The market was humming with noise as people bustled from one stall to the next. My name is Tian, and I was just a boy when I met the old man who changed my life. Back then, I thought hard work and clever tricks were the only ways to get ahead. I ran around doing errands for merchants, always rushing, always trying to earn more.
One hot afternoon, I spotted a wrinkled old man sitting under a tree, watching the breeze stir the leaves. He wasn't selling anything. He just sat there smiling.
"Haven’t you got something better to do, old man?" I asked, half-joking.
He opened one eye and looked at me kindly. "What is better than watching the wind dance through the branches?" he asked.
I laughed. “Better is making money. Trading. Doing something useful!”
He nodded slowly. “Doing is good. But not-doing is also something.”
“Not-doing? That’s just being lazy,” I said.
He chuckled. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it's called Wu Wei.”
“What’s Wu Wei?” I asked, sitting down, curious now.
He reached down and picked up a leaf. “This leaf,” he said, “doesn’t try to fly. But when the wind comes, it floats. It goes where it needs to, without trying to control the wind.”
I rolled my eyes. “So… I should be like a leaf?”
He looked me over. “When you run around chasing coins, are you happy?”
I paused. “Not really. I always feel tired. Like the more I do, the more I need to do.”
He smiled. “Doing less doesn’t mean doing nothing, Tian. It means flowing with life, not fighting it. That is the Way—the Tao.”
I didn’t fully understand, but his calmness stayed with me. Over the next few weeks, I found myself returning to that tree. The old man didn’t teach the way a schoolteacher did. Sometimes he told stories. Other times, he just let me sit beside him in the shade.
One day, a merchant yelled at me for dropping his packages. My face burned with anger. I told the old man about it later.
He said, “If a storm comes, do you yell back at the clouds? Or do you take shelter and let the rain pass?”
I laughed. “I guess I take shelter.”
“People are storms, too,” he said. “Let them pass. The sky always clears.”
It took time, but I began slowing down. I listened more. I rushed less. Oddly, I still got my tasks done—but with less worry. I noticed the trees more, the sky, the sounds. And when people shouted or pushed, I didn’t fight back right away. I learned to breathe and wait.
Now, many years later, I think about that old man often. I never learned his name. Some say he was a wandering sage. Some say he followed the teachings of Laozi—the great wise man who once wrote the Dao De Jing, a book full of quiet truths.
I still work. I still walk the market streets. But now, I move like the leaf in the wind—gentle, free, and light.
I haven’t reached perfect peace. But I’ve started walking the Way, and that, I think, is enough for now.
The market was humming with noise as people bustled from one stall to the next. My name is Tian, and I was just a boy when I met the old man who changed my life. Back then, I thought hard work and clever tricks were the only ways to get ahead. I ran around doing errands for merchants, always rushing, always trying to earn more.
One hot afternoon, I spotted a wrinkled old man sitting under a tree, watching the breeze stir the leaves. He wasn't selling anything. He just sat there smiling.
"Haven’t you got something better to do, old man?" I asked, half-joking.
He opened one eye and looked at me kindly. "What is better than watching the wind dance through the branches?" he asked.
I laughed. “Better is making money. Trading. Doing something useful!”
He nodded slowly. “Doing is good. But not-doing is also something.”
“Not-doing? That’s just being lazy,” I said.
He chuckled. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it's called Wu Wei.”
“What’s Wu Wei?” I asked, sitting down, curious now.
He reached down and picked up a leaf. “This leaf,” he said, “doesn’t try to fly. But when the wind comes, it floats. It goes where it needs to, without trying to control the wind.”
I rolled my eyes. “So… I should be like a leaf?”
He looked me over. “When you run around chasing coins, are you happy?”
I paused. “Not really. I always feel tired. Like the more I do, the more I need to do.”
He smiled. “Doing less doesn’t mean doing nothing, Tian. It means flowing with life, not fighting it. That is the Way—the Tao.”
I didn’t fully understand, but his calmness stayed with me. Over the next few weeks, I found myself returning to that tree. The old man didn’t teach the way a schoolteacher did. Sometimes he told stories. Other times, he just let me sit beside him in the shade.
One day, a merchant yelled at me for dropping his packages. My face burned with anger. I told the old man about it later.
He said, “If a storm comes, do you yell back at the clouds? Or do you take shelter and let the rain pass?”
I laughed. “I guess I take shelter.”
“People are storms, too,” he said. “Let them pass. The sky always clears.”
It took time, but I began slowing down. I listened more. I rushed less. Oddly, I still got my tasks done—but with less worry. I noticed the trees more, the sky, the sounds. And when people shouted or pushed, I didn’t fight back right away. I learned to breathe and wait.
Now, many years later, I think about that old man often. I never learned his name. Some say he was a wandering sage. Some say he followed the teachings of Laozi—the great wise man who once wrote the Dao De Jing, a book full of quiet truths.
I still work. I still walk the market streets. But now, I move like the leaf in the wind—gentle, free, and light.
I haven’t reached perfect peace. But I’ve started walking the Way, and that, I think, is enough for now.
