Chapter 12: Bending Without Breaking

The Way Things Are Done Here

Rosamund is fifty and has managed the office of a medium-sized engineering company for twenty years. She is known for her firm rules and her high standards. Everything in the office is done in a particular way: forms are filled in by hand and filed in the cabinets, meetings start at exactly nine, leave must be requested two months in advance, desks must be cleared every evening. When anyone questions a rule, Rosamund says, "That is the way things are done here." For many years, her firmness kept the office orderly and efficient.

Over the past two years, things have changed. The company has grown and taken on younger staff. Many employees now work from home some days a week. Much of the paperwork has moved onto computers. The directors have asked for more flexibility in working hours. Rosamund has resisted every change. She insisted on paper forms long after everyone else had moved online. She refused to adjust the leave rules. She criticized staff who worked from home.

The result has been exhausting for everyone, and especially for Rosamund. She spends her days fighting: arguing with younger staff, writing long emails to the directors, enforcing rules that fewer and fewer people follow. She feels that everything she built is being destroyed, and that she alone is trying to hold it together. She goes home every evening tense and angry. Recently, she has started to have trouble sleeping, and she has wondered whether she should retire early.

One afternoon, one of the directors, who had known Rosamund for many years and respected her deeply, asked her to have coffee with him. He told her gently that the company valued her enormously, but that she was trying to stop changes that were going to happen anyway. "You are standing in front of a river," he said. "You are very strong. But the river is stronger. I would rather you helped us build the new channel, because nobody knows this company better than you."

Rosamund's situation illustrates a kind of trying too hard that comes from rigidity: holding on so firmly to how things should be that we exhaust ourselves fighting what cannot be stopped. The Daodejing and the Zhuangzi have much to say about rigidity, about bending and about a small insect that tried to stop a chariot.

Bend and Be Whole

Chapter 22 of the Daodejing begins with a series of short sayings. In my own words: bend, and you will be whole. Be crooked, and you will become straight. Be hollow, and you will be filled. Be worn out, and you will be renewed. Have little, and you will gain. Have much, and you will be confused (Daodejing, chapter 22).

These sayings sound like riddles, but they describe something we can see in nature. A young tree bends in a storm and survives whole, while a stiff old branch snaps. A river that curves around obstacles reaches the sea, while a straight channel cut through rock may crack and fail. A hollow in the ground fills with rain. Old leaves fall in autumn, and new ones grow in spring. In each case, what looks like weakness, bending, curving, emptiness, wearing out, turns out to be the path to wholeness, filling and renewal.

For people who try too hard, the first saying is especially important. Many such people believe that strength means never bending: holding firm, standing straight, refusing to give way. Rosamund believed this. But the Daodejing suggests that refusing to bend is often the path to breaking. A person who never adjusts their methods, never accepts change and never lets go of how things should be may eventually snap, through exhaustion, illness or conflict.

Bending does not mean giving up who we are. A tree that bends in the storm is still a tree, with the same roots. When the storm passes, it straightens again. Bending means being flexible about the surface while keeping the roots firm: adjusting methods while keeping values, accepting changes while holding on to what truly matters.

In chapter 76, which we met in Chapter 5, the Daodejing makes the same point with an image of life and death: the living are soft and supple, the dead hard and stiff. A rigid tree, it says, breaks in the wind (Daodejing, chapter 76). Rosamund's office rules had once been the living structure of a growing company. Now, held too rigidly, they were becoming stiff and brittle, and Rosamund herself was in danger of breaking with them.

The Mantis and the Chariot

In the fourth chapter of the Zhuangzi, there is a short warning in the form of an image. A wise man is advising someone who has been given the difficult task of guiding a violent and unpredictable young prince. He says, in my own words: have you never seen a praying mantis? It raised its arms to stop a chariot that was rolling toward it. It did not know that the task was far beyond its strength, because it had such a high opinion of its own abilities. Be careful (Zhuangzi, chapter 4).

The image is both funny and sad. The tiny mantis stands up on its back legs, lifts its front arms like a fighter and faces the great wheels of the chariot. It is brave, in a way. But its bravery is useless. The chariot will roll on, and the mantis will be crushed. Its mistake was not courage itself, but a failure to see the size of the force it faced, and a belief that its own effort could stop anything.

