If you ever find me giving up my morning coffee (Peet’s Coffee is my favorite) with a little grass fed butter added, know that I've either lost my mind or mastered the art of surrendering to the natural order of things.
The latter is highly unlikely, but as a self-proclaimed apprentice of life's eternal flow, I’m here to regale you with tales of yielding, dropping things (literally and metaphorically), and emptying my proverbial glass to fill it up with something better.
Yielding to the natural order of life, as the wisdom of the Tao Te Ching suggests, isn't about waving a white flag. Rather look at your life as being like a reed that bends with the wind instead of an oak that stands rigid until it snaps.
Now, imagine your life as a cluttered shelf. Every belief, every habit, and every sparkly trinket of ego-stroking goodness is a knick-knack gathering dust. And what if Taoism would gently nudge you to start letting those things drop. Not because minimalism is trendy (although, that too), but because each item removed frees up space for something new, or better yet, for nothing at all.
In other words, emptiness isn’t an absence but a room for possibility.
But here’s where it gets tricky, and the Bhagavad Gita chimes in with a word from its profound Eastern philosophy. It talks about the challenge of relinquishing what we’re addicted to or enmeshed in—be it our roles, our routines, or those deceptively sweet ego strokes.
Like when I decided to stop bragging about being a nomadic soul who has visited or lived in 46 of the 50 states; not only did I lose a few conversation starters, but I also had to confront why I needed that validation. Was my self-worth rising and falling with the stories I would regale others with?
The Gita teaches us that these attachments bind us to a perpetual state of doing and having, chaining us to the very cycle of dissatisfaction and craving. It suggests a simple yet radical idea: perform your duties without attachment to the results. Live life with deep joy and presence without feeling the need to count the compliments.
The I Ching would offer a chuckle-worthy reflection on this cosmic comedy. This ancient book is all about change and accepting the flow of life as it moves and transforms. It suggests that peace and contentment come not from ensuring everything is in its perfect place but from understanding that it is already there—yes, even in your out-of-control life.
Then there’s the Tao Te Ching which doubles down on this, teaching us the value of being soft and slow. Think of water—it’s soft, yet it carves valleys out of mountains not through force but persistence. By emptying our cup, we become receptive, adaptable, like water taking the shape of whatever vessel it fills.
Suddenly, letting go of that addiction to external approval feels less like losing and more like transforming—less about emptying your glass and more about choosing a better drink. Or better yet, realizing the glass was never half-empty or half-full, but refillable.
As for the peace and contentment that supposedly ascends from all this, I can vouch that knowing 'all is well' feels a lot like realizing you don’t have to be the hero of your own epic every day. Some days, you’re just a background character in someone else’s narrative, and that’s only just okay; it’s liberating. Who knew being a cameo could feel so content?
And, if we circle back to our Taoist analogies, consider the practice of "Wu Wei," which is often misunderstood as doing nothing but really means doing what is natural, effortless. It's not laziness but the highest form of action—action that does not feel like action. It’s when you align so harmoniously with life’s rhythms that your very existence becomes a dance, even if some of those moves end up on a blooper reel.
So, as I continue to bumble through the cosmic dance of life, learning to let go of my need for control, perfection, and yes, even that extra coffee, I’m reminded that the universe has a great sense of humor. And part of the joy is learning to laugh along, to not just go with the flow but to do a little jig down the stream.
In the end, mastering the Taoist art of yielding might not make me a saint, or even significantly wiser, but it sure makes for a lighter journey, stocked with better vibes and, hopefully, an upgraded cup of badass coffee.
So I’ll leave you with this — always keep in mind that when your life may seem like it may be falling apart, it may be time to let go of your attachment to some outcome you’re rigidly attached to; all the while remembering that your life in the grand scheme of things is actually falling together.
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Wonderfully put.
This text reminds me of the validation we need of others for doing good deeds and how difficult it is to do them without telling anybody.