A Stranger Shouted At Me While I Was Riding My Bike

Zen Here’s What Happened

One afternoon this week while riding my bicycle down the sidewalk of a bustling street, a man’s voice cut through the hum of traffic like a knife. 

“Hey! You’re supposed to be in the bike lane!” he shouted a good eight feet from me on the pavement, his words filled with a sharpness that caught me off guard. 

All this as I peered at the narrow strip of road meant for bikes, barely wide enough for a single rider, dangerously close to the roar of speeding vehicles. It was hardly a safe path to follow. 

I said nothing and kept riding.

This seemingly minor confrontation was an encounter with a deeper question that has long intrigued me: When is it worth engaging, and when is silence the most powerful response? 

As someone who strives to be non-confrontational unless physically threatened, I’ve come to see these moments not as opportunities for debate but as chances to practice a different kind of strength. 

In the tempest of political debates, words like arrows fly, wounding hearts that cannot be swayed. To argue is to dance on shifting sands, where every step deepens the divide.

Have you ever seen a mountain move for the wind's roar? Minds, like roots, hold fast to the soil of their beliefs, unmoved by storms of rhetoric. Better to be the quiet lake, reflecting all that comes, offering no resistance, no ripples to stir the peace within.

For in these charged times, to avoid the fray is to guard one's inner sanctuary. Let others clamor and clash like waves against the rocks, while you, like a tree, stand firm and silent.

Arguments rarely light the way but often set fire to the bridges we walk upon. So, choose to be the stillness that speaks of wisdom, the calm that outlasts the storm. What need to change a mind when your own soul is free?

From the perspective of Eastern philosophy, particularly Buddhism and Taoism, this restraint is not a sign of weakness but of wisdom. Buddhism teaches the value of equanimity, the practice of maintaining a balanced mind in the face of praise and blame, success and failure. 

When someone yells at us, our natural impulse is to yell back, to defend our position, to assert our rightness. But what does this accomplish? We may win the argument, but we lose our peace. 

Buddhism encourages us to pause, to breathe, and to reflect before we react. The Buddha taught that our actions should arise from a place of mindfulness and compassion, not from anger or ego. 

To engage in a heated exchange with someone who is already upset is to add fuel to the fire, to allow ourselves to be drawn into their storm. It is far more skillful to observe the storm without becoming swept up in it.

Taoism offers a complementary perspective. The Tao Te Ching speaks of the virtue of wu wei, often translated as “non-action” or “effortless action.” This does not mean doing nothing, but rather responding to situations with a kind of natural spontaneity, moving in harmony with the circumstances rather than against them. 

Here, Taoism encourages us to flow around obstacles rather than confront them head-on. It teaches us to be like water, soft yet capable of wearing down the hardest rock over time. 

When the man yelled at me to get in the bike lane, my instinct was to defend my choice, to explain the dangers of riding on such a narrow path. But in that moment, I chose to be water. I flowed past him without resistance, without allowing his anger to become my own. 

This, I believe, is the essence of practicing Taoism in everyday life. It is not about avoiding conflict out of fear, but about recognizing that not all battles are worth fighting, and that true strength lies in maintaining our inner peace.

This practice of non-confrontation extends into the world of politics. In a world where the media we take in is often a battleground for opinions, it’s easy to get drawn into arguments, particularly during a heated election year. 

The temptation to correct misinformation, to assert one’s beliefs, to respond to every provocation can be overwhelming. But what would be the point? Convincing someone to see things differently through anger or aggression is as futile as trying to stop a river with a net.

In the tempest of political debates, words like arrows fly, wounding hearts that cannot be swayed. To argue is to dance on shifting sands, where every step deepens the divide. 

Have you ever seen a mountain move for the wind's roar? Minds, like roots, hold fast to the soil of their beliefs, unmoved by storms of rhetoric. Better to be the quiet lake, reflecting all that comes, offering no resistance, no ripples to stir the peace within.

For in these charged times, to avoid the fray is to guard one's inner sanctuary. Let others clamor and clash like waves against the rocks, while you, like a tree, stand firm and silent. 

Arguments rarely light the way but often set fire to the bridges we walk upon. So, choose to be the stillness that speaks of wisdom, the calm that outlasts the storm. Besides, why try to change a mind when your own soul is free?

Both Buddhism and Taoism remind us that the goal is not to win arguments but to cultivate peace within ourselves. In a time when the world is so divided, perhaps the most revolutionary act we can perform is to choose calm over chaos, to listen more than we speak, and to engage only when our words will bring clarity and compassion.

As I continued riding my bike that day, the man’s voice faded into the distance, and I found myself grateful for the reminder of why I practice this way. Not to avoid conflict out of cowardice, but to choose peace out of wisdom. 

This is not always easy, but then, the most worthwhile paths rarely are. And if we can navigate those paths with grace, we may discover that the greatest victory lies not in changing others, but in remaining true to ourselves.

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Diamond-Michael Scott

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