Zhuangzi was an ancient Chinese philosopher, often remembered as
the playful and imaginative voice of Taoism. Where Lao Tzu spoke in short, poetic verses,
Zhuangzi chose stories. His tales could be light, humorous, even absurd at times - but hidden inside
them was a deep wisdom about how to live. In his book, also called Zhuangzi, he shows
us that much of our suffering comes from holding on too tightly. To rigid ideas of right and wrong,
to our need for control, to the seriousness with which we approach everything. His message
is clear — true freedom comes from letting go. Letting go of labels, of narrow thinking,
of the constant urge to prove ourselves. He invites us to live more lightly,
to drift through life like a leaf on a stream. And when we do, we find a quieter, deeper kind of joy.
But in today’s world, we’re pushed to move faster, to compete harder, to constantly chase the next
goal. In that race, it’s easy to forget the simple lightness of being alive. Zhuangzi
reminds us that life doesn’t always have to be a struggle. It can be playful. It can be free.
In this video, we’ll look at 7 lessons from Zhuangzi. They’re gentle reminders to see
life a little differently, to put down some of the weight you’ve been carrying,
to laugh at the unexpected turns, and to find a lighter, more playful way of living.
1. Don’t Get Trapped by Labels Zhuangzi says "What is good? What
is bad? Opinions differ, and the disputes never end. Yet,
whether right or wrong, good or bad, the Way makes them all into one."
Zhuangzi saw labels as cages created by the mind - boundaries that cut up reality into
neat little boxes, when in truth, life flows freely without divisions. To Zhuangzi, labeling
was like drawing lines in water: the moment you do it, the lines dissolve. Reality itself has no
sharp edges. It is only the mind that insists on calling one thing “good” and another thing “bad,”
one person “useful” and another “useless.” The problem is that once we put a label on
something, we no longer see it for what it really is. We only see the name we gave it. And this
is how much of our suffering is created - not by life itself, but by the way we think about life.
Zhuangzi tells a story about a crooked tree. A carpenter looks at it and dismisses it
immediately: “This tree is worthless. Its wood is too twisted to make furniture.” In the eyes
of society, the tree is useless. But precisely because of this “uselessness,” the tree is left
standing, free to grow tall, free to offer shade, free to live out its natural life. Meanwhile,
the straight trees - the “useful” ones—are cut down, chopped up, and turned into objects.
Zhuangzi shows us that sometimes, what we dismiss as useless or strange may be carrying a
hidden gift. The crooked tree survives because it escapes the blade. Its “flaw” becomes its freedom.
Now reflect on your own life. How many times have you labeled yourself or others in ways
that closed off possibility? You may have told yourself: “I’m not good enough,” “I’m unlucky,”
or “I’m too shy.” Or maybe you’ve looked at someone else and thought: “He’s difficult,”
“She’s strange,” “They’re useless.” But notice what happens once these labels are stamped:
every action, every moment, gets filtered through that judgment. The label becomes a prison,
not just for them, but for you as well. Zhuangzi invites us to loosen these chains
of the mind. Ask yourself: What am I not seeing because I’ve already decided what this is? Maybe
the “boring” job you complain about is quietly giving you stability, so your spirit has room
to grow elsewhere. Maybe the “strange” person you avoid carries a perspective that could open
your heart in ways you never imagined. Here’s the practice: whenever you catch
yourself labeling something—whether it’s a person, an event, or yourself—pause. Ask:
Is this the whole truth? Is there another way to see it? Could what I’ve called
useless actually carry a hidden blessing? For example, imagine losing a job you wanted.
Instantly, the mind stamps it: “failure.” But if you breathe, step back, and look again, you may
realize this rejection freed you from a path that wasn’t truly yours. It may be pushing you toward
something better aligned with your nature. What felt like misfortune could be a disguised teacher.
This is Zhuangzi’s lesson: life is not meant to be sliced into opposites and
when you stop clinging to labels, you begin to see reality as it is—alive, flowing, and whole.
2. See Life as a Dream Zhuangzi says “How do I know
that what I call waking is not a dream? How do I know that what I call dreaming is not waking?”
Zhuangzi once had a dream and in the dream, he was a butterfly. He wasn’t a philosopher,
or even a man - just a butterfly, flying freely, happy, and at ease. Then he woke up, and suddenly
he was Zhuangzi again. This left him wondering: was I Zhuangzi dreaming I was a butterfly,
or a butterfly now dreaming I am Zhuangzi? What he wanted us to see is that the line
between dream and reality is not so clear. What feels permanent today might turn out
to be just as fleeting as last night’s dream. Think about it - when we’re inside a dream,
it feels real. We laugh, cry, or panic, and only when we wake up do we realize it
was just a dream. Zhuangzi’s story invites us to look at our everyday life in the same way:
maybe it’s not as solid as we think. Maybe it’s more like a passing dream.
This doesn’t mean life has no value. In fact, it means the opposite. If life is dreamlike,
then we don’t need to carry it with such heaviness.