People who try too hard are sometimes like the mantis. They believe that if they only push hard enough, they can stop any change, fix any problem, hold back any tide. They stand in front of chariots, raising their arms, exhausting themselves against forces far greater than their own: an organization's decision, an industry's change, a society's direction, another person's choices. And like the mantis, they are crushed, not because they are weak, but because they have taken on a battle that cannot be won by force.

The wise man in the story does not advise doing nothing. In the same passage, he suggests ways of guiding the young prince indirectly: going along with him on the surface while gently steering him, rather than confronting him head-on (Zhuangzi, chapter 4). This is not surrender. It is the art of bending: working with the direction of a powerful force, rather than standing in its way, in order to influence it where it can be influenced.

Rosamund had been a mantis before the chariot of change. The director's advice was the wise man's advice: stop trying to stop the chariot, and start helping to steer it. Nobody knew the company better than Rosamund. If she bent, she could use that knowledge to make the changes work well. If she refused, she would be crushed, and her knowledge would be lost.

The Gardener and the Machine

There is a story in the twelfth chapter of the Zhuangzi that adds an interesting complication. A student of Confucius named Zigong was travelling when he saw an old man watering his vegetable garden. The man had dug a tunnel down to a well, and he went down into it again and again, carried up a jar of water in his arms and poured it on the plants. It was very hard work and achieved very little (Zhuangzi, chapter 12).

Zigong told the old man about a machine, a simple wooden lever with a bucket on one end, which could lift water from a well with very little effort and water a hundred plots in a day. The old gardener's face changed, and then he laughed. He said, in my own words: I have heard from my teacher that where there are clever machines, there will be clever schemes, and where there are clever schemes, there will be a scheming heart. A person with a scheming heart loses their simplicity, and their spirit becomes unsettled. It is not that I do not know about your machine. I would be ashamed to use it (Zhuangzi, chapter 12).

This story is complicated, and readers have understood it in different ways. On one reading, the gardener is wise: he sees that a life devoted to efficiency and cleverness can lose something precious, a simple, settled spirit. On another reading, he is stubborn: he refuses a helpful tool out of pride, and wears himself out unnecessarily. Perhaps the story is meant to make us think about both.

For people who try too hard, both readings have something to teach. Some people are like the gardener in the second reading. They refuse help, tools and easier ways out of pride or habit, carrying every jar of water up from the well by hand, even when a simple tool could save them great effort. Their rigidity is a refusal to bend toward ease.

Others are like the danger the gardener describes in the first reading. They have become so devoted to efficiency, optimization and clever systems that their hearts have become restless and scheming. Every minute must be used, every process improved, every task made faster. They are not lazy. But they have lost the simplicity of doing one thing at a time, for its own sake. The art of not forcing lies somewhere between these two: willing to use good tools, but not ruled by a restless need for efficiency.

Rosamund Helps Build the Channel

After her coffee with the director, Rosamund went home and thought for a long time. She realized that she had been fighting the changes not only because she thought they were wrong, but because she was afraid. She was afraid of losing the order she had built, afraid of not understanding the new systems and afraid of becoming unimportant. Her rigidity was, in part, a way of protecting herself.

Rosamund decided to bend. She asked a younger colleague to teach her the new computer systems, and she found that she learned them faster than she expected. She looked at each of her old rules and asked which ones still served a real purpose and which were simply habit. She kept some: clear records, reliable procedures, respect for confidential information. She let others go: paper forms, fixed meeting times, the two-month leave rule.

She also offered her knowledge to the changes. When the company designed its new system for requesting leave, Rosamund pointed out several problems that the designers had missed, based on her twenty years of experience. When staff began working from home, she created clear guidelines that helped people stay connected and organized. Her colleagues, who had seen her as an obstacle, began to see her as a guide.

Rosamund's tension eased. She slept better. She no longer spent her days fighting. "I thought bending would mean losing everything I had built," she says. "But the important things are still here: the order, the care, the reliability. They just look different now. I was protecting the old shapes. I should have been protecting the roots."

