Spiraling Through Life as an Accidental Taoist.

Why I’m Still a Hot Chocolate Mess

Let’s cut through the poetic crap…..

……I never set out to be some wandering, quasi-spiritual sage dabbling in ancient Chinese philosophy. In fact, the idea of “going with the flow” used to sound as appealing as eating soggy cereal.

If you had told me a number of years ago that I’d be attempting to “embrace the Tao” while sipping tea instead of cocktails, I’d have laughed in your face, ordered a double whiskey, and called it a day.

And if you’d added that I’d be doing this as a Chocolate brotha in a country where my mere existence occasionally causes “concern”? Well, I’d have politely suggested you seek professional help.

Yet here I am: a bumbling, uncoordinated spiritual tourist stumbling through Taoism, trying to make sense of wu wei while also figuring out how to not burn my dinner.

Spoiler alert: I have no idea what I’m doing.

From Jenga Tower to Zen Master

My initiation into this Taoist misadventure came via Phil Jackson—the NBA Zen Master himself. His book Sacred Hoops got me thinking: “If Taoism helped Michael Jordan dunk on everybody, maybe it can help me survive Monday mornings.”

Then I picked up The Tao of Pooh, thinking it would be a light, fluffy introduction. Let’s just say that when your spiritual awakening is guided by a bear obsessed with honey, you’re probably doing it wrong.

But Pooh’s lazy, snack-driven wisdom hit differently. In a world where merely existing while Black can feel like playing dodgeball in a hurricane, Pooh’s “don’t sweat the small stuff” vibe started looking like the cheat code I never knew I needed.

The Tao of Terrible Execution

Let me tell you, my attempts at spiritual practice were a comedy of errors. Meditation? Picture me, sitting cross-legged, trying to quiet my mind while my knees begged for mercy. My “om”s sounded more like someone struggling with indigestion.

The Tao Te Ching?

Reading that felt like being handed the instruction manual for the universe, written in Klingon. Meanwhile, I’m over here wondering if Taoist balance applies to balancing my checkbook.

And let’s not even get started on the idea of “letting go.” I’m supposed to surrender control in a world that treats my skin color like a controversy?

Yeah, I’ll pass, thanks.

Cosmic Insights, Sort Of

Here’s the kicker: even while botching every step, I accidentally started learning about life.

The Taoist principle of balance? Turns out it’s not just about yin and yang—it’s about not losing your damn mind when life throws curveballs.

Some days, the flow carries you. Other days, you’re the boulder in the stream saying, “Not today, chaos.” As a Black man in America, this realization hit harder than a Kanye headline.

And the idea that “shit happens” isn’t just a curse but a cosmic fertilizer? That’s next-level wisdom. Life will throw manure at you, but if you’re lucky (and patient), something might actually bloom.

Taoist Tourist, Chocolate Edition

Am I enlightened? Not even close. I’m basically a Taoist intern, fumbling my way through a philosophy that predates kombucha by a few millennia.

But here’s the plot twist: I’ve found peace in the mess. I laugh more. I stress less. And I’m learning that the Tao doesn’t care if I get it right; it just rolls its ancient eyes and keeps flowing.

Would Lao Tzu be amused by my spiritual shenanigans? Probably. Would he also shake his head at the absurdity of a 21st-century Chocolate brotha trying to embrace ancient Chinese philosophy? Most definitely.

But that’s the beauty of it: the Tao, it seems, has room for all of us—whether we’re monks on a mountain or messy humans just trying to get through the day without losing our keys.

So here I am: imperfect, irreverent, and inexplicably more at peace. Not a Taoist master, not even close. Just a guy on a journey, laughing at the cosmic joke of it all.

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Much Love,

Diamond Michael Scott — aka The Chocolate Taoist