We don’t need to cling so hard to worries, ambitions, or the roles we play. Just like we
don’t try to hold onto dreams after we wake, we can learn to let life flow more lightly.
Think of how often we treat things as permanent - our failures, our labels, our problems. We tell
ourselves, “This is who I am,” or “This will never change.” But Zhuangzi’s butterfly reminds us that
everything changes. Nothing is fixed forever. When life feels too heavy, try asking yourself:
what if this is just a dream? That simple question can make your problems feel lighter.
This way you will simply move through life like a butterfly, light and free.
3. Embracing the Mystery of Not Knowing
Zhuangzi says “A frog in a well cannot talk about the sea, because he is confined to
his hole. A summer insect cannot talk about ice, because it knows only its own season.”
Zhuangzi lived in a world where philosophers, rulers,
and scholars tried to pin life down with neat theories and fixed answers.
They believed if they could put existence into words, they would understand it. But to Zhuangzi,
it was like trying to pour the ocean into a cup - you lose the vastness, the mystery,
and the depth of what it really is. He often reminded people that truth
isn’t something solid we can hold in our hands. It shifts. What feels certain today may fall apart
tomorrow. What looks clear when you stand in one place may look completely different when you move
to another. He once met a man who boasted that he fully understood life and death. Zhuangzi only
smiled and asked: how can any of us, with such brief lives and such narrow senses, claim to
comprehend something as boundless as existence? For him, wisdom wasn’t about having the right
answer. It was about being at peace with not knowing. Life was not a puzzle to solve,
but a mystery to move through. Like a breeze passing through the trees,
it was meant to be experienced, not grasped. This means to stop clinging so tightly to
certainty, we no longer need to argue, to prove ourselves, to defend every opinion. Instead,
we begin to flow with events, like travelers walking down a road who take joy in the journey
rather than fixating on the destination. This means we loosen our grip. We remain
open. Because when we let go of rigid ideas, we make space—for wonder, for growth, and for life
to surprise us in ways we never imagined. So how do we practice this?
Start small. The next time you feel unsure of what lies ahead, don’t rush to control everything.
Take a breath and tell yourself: I don’t know yet, and that’s okay. When challenges appear,
don’t ask, What’s the one correct path? Instead, ask, What possibilities are open to me right now?
Welcome the unknown as part of life’s beauty, not as a threat. Zhuangzi teaches us that
wisdom is not about conquering the mystery. It’s about dancing with it. So live lightly,
curiously, and openly - that, to him, was the true way to meet life.
4. Flow with Change Zhuangzi says “Birth is not a
beginning; death is not an end. Existence is a transformation; time is a renewal.”
Zhuangzi saw change not as something to fear, but as the very heartbeat of existence. To him,
life was like the endless rhythm of change - the seasons that come and go, the cycle of day and
night, the constant dance of growth and decay. Everything changes, it is the way of the Tao.
But we humans, we cling to what we love. We want relationships, careers, even our own youth,
to remain fixed in time. And when life inevitably shifts, we feel pain - not
because change is bad, but because we resist it. When Zhuangzi’s wife passed away, his friends came
to console him. At first, he grieved like any man would. But soon after, they found him singing and
gently drumming on a pot. Shocked, they asked, “How can you celebrate after losing your wife?”
Zhuangzi explained that at first, he too felt sorrow. But then he remembered the larger
rhythm of existence: before she was born, she was part of the endless Tao. Then she entered form,
lived her years, and now has returned to the great mystery. Birth, growth, decay,
death - these are all part of one unbroken cycle. Why should he cling and demand it to be otherwise?
What Zhuangzi teaches here is that change is not an enemy to fight;
it is the river carrying us onward. When we resist, we suffer. When we flow, we find peace.
Think about your own life. Maybe you’re holding on to the way things “used to
be.” A relationship that ended. A phase of life that has passed. A younger version of yourself
you wish you could return to. Notice how that clinging only creates tension. The truth is:
life has already moved forward, and your spirit is being invited to move with it.
When change shows up in your life - maybe it’s small, like a plan falling through,
or something big, like the end of a relationship - it’s easy to feel resistance.
The mind jumps to, “Why is this happening to me?” But Taosim advises us to pause and ask yourself,
“What is this making space for? What season of my life might be starting here?”
Think about it: winter feels harsh, but without it there would be no spring. In the same way,
the loss of a job might be the opening to a path that truly fits you. The end of a friendship may
be what allows new connections to enter. Even the tough moments carry seeds of renewal. When
you begin to see change this way, you don’t have to fight it so hard. You can flow with it.
5. Act Effortlessly Zhuangzi says “I enter with the swirl,
I emerge with the flow. I follow the way of the water, not my own contrivance. Thus I survive.”