Rosamund's story shows the Daodejing's saying in action: bend, and you will be whole. By refusing to bend, she had been in danger of breaking and of losing her place in the company. By bending, she kept what mattered most and found a new and valued role. The tree had bent in the storm and remained a tree.

Chidinma and the Chariot

Chidinma is thirty-three and works in the finance department of a large organization that runs hospitals. Soon after joining, she became aware that the department had a difficult culture. Some managers spoke harshly to staff. Meetings were tense. People were afraid to raise problems. Chidinma was shocked, and she decided to change it. She raised concerns in every meeting, wrote long emails to senior managers, confronted managers who spoke harshly and spent her evenings drafting proposals for a new culture.

After a year, Chidinma was exhausted. Nothing much had changed. Some managers had started to avoid her. Her own work was suffering, because so much of her energy went into her campaign. She had begun to feel that she was alone against the whole organization, and she was close to giving up entirely.

A mentor from another department, a woman who had worked in the organization for many years, listened to her story. "You are like the mantis in front of the chariot," she said. "You are very brave, and you are right about the problems. But you cannot stop a whole organization by standing in front of it alone. You will be crushed, and then nobody will be helped." She suggested a different approach: to find allies, to focus on one or two changes that were possible, to use the organization's own channels for raising concerns and to protect her own health and work so that she could keep going.

Chidinma bent her approach without abandoning her values. She found three colleagues who shared her concerns, and together they raised one specific issue, the way staff were spoken to in meetings, through the organization's formal process for workplace concerns. They suggested a simple set of meeting guidelines. They were careful, calm and persistent. After some months, the guidelines were adopted. It was a small change, but a real one, and it opened the way for others.

"I wanted to fix everything at once, by myself," Chidinma says. "I nearly broke myself doing it. Now I try to work with the direction of things, to find the openings, and to do it with others. It is slower, but things are actually changing." Her story is not a reason to stop caring about injustice. It is a reminder that caring needs to be sustainable, and that bending one's approach can make one's values more effective, not less. If you are experiencing bullying or harassment at work, it is important to keep a record and seek support through the proper channels.

Hilde and the Walking Stick

Hilde is seventy-one and has always been fiercely independent. She raised four children, ran a small shop for thirty years and has looked after herself all her life. Recently, her knees have become weak, and she has had two falls at home. Her doctor suggested that she use a walking stick, and her children offered to arrange for some simple help in the house: a rail in the bathroom, someone to help with heavy cleaning once a week.

Hilde refused everything. A walking stick, she said, was for old people. Help in the house was for people who could not manage. She had always managed, and she would continue to manage. She went on carrying heavy shopping bags up the stairs, cleaning the windows on a ladder and walking to the shops without support. Her children were very worried.

Hilde was like the gardener refusing the machine, though for different reasons. Her refusal came from pride and fear: pride in her independence, and fear that accepting help would mean admitting that she was growing old. She was carrying every jar of water up from the well by hand, when simple tools could have saved her strength and kept her safe.

It was her youngest granddaughter who changed her mind. The little girl, aged eight, was walking with Hilde one day and said, "Grandma, trees have sticks to lean on when they are young, and you need one when you are old. It is fair." Hilde laughed, and something in her softened. She agreed, reluctantly, to try a walking stick. To her surprise, she found that it made her walks easier and more enjoyable, and that she could walk further. A few months later, she agreed to the bathroom rail and the weekly help with cleaning.

"I thought accepting help would make me less myself," Hilde says. "But it is the opposite. With the stick, I can walk to the park again. With the help, I have energy for my grandchildren. Refusing help was making my world smaller." Hilde's story shows that bending sometimes means accepting the tools and support that life offers, rather than insisting on doing everything the hard way. If an older person is at risk of falls or injury, it is wise to follow the advice of a doctor or another qualified professional about what support is needed.

Practical Steps: Bending Without Breaking

The first step is to notice where you are rigid. Look at your life and ask: where am I holding on very tightly to how things should be? Where do I say, "That is the way things are done"? Where am I fighting changes, refusing help or insisting on one method? Rigidity often feels like strength, but it may be a sign of fear.

