The sun was hot over the rice fields, and I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. My name is Wei, and I was twelve years old when I thought I had to control everything in my life. I worked beside my father every day, planting, digging, pulling—always moving fast, always trying to get ahead.
One morning, while I was in a rush to finish my chores before lunch, I spilled a whole basket of tools into the irrigation ditch. Angry, I kicked the ground and shouted, “Nothing ever goes my way!” My father, quiet as always, stood nearby, watching.
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he handed me a smaller basket and said, “Come. We’re going to visit Old Master Ping.”
Old Master Ping lived under a willow tree at the edge of our village. People said he was strange, because he didn’t farm or fish or sell anything. But Father said Ping followed the Tao, the Way. I didn’t know what that meant, but I followed Father out of respect.
When we arrived, Master Ping was sitting under the tree, carving wood. He looked up with a warm smile. “So, the river is restless in you today, little one?” he said.
I blinked. “I don’t understand.”
He nodded toward the stream behind him. “Do you see the water? It flows around rocks. It doesn’t push or fight. It simply goes. That is what the Tao is like—patient, peaceful, but full of life.”
I frowned. “But if the water doesn’t push, how does it ever get anywhere?”
Master Ping chuckled softly. “Ah, but water always reaches its home—without rushing. Sometimes, not ‘doing’ is the most powerful thing.”
I didn’t get it. I didn’t like sitting still. I wanted to fix everything, be faster, be better.
But then, Master Ping gave me a branch. “Sit here. Watch the stream. Nothing more.”
It felt silly—but I sat. Slowly, the sound of the water calmed me. The wind moved the tall grass. A butterfly danced near my foot. I didn’t move. I just… watched.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt calm—like I didn’t need to do anything at all. Like everything was okay, just as it was.
Later, as we walked home, Father looked down and smiled. “Not everything needs to be fixed with hard work. Sometimes, things take care of themselves when we stop forcing them.”
That night, I thought about the river. How it moved without hurrying. How it still carved mountains.
I didn’t change overnight. But soon, I stopped rushing so much. I watched more. I listened more. I let some things be.
And now, whenever I feel myself getting frustrated or trying to force things to go my way, I remember Master Ping under the willow tree. I close my eyes and think of the water, always flowing, always moving forward—without a fight.
That lesson became my secret, the one that helped me grow in peace—and follow the Way.
The sun was hot over the rice fields, and I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. My name is Wei, and I was twelve years old when I thought I had to control everything in my life. I worked beside my father every day, planting, digging, pulling—always moving fast, always trying to get ahead.
One morning, while I was in a rush to finish my chores before lunch, I spilled a whole basket of tools into the irrigation ditch. Angry, I kicked the ground and shouted, “Nothing ever goes my way!” My father, quiet as always, stood nearby, watching.
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he handed me a smaller basket and said, “Come. We’re going to visit Old Master Ping.”
Old Master Ping lived under a willow tree at the edge of our village. People said he was strange, because he didn’t farm or fish or sell anything. But Father said Ping followed the Tao, the Way. I didn’t know what that meant, but I followed Father out of respect.
When we arrived, Master Ping was sitting under the tree, carving wood. He looked up with a warm smile. “So, the river is restless in you today, little one?” he said.
I blinked. “I don’t understand.”
He nodded toward the stream behind him. “Do you see the water? It flows around rocks. It doesn’t push or fight. It simply goes. That is what the Tao is like—patient, peaceful, but full of life.”
I frowned. “But if the water doesn’t push, how does it ever get anywhere?”
Master Ping chuckled softly. “Ah, but water always reaches its home—without rushing. Sometimes, not ‘doing’ is the most powerful thing.”
I didn’t get it. I didn’t like sitting still. I wanted to fix everything, be faster, be better.
But then, Master Ping gave me a branch. “Sit here. Watch the stream. Nothing more.”
It felt silly—but I sat. Slowly, the sound of the water calmed me. The wind moved the tall grass. A butterfly danced near my foot. I didn’t move. I just… watched.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt calm—like I didn’t need to do anything at all. Like everything was okay, just as it was.
Later, as we walked home, Father looked down and smiled. “Not everything needs to be fixed with hard work. Sometimes, things take care of themselves when we stop forcing them.”
That night, I thought about the river. How it moved without hurrying. How it still carved mountains.
I didn’t change overnight. But soon, I stopped rushing so much. I watched more. I listened more. I let some things be.
And now, whenever I feel myself getting frustrated or trying to force things to go my way, I remember Master Ping under the willow tree. I close my eyes and think of the water, always flowing, always moving forward—without a fight.
That lesson became my secret, the one that helped me grow in peace—and follow the Way.
