The morning mist still danced over the rice fields when I slipped away from the village. My name is Lin, and I was twelve years old the day I went searching for answers. I had tried to be the best at everything—running, farming, studying. But no matter how hard I worked, someone was always better. I felt like I was climbing a mountain that only grew taller.
I wandered until my feet ached. Just past the forest’s edge, I saw a tiny hut resting beside a winding stream. A man sat outside on a bamboo mat, sipping tea. He looked up and smiled gently. His long white beard tickled his robe when he moved.
“You look tired,” he said.
“I’m trying to be the best,” I blurted, “but it never feels like enough. How do I win?”
He nodded slowly, as if he had heard this before. “Would you like some tea?”
I nodded, expecting a lesson or a secret tip. Instead, he poured the tea slowly—so slowly that I started to fidget. He handed it to me without a word.
“But how do I win?” I asked again, frustrated.
The old man chuckled. “The stream does not force its way forward—it flows effortlessly. Why do you struggle to push when the Way would carry you?”
I blinked. “Because if I don’t try hard, I’ll fall behind.”
He pointed to a tree behind him. “That tree does not grow by forcing itself taller than others. It grows by being what it is.”
I didn’t understand. I stood up. “So, I should just… stop trying?”
He shook his head. “Trying is not bad, young one. But struggle is not the same as effort. Do what comes naturally, and let go of needing to be first.”
I sat back down, a little embarrassed. I had come here expecting to learn how to win, but I was being told to do nothing?
Suddenly, a breeze passed by. The leaves of the big tree hardly moved. But the little leaves on the ground scattered and danced across the earth. They didn’t try to dance—they just did, carried by the wind.
That image stayed with me.
I stayed with the old man through the evening, helping him gather wood and sweep the leaves. He never rushed. Everything he did felt like a river flowing at just the right speed.
When I returned to the village, things hadn’t changed. But I had.
Instead of racing to prove myself, I listened more. I helped without needing praise. I worked with care, not with worry.
Days turned into weeks, and people began coming to me for help—not because I was the best, but because I was calm, steady, and kind.
Now, I still walk by the stream sometimes. And though the world around me keeps rushing, inside, I feel still—like that old man beside the bamboo mat.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to chase and push, I remember the dancing leaves—and I gently let go.
The morning mist still danced over the rice fields when I slipped away from the village. My name is Lin, and I was twelve years old the day I went searching for answers. I had tried to be the best at everything—running, farming, studying. But no matter how hard I worked, someone was always better. I felt like I was climbing a mountain that only grew taller.
I wandered until my feet ached. Just past the forest’s edge, I saw a tiny hut resting beside a winding stream. A man sat outside on a bamboo mat, sipping tea. He looked up and smiled gently. His long white beard tickled his robe when he moved.
“You look tired,” he said.
“I’m trying to be the best,” I blurted, “but it never feels like enough. How do I win?”
He nodded slowly, as if he had heard this before. “Would you like some tea?”
I nodded, expecting a lesson or a secret tip. Instead, he poured the tea slowly—so slowly that I started to fidget. He handed it to me without a word.
“But how do I win?” I asked again, frustrated.
The old man chuckled. “The stream does not force its way forward—it flows effortlessly. Why do you struggle to push when the Way would carry you?”
I blinked. “Because if I don’t try hard, I’ll fall behind.”
He pointed to a tree behind him. “That tree does not grow by forcing itself taller than others. It grows by being what it is.”
I didn’t understand. I stood up. “So, I should just… stop trying?”
He shook his head. “Trying is not bad, young one. But struggle is not the same as effort. Do what comes naturally, and let go of needing to be first.”
I sat back down, a little embarrassed. I had come here expecting to learn how to win, but I was being told to do nothing?
Suddenly, a breeze passed by. The leaves of the big tree hardly moved. But the little leaves on the ground scattered and danced across the earth. They didn’t try to dance—they just did, carried by the wind.
That image stayed with me.
I stayed with the old man through the evening, helping him gather wood and sweep the leaves. He never rushed. Everything he did felt like a river flowing at just the right speed.
When I returned to the village, things hadn’t changed. But I had.
Instead of racing to prove myself, I listened more. I helped without needing praise. I worked with care, not with worry.
Days turned into weeks, and people began coming to me for help—not because I was the best, but because I was calm, steady, and kind.
Now, I still walk by the stream sometimes. And though the world around me keeps rushing, inside, I feel still—like that old man beside the bamboo mat.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to chase and push, I remember the dancing leaves—and I gently let go.
