Closing Words

I began this book thinking about people who try very hard, because I have often been one of them. I know the feeling of a bowl filled to the brim, of standing on tiptoe for months at a time, of hacking at problems that would have yielded to a lighter touch. I know the voice of the inner taskmaster and the guilt of an hour spent doing nothing. If you have recognized yourself in these pages, you are in good company.

What the Daodejing and the Zhuangzi offered me, and what I hope they have offered you, is not a new set of rules but a different way of seeing. They suggest that effort has a natural shape, like water flowing downhill, and that when we force it against that shape, we wear ourselves out. They suggest that rest is not the opposite of work but part of it, like the empty space in a pot. They suggest that softness can be strong, that uselessness can be a kind of freedom and that storms, however fierce, do not last all day.

They also suggest, with a smile, that we should not take even their own teachings too seriously. The fish trap can be forgotten once the fish is caught. If this book has helped you, take what was useful and let the rest go. If it has not, set it down without guilt. Either way, I hope you will find some empty space in your days, some soft strength in your hard moments and some time, now and then, to stand on a bridge and watch the fish.

The people in these pages did not stop caring, stop working or stop trying. They learned to try differently: following the joints, knowing when enough is enough, bending without breaking and resting without apology. You can begin to do the same, one small step at a time, beneath your own feet.

About the Daodejing and the Zhuangzi

The Daodejing is a short book of about five thousand characters, arranged in its usual form into eighty-one brief chapters, many of them written like poems. Tradition says that it was written by Laozi, a keeper of records at an ancient royal court, who wrote it when he was leaving to travel west. This story was first written down by a historian several centuries later and is largely legend. Very little is known for certain about Laozi, and many scholars think that the book grew over time. In this book, it is cited by chapter, for example "Daodejing, chapter 9".

The Zhuangzi is named after Zhuang Zhou, a thinker who probably lived around the fourth century before the common era. In its usual form, it has thirty-three chapters. The first seven, called the inner chapters, are usually thought to be closest to Zhuangzi himself, while many scholars think that most of the rest were written by later writers who shared his outlook. Several well-known stories in this book come from those later chapters, so they show how Zhuangzi was remembered, not words that are certainly his own. It is full of stories, dialogues and jokes. In this book, it is cited by chapter, for example "Zhuangzi, chapter 3".

Both books have been translated many times, and translations differ greatly, because the original language is often brief, poetic and open to more than one reading. All passages in this book are given in my own plain paraphrase, not copied from any translation. Where translators disagree strongly about a passage, the text says "in one common reading". Readers who would like to explore further may enjoy comparing several translations, which often bring out different sides of the same passage.

These books have been read for many centuries as philosophy, as poetry and as practical wisdom for daily life, and they are also important in some religious traditions. This book has approached them as philosophy and as practical wisdom, with respect for all the ways in which they have been read.

The Images of This Book in One Place

Each chapter of this book centres on one image. Here they are together, so that you can return to them quickly.

Chapter 1: A bowl filled to the brim spills; a person on tiptoe is not steady.

Chapter 2: Cook Ding follows the joints, and his knife stays sharp for nineteen years.

Chapter 3: Our life has a limit; the list does not.

Chapter 4: The empty space at the hub makes the wheel turn.

Chapter 5: Nothing is softer than water, and nothing wears down stone better.

Chapter 6: The useless tree lives out its years and gives shade.

Chapter 7: The archer's hands tremble when he shoots for gold.

Chapter 8: Three in the morning or four in the morning, the chestnuts are the same.

Chapter 9: Seven holes, drilled with kindness, killed Hundun.

Chapter 10: A journey of a thousand miles begins beneath your feet.

Chapter 11: Would you rather be honoured in a box, or alive in the mud?

Chapter 12: Bend, and you will be whole; the mantis cannot stop the chariot.

Chapter 13: In the empty room, brightness is born.

Chapter 14: A whirlwind does not last the whole morning.

Chapter 15: The fish trap can be forgotten once the fish is caught.

Using This Book With Others

Some readers like to share this book with a friend, a partner or a small group, reading one chapter at a time. A few gentle agreements make this easier: each person talks about their own life, what is said in the group stays in the group, and anyone may pass on a question. And, in the spirit of the book, do not let the group become another task to do perfectly. Meet when you can, read what you can and enjoy it.

You might begin each meeting by reading the chapter's central image aloud and sharing one moment from your own week when you noticed it. Some of the exercises, such as the hour of uselessness, the five minutes of listening or the walk without a destination, can be wonderful to share, if everyone is comfortable. Others are better done alone.

A reading group cannot diagnose anyone, and it does not need to solve every problem. If someone in the group seems deeply exhausted or is clearly struggling, a quiet private word afterwards, and help in finding the right support, may be the kindest response.

About the Author

The author has spent much of a working life trying too hard, and came to the Daodejing and the Zhuangzi during a long, tired season when the usual answer, to push harder, had stopped working. The old images of water, trees, cooks and butterflies offered a gentler way of seeing effort and rest. This book was written in the hope that they might offer the same to other tired hearts, in plain words and in the middle of real lives.

A Note on Care

Tiredness is part of life, but long-lasting exhaustion, poor sleep, very low mood or a feeling that you cannot cope deserve care. Please talk to a doctor or another qualified professional if you recognize these in yourself.

If you ever feel that you might hurt yourself, or if you are in danger, contact a helpline or a medical facility right away. In immediate danger, call your local emergency number.

The people in the examples of this book are imagined. Their situations are common ones, but their names and lives are invented, and any resemblance to real people is not intended.