keep walking the Way, little by little, learning that doing less can sometimes give you everything you truly need.
The wind blew gently through the trees, and I sat on the stone bench outside my small home, feeling lost. I had tried so hard to succeed—working through the night, pushing through every tired yawn, always chasing more. But no matter how much I did, I just felt emptier inside.
One morning, I decided to go into the mountains. I didn’t know what I was looking for—maybe peace, maybe quiet. Or maybe just a place to stop thinking.
The path was steep, and the sun peeked out now and then between the clouds. Birds sang soft songs above, and the sound of the leaves rustling calmed my heart. I walked for hours until I reached a little hut with smoke coming out of a crooked chimney.
An old man sat outside, feeding crumbs to a squirrel. His beard was long and white, and his eyes shone like morning dew.
“Lost something?” he asked without looking at me.
I blinked. “How did you—?”
“You’ve been searching hard,” he said, standing up. “Sometimes, the harder you chase the wind, the faster it runs away.”
I followed him inside the hut. It was very simple—wooden floors, a teapot, and a mat. It was quiet, but not empty. It felt… calm.
“I’m tired,” I said. “I work all day. I try everything. But I’m never happy.”
The old man smiled as he poured tea. “Let me show you something.” He picked up the teacup and poured it full—and kept pouring. The tea spilled over the side.
“Stop!” I cried. “You’re spilling it!”
He stopped and raised his eyebrows. “Your mind is like this cup. So full, it can’t hold any peace. You keep pouring more stress… more goals… more fear. What if you emptied it?”
“But if I don’t try,” I said, “how will I succeed?”
He stood and pointed to the tree outside. “That tree doesn’t try to grow. It just grows. It follows the Tao—the Way. It does nothing, yet everything gets done.”
I frowned, still confused.
“Try less,” he said gently. “Rest more. Let go. Let life come to you.”
That night, I slept in the quiet of the mountains. No buzzing thoughts. No rushing dreams. Just the sound of rain on the roof.
When I returned home, I didn’t quit my work—but I stopped pushing so hard. I took breaks. I listened to the river nearby. I noticed the sky.
Weeks passed, and something strange happened. I was happier. I was calmer. The world hadn’t changed… but I had.
I didn’t understand it all yet, but I knew one thing for sure: I didn’t need to grab at life. If I let go, the important things would come. Just like the breeze in the trees, they came softly, in their own time.
And so I keep walking the Way, little by little, learning that doing less can sometimes give you everything you truly need.
