I had always believed that the harder I worked, the better things would get. My parents ran a small tea shop at the edge of the village, and from the time I could walk, I helped them wash cups, sweep the floor, and serve hot tea to travelers. My father used to say, “The world rewards effort,” and I believed him.
But no matter how hard I tried, the teapot still cracked. The rain still flooded our floor. And the customers still came and went, many never smiling.
One day, after a long morning chasing two chickens that escaped into the street, I flopped down beneath the old plum tree behind our house. I was muddy, grumpy, and tired. That’s when Grandpa Wen sat down beside me. He wasn't really my grandfather, but everyone in the village called him that. He had a long white beard, a soft voice, and eyes that always looked like they’d seen something funny.
"You look like a storm cloud today," he said, in his usual gentle way.
“I tried so hard to keep the chickens in the yard today. I even skipped breakfast! And they still ran away. I’m not strong enough. Maybe I just have to try harder.”
Grandpa chuckled. “Let me show you something.”
He stood up, moving slowly, and pointed to a butterfly fluttering near some blossoms. I watched as it danced from one flower to the next, never forcing its wings, only floating with the breeze. It didn’t hurry, didn’t struggle. Yet it reached the sweetest blossoms.
“See that butterfly?” he asked.
I nodded.
“She doesn’t chase the wind or fight the petals. She follows the flow of things. That’s called wu wei—effortless action.”
“But how can you get anything done without pushing?” I asked.
Grandpa didn’t answer right away. Instead, he picked up a fallen blossom and dropped it into the stream nearby.
“Watch,” he said.
The little flower floated gently along the water, spinning slowly, carried with no effort. “It moves,” Grandpa said, “but doesn’t struggle. Sometimes, doing less does more.”
I thought about the chickens. When I ran after them, they just ran faster. But once, I remembered, I sat still and held a piece of rice—and they came on their own.
Later that day, I tried again. This time, no chasing. I sat in the grass, calm like the butterfly, still as the plum tree. Slowly, one chicken came over, pecking at my hand. Then the other followed.
I smiled.
And someone smiled back.
A traveler passing by had seen it all. He nodded at me and smiled warmly. It wasn't much, but it felt like the sun had come out just for me. I smiled back—without thinking, without trying. Just like the blossom in the stream.
From that day on, I began to understand. Sometimes, when we stop trying so hard, the way becomes clear. That’s the Way of the Tao.
I still helped in our tea shop. I still worked. But now, I didn’t rush or push. I moved like the butterfly—soft and light, trusting the flow.
And sometimes, when I least expected it, a smile would return, like a breeze on a warm spring day.
I had always believed that the harder I worked, the better things would get. My parents ran a small tea shop at the edge of the village, and from the time I could walk, I helped them wash cups, sweep the floor, and serve hot tea to travelers. My father used to say, “The world rewards effort,” and I believed him.
But no matter how hard I tried, the teapot still cracked. The rain still flooded our floor. And the customers still came and went, many never smiling.
One day, after a long morning chasing two chickens that escaped into the street, I flopped down beneath the old plum tree behind our house. I was muddy, grumpy, and tired. That’s when Grandpa Wen sat down beside me. He wasn't really my grandfather, but everyone in the village called him that. He had a long white beard, a soft voice, and eyes that always looked like they’d seen something funny.
"You look like a storm cloud today," he said, in his usual gentle way.
“I tried so hard to keep the chickens in the yard today. I even skipped breakfast! And they still ran away. I’m not strong enough. Maybe I just have to try harder.”
Grandpa chuckled. “Let me show you something.”
He stood up, moving slowly, and pointed to a butterfly fluttering near some blossoms. I watched as it danced from one flower to the next, never forcing its wings, only floating with the breeze. It didn’t hurry, didn’t struggle. Yet it reached the sweetest blossoms.
“See that butterfly?” he asked.
I nodded.
“She doesn’t chase the wind or fight the petals. She follows the flow of things. That’s called wu wei—effortless action.”
“But how can you get anything done without pushing?” I asked.
Grandpa didn’t answer right away. Instead, he picked up a fallen blossom and dropped it into the stream nearby.
“Watch,” he said.
The little flower floated gently along the water, spinning slowly, carried with no effort. “It moves,” Grandpa said, “but doesn’t struggle. Sometimes, doing less does more.”
I thought about the chickens. When I ran after them, they just ran faster. But once, I remembered, I sat still and held a piece of rice—and they came on their own.
Later that day, I tried again. This time, no chasing. I sat in the grass, calm like the butterfly, still as the plum tree. Slowly, one chicken came over, pecking at my hand. Then the other followed.
I smiled.
And someone smiled back.
A traveler passing by had seen it all. He nodded at me and smiled warmly. It wasn't much, but it felt like the sun had come out just for me. I smiled back—without thinking, without trying. Just like the blossom in the stream.
From that day on, I began to understand. Sometimes, when we stop trying so hard, the way becomes clear. That’s the Way of the Tao.
I still helped in our tea shop. I still worked. But now, I didn’t rush or push. I moved like the butterfly—soft and light, trusting the flow.
And sometimes, when I least expected it, a smile would return, like a breeze on a warm spring day.
