The day I met the butterfly, I was chasing something else entirely—success. My name is Lin, and when I was younger, nothing mattered more to me than being the best in our village. The fastest runner, the strongest climber, the smartest student. Every morning, I trained. Every night, I set goals. But I was always chasing, never catching.
One spring day, I went to visit my uncle Wei. He lived in a quiet hut on the mountainside, far from noise and busy streets. Uncle Wei had been a Taoist monk, though he hardly ever spoke of it. He spent most of his time tending his garden, sipping tea, or watching clouds drift by.
I burst through the gate, panting, holding a wooden sword. “Uncle Wei! I’ve been training harder. I want to be the best warrior in the land! Will you spar with me?”
He looked up from his tea, smiled gently, and shook his head. “Why not rest a while first, Lin?”
I frowned. “Rest? But I must keep trying. If I stop, I’ll fall behind.”
Uncle Wei nodded slowly and stood up. “Come with me.”
We walked into the forest behind his home. The air smelled like pine needles and sunshine. Birds chirped softly as we wandered under tall trees.
As we walked, I spotted a bright butterfly fluttering just ahead. Its wings were yellow and black, dancing lightly in the air. I ran toward it. “I’ll catch it!” I shouted.
But the closer I got, the farther it flew.
I chased it through bushes, over roots, across a stream. Every time I thought I was close, it slipped away. My legs grew sore, my arms scratched. I finally gave up and sank to the ground, frustrated.
Uncle Wei walked over and sat beside me. He didn’t speak. He simply smiled and handed me a small bowl of water. I drank it and looked back toward the trees.
The butterfly had returned. It fluttered nearer, landing softly on a rock. This time, I didn’t move. I just watched. It flapped its wings slowly, then floated to a flower near my toe.
“You see it now,” Uncle Wei whispered. “When you stopped chasing, it came to you.”
He looked kindly into my eyes. “In the Tao Te Ching, Laozi wrote that those who follow the Tao do not strive. They simply become. This is called Wu Wei—non-action, or effortless action. You work with the world, not against it.”
I didn’t understand completely, but I nodded.
That day, I didn’t pick up my wooden sword again. I stayed a while longer by the stream, feeling the sunshine, watching the leaves dance in the breeze. I listened—not just with my ears, but with my heart.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to push too hard, I remember the butterfly. I try to let things unfold as they are, trusting that I don’t need to fight the flow of life.
And somehow, along the Way, I found what I was looking for.
The day I met the butterfly, I was chasing something else entirely—success. My name is Lin, and when I was younger, nothing mattered more to me than being the best in our village. The fastest runner, the strongest climber, the smartest student. Every morning, I trained. Every night, I set goals. But I was always chasing, never catching.
One spring day, I went to visit my uncle Wei. He lived in a quiet hut on the mountainside, far from noise and busy streets. Uncle Wei had been a Taoist monk, though he hardly ever spoke of it. He spent most of his time tending his garden, sipping tea, or watching clouds drift by.
I burst through the gate, panting, holding a wooden sword. “Uncle Wei! I’ve been training harder. I want to be the best warrior in the land! Will you spar with me?”
He looked up from his tea, smiled gently, and shook his head. “Why not rest a while first, Lin?”
I frowned. “Rest? But I must keep trying. If I stop, I’ll fall behind.”
Uncle Wei nodded slowly and stood up. “Come with me.”
We walked into the forest behind his home. The air smelled like pine needles and sunshine. Birds chirped softly as we wandered under tall trees.
As we walked, I spotted a bright butterfly fluttering just ahead. Its wings were yellow and black, dancing lightly in the air. I ran toward it. “I’ll catch it!” I shouted.
But the closer I got, the farther it flew.
I chased it through bushes, over roots, across a stream. Every time I thought I was close, it slipped away. My legs grew sore, my arms scratched. I finally gave up and sank to the ground, frustrated.
Uncle Wei walked over and sat beside me. He didn’t speak. He simply smiled and handed me a small bowl of water. I drank it and looked back toward the trees.
The butterfly had returned. It fluttered nearer, landing softly on a rock. This time, I didn’t move. I just watched. It flapped its wings slowly, then floated to a flower near my toe.
“You see it now,” Uncle Wei whispered. “When you stopped chasing, it came to you.”
He looked kindly into my eyes. “In the Tao Te Ching, Laozi wrote that those who follow the Tao do not strive. They simply become. This is called Wu Wei—non-action, or effortless action. You work with the world, not against it.”
I didn’t understand completely, but I nodded.
That day, I didn’t pick up my wooden sword again. I stayed a while longer by the stream, feeling the sunshine, watching the leaves dance in the breeze. I listened—not just with my ears, but with my heart.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to push too hard, I remember the butterfly. I try to let things unfold as they are, trusting that I don’t need to fight the flow of life.
And somehow, along the Way, I found what I was looking for.
