The wind was cool that morning, and the lake shimmered like a silver sheet. I sat on a flat stone, looking at my reflection in the water. I hardly recognized the man staring back. My name is Wei, and once, I was known in our village as the busiest man in all of Han Province. “Wei does everything!” people used to say. But back then, I was always tired, always rushing, always trying to be... someone.
One day, after a long week of errands, business, and endless to-do lists, I fell asleep under an old pine tree near the lake. When I woke, an old man with a long white beard sat beside me, sipping tea from a bamboo cup. He had a calm smile and eyes as deep as the sky.
“You look heavy,” he said gently.
“I suppose I am,” I sighed. “Life never gives me a break.”
He nodded slowly. “Perhaps, it's not life that doesn't give you a break—but you who won’t give yourself one.”
I didn’t know what to say. Wasn’t effort the only way to become someone?
He saw my confusion and pointed to the lake. “Do you see the water?”
I nodded.
“Does it try to be clear?”
“No,” I said.
“Is it still not clear?”
“Yes.”
He said nothing more, just sipped his tea.
The next day, I returned with questions, but he was gone. I looked for him through the forest. Nothing. Only the sounds of birds and wind moving through tall grass. I sat on the same stone... and just sat.
Days passed. Something strange began to happen. I stopped keeping track of time. I watched the sun. I listened to frogs. I stopped forcing thoughts—and in those quiet spaces, something inside me loosened. I no longer felt like I had to be the best, do the most, or prove anything. I was just... there.
On the seventh day, the old man appeared again, as quietly as a falling leaf.
“You’re smiling,” he said.
“I don’t know why,” I laughed.
“Because you’ve forgotten your Self.”
“What do you mean?”
“You stopped trying to be someone,” he said. “And in doing so, you found everything.”
It didn’t make sense—at least not in the way numbers and lists do. But in my heart, I understood.
From that point on, I returned to the village, but I was different. I still worked and helped others. I still smiled. But I no longer chased after being important. I no longer tried to control each moment. I let life move the way a river flows—sometimes calm, sometimes wild—but always in balance.
And people noticed. “Wei, you look peaceful,” they’d say. “What’s your secret?”
I’d just smile. Because it's hard to explain how forgetting who you thought you had to be... helps you remember who you truly are.
Even now, many years later, I return to that stone by the lake. Sometimes I just sit. Sometimes I watch the wind. There is no doing. No trying. And in that stillness, everything becomes clear.
I didn’t change overnight. But each day, I remember the old man’s words and the silence of the lake. The Tao is not far away. It's here—whenever I stop chasing and simply let life be.
The wind was cool that morning, and the lake shimmered like a silver sheet. I sat on a flat stone, looking at my reflection in the water. I hardly recognized the man staring back. My name is Wei, and once, I was known in our village as the busiest man in all of Han Province. “Wei does everything!” people used to say. But back then, I was always tired, always rushing, always trying to be... someone.
One day, after a long week of errands, business, and endless to-do lists, I fell asleep under an old pine tree near the lake. When I woke, an old man with a long white beard sat beside me, sipping tea from a bamboo cup. He had a calm smile and eyes as deep as the sky.
“You look heavy,” he said gently.
“I suppose I am,” I sighed. “Life never gives me a break.”
He nodded slowly. “Perhaps, it's not life that doesn't give you a break—but you who won’t give yourself one.”
I didn’t know what to say. Wasn’t effort the only way to become someone?
He saw my confusion and pointed to the lake. “Do you see the water?”
I nodded.
“Does it try to be clear?”
“No,” I said.
“Is it still not clear?”
“Yes.”
He said nothing more, just sipped his tea.
The next day, I returned with questions, but he was gone. I looked for him through the forest. Nothing. Only the sounds of birds and wind moving through tall grass. I sat on the same stone... and just sat.
Days passed. Something strange began to happen. I stopped keeping track of time. I watched the sun. I listened to frogs. I stopped forcing thoughts—and in those quiet spaces, something inside me loosened. I no longer felt like I had to be the best, do the most, or prove anything. I was just... there.
On the seventh day, the old man appeared again, as quietly as a falling leaf.
“You’re smiling,” he said.
“I don’t know why,” I laughed.
“Because you’ve forgotten your Self.”
“What do you mean?”
“You stopped trying to be someone,” he said. “And in doing so, you found everything.”
It didn’t make sense—at least not in the way numbers and lists do. But in my heart, I understood.
From that point on, I returned to the village, but I was different. I still worked and helped others. I still smiled. But I no longer chased after being important. I no longer tried to control each moment. I let life move the way a river flows—sometimes calm, sometimes wild—but always in balance.
And people noticed. “Wei, you look peaceful,” they’d say. “What’s your secret?”
I’d just smile. Because it's hard to explain how forgetting who you thought you had to be... helps you remember who you truly are.
Even now, many years later, I return to that stone by the lake. Sometimes I just sit. Sometimes I watch the wind. There is no doing. No trying. And in that stillness, everything becomes clear.
I didn’t change overnight. But each day, I remember the old man’s words and the silence of the lake. The Tao is not far away. It's here—whenever I stop chasing and simply let life be.