The second step is to distinguish roots from branches. For each area of rigidity, ask what is truly important to you, your roots, and what is simply a particular way of doing things, your branches. Rosamund's roots were order, care and reliability. Her branches were paper forms and fixed meeting times. Keep the roots firm and let the branches bend.

The third step is to see the size of the chariot. When you are fighting something, ask honestly whether it is a force you can stop by yourself. If it is not, like a large organizational change or another person's free choice, consider whether you might do more good by working with its direction, influencing it where you can, rather than standing in its way.

The fourth step is to find allies and openings. Like Chidinma, if you care about changing something large, look for others who share your concern, focus on what is possible and use the channels that exist. A group of people working wisely together can achieve what a single mantis cannot.

The fifth step is to accept good tools and help. Like Hilde with her walking stick, consider whether you are refusing help or tools out of pride or habit. Accepting support is not weakness. It is bending toward what makes life possible.

The sixth step is to watch for the restless heart. On the other side, notice whether you have become so devoted to efficiency that your heart has become restless, as the gardener warned. Use good tools, but leave room in your life for doing some things slowly, simply and for their own sake.

Bending Is Not Giving Up Your Values

It is important to be clear that bending, in the Daodejing's sense, does not mean giving up what we believe in or accepting whatever happens. A tree that bends in the storm does not lose its roots. Rosamund kept her commitment to order and care. Chidinma kept her commitment to a fairer workplace. Hilde kept her independence, in a new form. Bending is about flexibility in methods, not abandonment of values.

There are also times when standing firm is right. If someone asks you to do something dishonest, unsafe or harmful, it is right to refuse, however strong the pressure. If you see a danger to others, it is right to speak up, even if it is uncomfortable. The art of bending is not a rule that we must always give way. It is a wisdom that helps us tell the difference between a battle worth fighting head-on and a chariot that is better steered than stopped.

Finally, if rigidity in your life is connected with strong fear or anxiety, as Rosamund's was in part, and that fear is heavy and lasting, it may help to talk with someone you trust, and to consider speaking with a doctor or another qualified professional. Sometimes what looks like stubbornness is really a frightened heart that needs care.

A Short Exercise: Roots and Branches

This exercise helps you see where you can bend and where you should stay firm. It takes about fifteen minutes.

Think of one area of your life where you feel you are fighting, resisting or holding on very tightly: a change at work, a family situation, a habit, an offer of help. At the top of a page, write it down in one sentence.

Draw a simple tree: a trunk with roots below and branches above. Under the roots, write what is truly important to you in this situation: the values, purposes or needs that you do not want to lose. In the branches, write the particular ways of doing things that you have been holding on to: methods, routines, habits, rules.

Look at the branches. For each one, ask: could this bend, or even change, while the roots stay firm? Mark the branches that could bend. Then look at the roots. Ask: is there a new way of honouring these roots that might work better in the present situation? Write down one idea.

Finally, write one small step you could take toward bending a branch while keeping a root. Rosamund did this exercise after her coffee with the director. Her roots were "order", "care for the staff" and "reliability". Her branches included "paper forms", "meetings at nine" and "leave requested two months ahead". She marked all three branches as able to bend. Her first step was: "Ask Lionel to teach me the online leave system on Monday." She drew a small arrow from the step to the root labelled "care for the staff", because, as she wrote beside it, "a simpler system will help them".

Chapter Summary

The Daodejing teaches: bend, and you will be whole; be hollow, and you will be filled; be worn out, and you will be renewed (chapter 22); and a rigid tree breaks in the wind (chapter 76). In chapter 4 of the Zhuangzi, a praying mantis raises its arms to stop a chariot, not knowing the task is far beyond its strength. In chapter 12, an old gardener refuses a water-lifting machine, warning that clever machines lead to a scheming heart; the story can be read as wisdom about restless efficiency or as a warning against proud refusal of help.

Rosamund and the way things were done, Chidinma before the chariot of a difficult workplace culture and Hilde refusing her walking stick all found that rigidity exhausted them, and that bending their methods while keeping their roots firm let them stay whole. Bending is not giving up our values, and there are times when standing firm is right. The art lies in telling the difference.

In the next chapter, we will look at the inner voice that drives many people who try too hard, and at a practice Zhuangzi called the fasting of the mind.