I had always believed that if I just tried harder, worked faster, and pushed longer, I would finally catch the life I wanted. That day, I was running through the forest, out of breath and tired, chasing after nothing I could name. I didn’t know it yet, but I was about to meet someone who would teach me a lesson I’d never forget.
It happened by a quiet stream, where sunlight danced on the water. I stopped to rest, my heart beating too fast. That’s when I saw him—an old man with silver hair, gently crouched by the water. He wore simple gray robes, and his smile was soft, like a breeze through leaves.
“Are you running from something?” he asked without looking at me.
I sat down beside him. “I don’t know. I just feel like nothing I do is enough. I work every day, but I never feel… full.”
He nodded, still watching the stream. “Do you see that drop over there?” He pointed to a small droplet hanging from a leaf. It fell into the stream without a sound. “To some, it looks like a pointless drop. But it becomes part of the whole river. It doesn’t fight. It flows.”
I didn’t understand.
“But how can I get where I want to be if I don’t try? If I don’t act?”
The old man plucked a fallen leaf and set it gently on the stream. “Watch.”
The leaf floated easily. It didn’t paddle. It didn’t push. Yet it moved forward all the same. “In Tao,” he said, “this is called Wu Wei. It means action through non-action. Nature doesn’t hurry, yet everything is done.”
I blinked. “So… I should do nothing?”
He smiled wider, eyes full of kindness. “No, not nothing. Just… less forcing. More flowing. Like the yin and yang—stillness and motion work together. Some days you plant. Some days you let the rain do its work.”
The stream babbled softly. For once, I was still enough to hear it.
We sat a while longer. No loud lessons, no long speeches. Just the sound of birds and the cool hush of water.
As the sun began to set, I stood up, lighter than before.
“Thank you,” I said, bowing gently.
The old man nodded. “Remember the drop. Even what seems small is part of the whole Way.”
I walked back through the forest, slower now, not chasing. The trees didn’t try to grow faster. The wind didn’t try to change direction. But everything moved just the same.
Since that day, I try not to force life. I let it unfold like that quiet stream—trusting it knows the way. Some people still rush around me, hurrying to “do more.”
But I remember the drop.
And I smile.
I had always believed that if I just tried harder, worked faster, and pushed longer, I would finally catch the life I wanted. That day, I was running through the forest, out of breath and tired, chasing after nothing I could name. I didn’t know it yet, but I was about to meet someone who would teach me a lesson I’d never forget.
It happened by a quiet stream, where sunlight danced on the water. I stopped to rest, my heart beating too fast. That’s when I saw him—an old man with silver hair, gently crouched by the water. He wore simple gray robes, and his smile was soft, like a breeze through leaves.
“Are you running from something?” he asked without looking at me.
I sat down beside him. “I don’t know. I just feel like nothing I do is enough. I work every day, but I never feel… full.”
He nodded, still watching the stream. “Do you see that drop over there?” He pointed to a small droplet hanging from a leaf. It fell into the stream without a sound. “To some, it looks like a pointless drop. But it becomes part of the whole river. It doesn’t fight. It flows.”
I didn’t understand.
“But how can I get where I want to be if I don’t try? If I don’t act?”
The old man plucked a fallen leaf and set it gently on the stream. “Watch.”
The leaf floated easily. It didn’t paddle. It didn’t push. Yet it moved forward all the same. “In Tao,” he said, “this is called Wu Wei. It means action through non-action. Nature doesn’t hurry, yet everything is done.”
I blinked. “So… I should do nothing?”
He smiled wider, eyes full of kindness. “No, not nothing. Just… less forcing. More flowing. Like the yin and yang—stillness and motion work together. Some days you plant. Some days you let the rain do its work.”
The stream babbled softly. For once, I was still enough to hear it.
We sat a while longer. No loud lessons, no long speeches. Just the sound of birds and the cool hush of water.
As the sun began to set, I stood up, lighter than before.
“Thank you,” I said, bowing gently.
The old man nodded. “Remember the drop. Even what seems small is part of the whole Way.”
I walked back through the forest, slower now, not chasing. The trees didn’t try to grow faster. The wind didn’t try to change direction. But everything moved just the same.
Since that day, I try not to force life. I let it unfold like that quiet stream—trusting it knows the way. Some people still rush around me, hurrying to “do more.”
But I remember the drop.
And I smile.