Zhuangzi once told a story about a man who jumped into a huge waterfall. The water crashed down with
incredible force, and everyone watching was sure he would die. But then, just a little while later,
he appeared downstream, alive and unharmed. When people asked how he survived, the man said,
“I don’t fight the water. I let it take me down with its whirlpools, and I rise with its currents.
I go with the flow instead of resisting.” This, Zhuangzi said, is the heart of wu
wei. The phrase is often translated as “effortless action.” It doesn’t mean
laziness or doing nothing. It means moving in harmony with the way life naturally flows. Like
swimming with the current instead of against it. Zhuangzi noticed that a lot of our suffering comes
from resistance. We push, we force, we fight against reality, and we tire ourselves out.
The swimmer’s secret was simple: the waterfall is stronger than him, so why fight it? By yielding,
he let the river’s strength carry him. Nature, after all, favors harmony over struggle. A
tree that refuses to bend in the wind will break, but a reed that bends will survive.
In everyday life, wu wei is about noticing where we’re fighting battles that don’t
need to be fought. Maybe it’s at work, trying to force ourselves into a career that feels heavy,
just because it looks successful on the outside. Maybe it’s in relationships,
trying to control others instead of listening and moving with them. Or maybe it’s inside ourselves,
straining so hard to become someone different that we forget the ease of simply being who we are.
Wu wei invites us to ask: what would happen if I stopped forcing? What if I trusted the flow
instead? Sometimes that means acting, but in a way that feels natural. Other times it means waiting,
letting things unfold in their own time. Ironically, living this way often brings
the best results. Think of someone trying to force a relationship—messaging constantly,
overthinking every silence, pushing for more than the other person is ready for.
The more they push, the more tension grows, and the other person pulls away.
But when you simply enjoy time with someone, without clinging or pushing,
things often deepen naturally. You’re not inactive—you’re present, attentive,
open—but you’re not trying to control. And that ease creates space for something real to grow.
6. Live Playfully Zhuangzi says “Fish forget they
live in water; men forget they live in the Way.” Zhuangzi loved to poke fun at rigid thinkers and
scholars who clung to their logic, or rulers who took themselves too seriously. Through his jokes
and lighthearted tales, he reminded people that much of what we cling to - our pride, our titles,
our seriousness—are illusions. Why defend them so fiercely? Why not laugh at them instead?
This mockery was freedom in disguise. When you laugh, when you can see the absurdity in life,
you loosen the grip of fear and pride. You realize you don’t always need to win,
to be right, or to control. Seriousness, Zhuangzi showed, can become a prison.
Playfulness is the key that opens the door. Think about children at play. They throw
themselves fully into the game, yet when it ends, they don’t cling to it or grieve
over losing. They simply move on, ready for the next moment. Zhuangzi invites us
to live in a similar way: to engage deeply with life, but not to become trapped by it.
These days, we often mistake seriousness for responsibility. We carry the weight of careers,
reputations, success, and failure on our shoulders, as if worry itself proves we
are being responsible. But what if we allowed a little play to enter these spaces? A mistake at
work doesn’t have to feel like the end of the world—it can be a moment to laugh, adjust, and
move forward. Even in relationships, when tension rises, remembering that not every disagreement
needs to become a clash of egos can soften the moment. And when it comes to personal growth,
it doesn’t have to be a grim project of “fixing yourself.” Growth can feel lighter, even joyful,
when you give yourself permission to be imperfect. The practice is simple. Notice those moments when
you’re clinging too tightly to being serious - when you’re busy protecting your image or
stressing over outcomes. Then pause and ask yourself: what if I treated this more playfully?
More often than not, the tension eases. Possibilities you couldn’t see before begin to
open up. Your breath feels lighter. You might even find yourself laughing at your own worries, or at
the little absurdities of the world around you. Life will never be without its struggles,
but that doesn’t mean you need to carry them with a heavy face. Try meeting life as if it
were a kind of play and let laughter slip in where seriousness has locked the door.
7. Own your Journey Zhuangzi says “A petty understanding
cannot measure the wisdom of the great.” Zhuangzi saw how easily people get caught in cages
- titles, roles, appearances, and the endless chase for approval. But Zhuangzi reminds us:
real freedom isn’t found in praise or recognition. It’s found when we stop letting society decide who
we should be. The sage is not the one celebrated by others, but the one who can move lightly,
answerable only to the flow of the Tao. To explain this, he told the story of Kun,
a fish so vast it transformed into Peng, a great bird that soared thousands of miles across the
sky. The smaller birds laughed at Peng’s journey - they couldn’t understand its vastness. In the
same way, not every life can be measured by the same yardstick. What seems excessive or
pointless to one may be natural to another. The lesson is simple: your journey is yours
alone. Some are meant to soar far, some to stay close to home. Neither is greater,
so long as it is true. What matters is whether you are living from your own spirit,
and not from the expectations of others. Ask yourself: if no one were watching,
would I still choose this? The moment your choices begin to rise from within, instead
of being dictated from outside, you start to taste real freedom - the freedom of living your own way.
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