The sun was high above the hills when I slipped on my sandals and ran outside. My name is Lin, and I lived in a quiet village stretched along the river’s edge. Our streets were small, our gardens wide, and everything moved slowly—except me.
I always wanted to go faster. I wanted to be the best at everything—picking rice, climbing trees, even catching frogs. I thought if I tried harder, ran faster, and worked more, I would feel important. But honestly, I was always tired. And angry too. Angry when things didn’t go my way.
One day, I rushed past old Master Wei sitting under the plum tree. He was as still as moonlight. Everyone in the village respected him, though he never shouted, competed, or rushed. He just… smiled a lot and watched the wind.
“Master Wei!” I called. “I don’t have time to sit! I’m going to be better than everyone!”
He opened one eye and chuckled. “Better than the river?”
“What? That’s silly. Rivers can’t race or win!”
He only smiled and said quietly, “Come back later. The tree will teach you.”
I didn’t understand, but curiosity made me return before sunset. The tree above him gently swayed, even though the air was still. Master Wei said nothing at first. We sat. And sat more. The sounds of the day faded. All I heard was the wind rustling the leaves like whispers.
Then he pointed to a dry, broken branch on the ground. “This branch once tried to stand stiff against a strong wind. It snapped.” His hand moved to the tree above. “But the green branches bent. They moved with the breeze. They’re still growing.”
I blinked. “So… bending is better than trying to stay strong?”
He nodded. “Trying too hard breaks things—hearts, friendships. The Tao moves like water. It doesn’t fight or hurry. It flows. You can be strong, but not stiff. You can grow by letting go.”
I didn’t get it right away. But I felt something change in me—as if my tiredness began to float away like petals on the river.
The next day, I walked slower. I helped my little brother tie his sandals, even though it took longer. When I climbed the tree, I didn’t race but listened to the birds nesting there. And you know what? I felt lighter, freer—like the wind was now inside me.
Weeks passed, and I still visited Master Wei. Sometimes we spoke. Sometimes we didn't. But I always left feeling peaceful.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to rush or control everything, I remember that tree. I try to let things unfold as they are, trusting the Way.
The Tao teaches that balance isn’t about doing more—it’s about doing just enough, and being at peace with that. And for the first time, I understood: sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is simply be still.
The sun was high above the hills when I slipped on my sandals and ran outside. My name is Lin, and I lived in a quiet village stretched along the river’s edge. Our streets were small, our gardens wide, and everything moved slowly—except me.
I always wanted to go faster. I wanted to be the best at everything—picking rice, climbing trees, even catching frogs. I thought if I tried harder, ran faster, and worked more, I would feel important. But honestly, I was always tired. And angry too. Angry when things didn’t go my way.
One day, I rushed past old Master Wei sitting under the plum tree. He was as still as moonlight. Everyone in the village respected him, though he never shouted, competed, or rushed. He just… smiled a lot and watched the wind.
“Master Wei!” I called. “I don’t have time to sit! I’m going to be better than everyone!”
He opened one eye and chuckled. “Better than the river?”
“What? That’s silly. Rivers can’t race or win!”
He only smiled and said quietly, “Come back later. The tree will teach you.”
I didn’t understand, but curiosity made me return before sunset. The tree above him gently swayed, even though the air was still. Master Wei said nothing at first. We sat. And sat more. The sounds of the day faded. All I heard was the wind rustling the leaves like whispers.
Then he pointed to a dry, broken branch on the ground. “This branch once tried to stand stiff against a strong wind. It snapped.” His hand moved to the tree above. “But the green branches bent. They moved with the breeze. They’re still growing.”
I blinked. “So… bending is better than trying to stay strong?”
He nodded. “Trying too hard breaks things—hearts, friendships. The Tao moves like water. It doesn’t fight or hurry. It flows. You can be strong, but not stiff. You can grow by letting go.”
I didn’t get it right away. But I felt something change in me—as if my tiredness began to float away like petals on the river.
The next day, I walked slower. I helped my little brother tie his sandals, even though it took longer. When I climbed the tree, I didn’t race but listened to the birds nesting there. And you know what? I felt lighter, freer—like the wind was now inside me.
Weeks passed, and I still visited Master Wei. Sometimes we spoke. Sometimes we didn't. But I always left feeling peaceful.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to rush or control everything, I remember that tree. I try to let things unfold as they are, trusting the Way.
The Tao teaches that balance isn’t about doing more—it’s about doing just enough, and being at peace with that. And for the first time, I understood: sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is simply be still.
