The bridge was quiet that morning. Mist curled around the wooden posts, and the river below flowed as calm as sleep. I stood there, feeling heavy inside. My name is Jian, and I used to believe that everything had to be fixed, solved, or changed. But that day, something was different.
I had run from home. Not because of anger, but because of confusion. My father wanted me to take over his shop, but I didn’t feel ready. Everyone said I needed to decide, to act, to do. But how could I know which step to take?
As I stared at the river, thinking of everything and nothing, I noticed a man sitting at the edge of the bridge. He was old, with a long white beard and eyes that sparkled like stars. He looked like a beggar—but something about him made me stop.
He didn’t speak. He just sat, watching the water.
I cleared my throat. “Are you waiting for someone?”
He smiled gently. “No.”
“Then... what are you doing?”
He looked at me, kind and calm. “Watching the water.”
I blinked. “That’s it?”
He nodded.
It felt strange. I had so many questions bubbling inside me, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to give answers. So I sat down too. The silence stretched between us, long and soft. The water below made a gentle sound, like a slow breath.
After a while, I said, “I don’t know what to do. Everyone wants me to choose. But what if I choose wrong?”
He didn’t answer at first. Then he pointed to the river. “See how it flows?”
I nodded.
“It doesn’t worry about where it’s going,” he said. “It doesn’t try to rush. It just flows, moving around rocks and branches—but always moving.”
I looked at the river, then at my hands. They were clenched tight. I hadn’t even realized it.
“You’re saying... just go with the flow?”
The old man chuckled but didn’t answer directly. “Sometimes, the right way doesn’t come from thinking harder,” he said. “It comes when you're still. Like water, not trying to push the mountain, just finding its path.”
I sat with his words. They didn’t tell me what to do—but they made me feel lighter. Not because I had the answer, but because maybe I didn’t need it yet.
When I turned to thank him, he was gone.
Just... gone, as if he were part of the morning mist.
I stood and looked at the river again. The wind whispered through the trees, and I took a deep breath.
I walked off the bridge—not because I knew exactly what to do next, but because I finally felt okay not knowing. Maybe, like the water, I would find my way by not forcing it.
That day, I didn’t learn how to fix everything. I learned how to be still. And that was the first step towards peace.
The bridge was quiet that morning. Mist curled around the wooden posts, and the river below flowed as calm as sleep. I stood there, feeling heavy inside. My name is Jian, and I used to believe that everything had to be fixed, solved, or changed. But that day, something was different.
I had run from home. Not because of anger, but because of confusion. My father wanted me to take over his shop, but I didn’t feel ready. Everyone said I needed to decide, to act, to do. But how could I know which step to take?
As I stared at the river, thinking of everything and nothing, I noticed a man sitting at the edge of the bridge. He was old, with a long white beard and eyes that sparkled like stars. He looked like a beggar—but something about him made me stop.
He didn’t speak. He just sat, watching the water.
I cleared my throat. “Are you waiting for someone?”
He smiled gently. “No.”
“Then... what are you doing?”
He looked at me, kind and calm. “Watching the water.”
I blinked. “That’s it?”
He nodded.
It felt strange. I had so many questions bubbling inside me, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to give answers. So I sat down too. The silence stretched between us, long and soft. The water below made a gentle sound, like a slow breath.
After a while, I said, “I don’t know what to do. Everyone wants me to choose. But what if I choose wrong?”
He didn’t answer at first. Then he pointed to the river. “See how it flows?”
I nodded.
“It doesn’t worry about where it’s going,” he said. “It doesn’t try to rush. It just flows, moving around rocks and branches—but always moving.”
I looked at the river, then at my hands. They were clenched tight. I hadn’t even realized it.
“You’re saying... just go with the flow?”
The old man chuckled but didn’t answer directly. “Sometimes, the right way doesn’t come from thinking harder,” he said. “It comes when you're still. Like water, not trying to push the mountain, just finding its path.”
I sat with his words. They didn’t tell me what to do—but they made me feel lighter. Not because I had the answer, but because maybe I didn’t need it yet.
When I turned to thank him, he was gone.
Just... gone, as if he were part of the morning mist.
I stood and looked at the river again. The wind whispered through the trees, and I took a deep breath.
I walked off the bridge—not because I knew exactly what to do next, but because I finally felt okay not knowing. Maybe, like the water, I would find my way by not forcing it.
That day, I didn’t learn how to fix everything. I learned how to be still. And that was the first step towards peace.
