I had always thought I needed to try harder. Work more, train more, do more. My name is Wei, and I was the youngest apprentice in the Emperor’s garden. Every day, I got up before the sun rose, raked the stones, trimmed the trees, watered the bamboo... and still, I felt like I wasn’t doing enough.
One morning, I noticed the old gardener, Master Lin, resting under the peach tree. His eyes were half-closed, and he held a warm cup of tea in his hand. Meanwhile, I was sweating, my hands covered in dirt, racing from one end of the garden to the other.
“Master Lin!” I called out. “Why are you sitting when there’s still work to be done?”
He opened one eye and smiled. “Have you ever watched a tree grow, little Wei?”
“Of course,” I said. “They grow slowly.”
“They don’t push,” he said, sipping his tea. “They just grow.”
I didn’t understand what he meant. How could sitting around help anything? But I didn’t want to argue, so I nodded and ran off to sweep the temple steps.
That night, I was too tired to sleep. I tossed in my bed, thinking of all the things I didn’t finish. The next day, I woke up even earlier. I rushed through my chores and knocked a pot of orchids off the table by accident. The clay shattered. My heart sank.
I waited for Master Lin to scold me. But he only looked at the broken pot and said softly, “Even the wind doesn’t rush. It blows as it pleases.”
I frowned. “But won’t the garden fall apart if I don’t keep moving?”
He walked over, slow and calm, and gently lifted one of the orchids from the ground. “Balance, Wei. The Way of the Tao teaches wu wei—acting without forcing. Like water flowing around the stone. You do much, but in the doing, you lose the gentle way.”
That evening, for the first time, I sat beside Master Lin beneath the peach tree. The sun warmed our faces, and the scent of blossoms floated in the air. A bird chirped nearby. I didn’t move. I just listened.
“Stillness lets the dust settle,” Master Lin whispered.
Later that week, I started working differently. I moved slower, not because I was lazy, but because I was thoughtful. I noticed which plants needed tending first. I stopped chasing the broom and watched the leaves fall before I swept. I worked less, and yet, the garden seemed more alive than ever.
One afternoon, the Emperor himself came through. He looked around and said, “This place feels peaceful. Well done.”
Master Lin only nodded and sipped his tea. I smiled.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to do too much, I remember the tree… and Master Lin’s tea. I try to let things unfold as they are, finding peace in the gentle path.
And in doing less, I found more.
I had always thought I needed to try harder. Work more, train more, do more. My name is Wei, and I was the youngest apprentice in the Emperor’s garden. Every day, I got up before the sun rose, raked the stones, trimmed the trees, watered the bamboo... and still, I felt like I wasn’t doing enough.
One morning, I noticed the old gardener, Master Lin, resting under the peach tree. His eyes were half-closed, and he held a warm cup of tea in his hand. Meanwhile, I was sweating, my hands covered in dirt, racing from one end of the garden to the other.
“Master Lin!” I called out. “Why are you sitting when there’s still work to be done?”
He opened one eye and smiled. “Have you ever watched a tree grow, little Wei?”
“Of course,” I said. “They grow slowly.”
“They don’t push,” he said, sipping his tea. “They just grow.”
I didn’t understand what he meant. How could sitting around help anything? But I didn’t want to argue, so I nodded and ran off to sweep the temple steps.
That night, I was too tired to sleep. I tossed in my bed, thinking of all the things I didn’t finish. The next day, I woke up even earlier. I rushed through my chores and knocked a pot of orchids off the table by accident. The clay shattered. My heart sank.
I waited for Master Lin to scold me. But he only looked at the broken pot and said softly, “Even the wind doesn’t rush. It blows as it pleases.”
I frowned. “But won’t the garden fall apart if I don’t keep moving?”
He walked over, slow and calm, and gently lifted one of the orchids from the ground. “Balance, Wei. The Way of the Tao teaches wu wei—acting without forcing. Like water flowing around the stone. You do much, but in the doing, you lose the gentle way.”
That evening, for the first time, I sat beside Master Lin beneath the peach tree. The sun warmed our faces, and the scent of blossoms floated in the air. A bird chirped nearby. I didn’t move. I just listened.
“Stillness lets the dust settle,” Master Lin whispered.
Later that week, I started working differently. I moved slower, not because I was lazy, but because I was thoughtful. I noticed which plants needed tending first. I stopped chasing the broom and watched the leaves fall before I swept. I worked less, and yet, the garden seemed more alive than ever.
One afternoon, the Emperor himself came through. He looked around and said, “This place feels peaceful. Well done.”
Master Lin only nodded and sipped his tea. I smiled.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to do too much, I remember the tree… and Master Lin’s tea. I try to let things unfold as they are, finding peace in the gentle path.
And in doing less, I found more.
