The morning was quiet, like holding your breath before something big happens. I was a potter’s helper in the village of Yulin, where the clay is soft and good for shaping bowls and cups. My name is Wei, and I thought that working harder meant becoming better. That’s what all the grown-ups said—"Work fast, work strong, and you’ll be happy." So I woke up early, stayed up late, and never let myself rest.
One day, the potter asked me to shape a large water jar. “Try not to overthink it,” he said. “Let your hands follow the clay.”
I nodded, but I didn’t listen. I pressed hard, pulled too fast, and pinched at every edge. The jar cracked. I tried again. And again. Each one fell apart, until I yelled and kicked the wheel in frustration.
That’s when Master Shen, the old Taoist who lived near the foothills, happened to pass by. He watched me for a while, then placed his walking stick in the shade.
“You seem to be fighting something,” he said.
“I just want to make a perfect jar!” I grumbled, wiping clay from my fingers. “But no matter how hard I try, it breaks.”
Master Shen smiled gently. “Trying too hard is like grabbing a fish with both hands. You might only get splashed.” He knelt beside the wheel and placed a small ball of clay in the center. “The Tao is like this wheel. It turns by itself. You guide it, not push it.”
I didn’t really understand. “So I should just do... nothing?”
He shook his head. “You do, but without force. Like the river flows, like the tree bends with the wind. That’s Wu Wei—doing without pushing. Let go of trying so hard.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about his words. Could it be true that doing less could give me better results?
The next morning, I sat at the wheel again. This time, I didn’t rush. I breathed. I listened. My hands felt lighter, my thoughts calmer. I didn’t force the shape—I followed it. Before I knew it, a smooth, round jar sat before me. No cracks. Just peace.
The potter came by and picked it up. “Beautiful,” he said, surprised. “What changed?”
I smiled. “I stopped trying so hard.”
From that day on, I worked slower. I listened more. And somehow, everything became easier. My hands knew what to do without needing to fight the clay. I wasn't tired all the time. And I felt... peaceful.
It didn’t happen all at once. I still forgot and rushed sometimes. But then I’d remember the river, the fish, and the silent wheel turning under my hands.
I’m still learning. But now I know: sometimes, less is more. The Tao works best when we stop forcing things and just allow life to flow.
And like Master Shen said, “Let the Way carry you. It's the quiet path that reaches the farthest.”
The morning was quiet, like holding your breath before something big happens. I was a potter’s helper in the village of Yulin, where the clay is soft and good for shaping bowls and cups. My name is Wei, and I thought that working harder meant becoming better. That’s what all the grown-ups said—"Work fast, work strong, and you’ll be happy." So I woke up early, stayed up late, and never let myself rest.
One day, the potter asked me to shape a large water jar. “Try not to overthink it,” he said. “Let your hands follow the clay.”
I nodded, but I didn’t listen. I pressed hard, pulled too fast, and pinched at every edge. The jar cracked. I tried again. And again. Each one fell apart, until I yelled and kicked the wheel in frustration.
That’s when Master Shen, the old Taoist who lived near the foothills, happened to pass by. He watched me for a while, then placed his walking stick in the shade.
“You seem to be fighting something,” he said.
“I just want to make a perfect jar!” I grumbled, wiping clay from my fingers. “But no matter how hard I try, it breaks.”
Master Shen smiled gently. “Trying too hard is like grabbing a fish with both hands. You might only get splashed.” He knelt beside the wheel and placed a small ball of clay in the center. “The Tao is like this wheel. It turns by itself. You guide it, not push it.”
I didn’t really understand. “So I should just do... nothing?”
He shook his head. “You do, but without force. Like the river flows, like the tree bends with the wind. That’s Wu Wei—doing without pushing. Let go of trying so hard.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about his words. Could it be true that doing less could give me better results?
The next morning, I sat at the wheel again. This time, I didn’t rush. I breathed. I listened. My hands felt lighter, my thoughts calmer. I didn’t force the shape—I followed it. Before I knew it, a smooth, round jar sat before me. No cracks. Just peace.
The potter came by and picked it up. “Beautiful,” he said, surprised. “What changed?”
I smiled. “I stopped trying so hard.”
From that day on, I worked slower. I listened more. And somehow, everything became easier. My hands knew what to do without needing to fight the clay. I wasn't tired all the time. And I felt... peaceful.
It didn’t happen all at once. I still forgot and rushed sometimes. But then I’d remember the river, the fish, and the silent wheel turning under my hands.
I’m still learning. But now I know: sometimes, less is more. The Tao works best when we stop forcing things and just allow life to flow.
And like Master Shen said, “Let the Way carry you. It's the quiet path that reaches the farthest.”
