Lao Tzu was an ancient Chinese teacher and philosopher, best known as the author of the
Tao Te Ching, a small book that became the heart of Taoism. His words are gentle reminders on how
to live in harmony with life’s natural rhythm. He called this rhythm the Tao, or “the Way.”
The Way is the flow that moves through everything—like the current of a river,
or the turning of the seasons. It doesn’t rush, yet nothing is left undone. When we
follow the Way, we begin to live with ease. We stop struggling against life,
and instead move with it, trusting its direction. One of the biggest obstacles to trusting life is
overthinking. Our mind thinks that if it keeps planning, analyzing, and preparing,
we’ll be safe from mistakes or surprises. But the more we do it, the heavier it becomes,
like being trapped in a maze of endless “what ifs.” Instead of helping us, overthinking pulls
us out of the present moment—the only place where life is actually unfolding.
Lao Tzu offers another way. He reminds us that clarity doesn’t come from forcing the mind to
stop. It comes when we let it settle on its own—just as muddy water clears when it is
left still. Trust isn’t built by rehearsing every possibility, but by realizing there
is already a larger flow carrying us forward. So, quitting overthinking isn’t about fighting
your thoughts. It’s about coming back to what is real: your breath, your body, this moment,
and surrendering to the mystery of life itself. In this video, we’ll explore how to stop
overthinking and begin trusting the bigger picture—through the timeless wisdom of Lao Tzu.
1. Stop forcing clarity
Lao Tzu says “To know that you do not know is highest.”
Lao Tzu taught that the flow of life can’t really be captured by words. It’s too vast,
too mysterious. But the mind struggles with that. It wants certainty. It wants everything
to make sense. So it spins—analyzing, planning, worrying. That’s what overthinking really is:
the mind trying to shrink something infinite into something small enough to control.
This comes from the ego—the little voice inside that says “I, me, mine.” The ego isn’t all bad.
It helps us stay safe, remember who we are, and live in the world. But it only sees through
one pair of eyes, and it fears the unknown. When life feels uncertain, the ego tries to
protect us the only way it knows how—by thinking more. It replays the past, imagines the future,
and searches for control. But instead of peace, it leaves us stuck in loops of worry.
It helps to picture the ego as a small guard dog. It barks when it feels unsure—through doubts,
worries, and endless “what ifs.” The more we fight it, the louder it barks. But if we pause,
breathe, and remind ourselves, “I don’t know yet, and that’s okay,” the barking softens.
Think of when you send a message and get no reply. The ego barks: “They must be upset.
I said the wrong thing.” But the truth may be simple—they’re busy, or their phone died.
We don’t know… we don’t always see the full picture right away. Life has its own timing.
Lao Tzu’s wisdom invites us to pause when we catch ourselves overthinking and make peace
with not knowing, to let the mystery be. Instead of expecting clarity right now, we
can trust that clarity will come when it’s time. So each time you feel you are thinking more than
its needed or worried about something gently ask yourself: “What am I not allowing to be mysterious
right now?” Mystery isn’t something that blocks clarity—it’s what makes clarity possible.
Think of it like planting a seed. When you put the seed in the soil,
you don’t see the plant right away. For a while, it looks like nothing is happening. That’s the
mystery. But in that hidden space, roots are forming. Over time, the plant grows and pushes
through the soil, and then you see it clearly. Life works the same way. When things feel
uncertain, it doesn’t mean nothing is happening. It means something is unfolding that you can’t see
yet. Mystery holds the potential for growth, for new ideas, for unexpected opportunities.
By trusting the mystery, we’re really trusting life—that it knows how to unfold in its own time.
2. See Thought as Ripples, Not Truth
In the words of Lao Tzu “Muddy water, let stand, becomes clear.”
Earlier, we talked about ego that its like a little guard dog—always barking. It makes our
mind spins endless “what ifs,” hoping that if it thinks hard enough, it can stay in control.
But the truth is, the mind can’t control life any more than our hands can straighten a river.
The harder it pushes, the more tangled it feels. You’ve probably noticed this yourself. The more
you tell your mind, “Stop thinking about it,” the louder the thought comes back. The mind doesn’t
get quiet when it’s forced. It only gets busier. Lao Tzu often used water as a teacher. Imagine a
pond on a windy day. The ripples break the moon’s reflection, and it looks unclear.
That’s what happens when our thoughts are restless—we don’t see life as it is, only
the ripples. Now imagine the same pond on a still night. Nothing added, nothing forced, and the moon
reflects perfectly. In the same way, when the mind settles, life appears clearly on its own. Thoughts
are like ripples - they come and go, but they are not the water itself, and they are not the truth.
You see this in daily life. Suppose you share an idea in a meeting, and no one responds right
away. Instantly, the mind jumps in: “Did I sound silly? Are they judging me?” The silence
suddenly feels heavy. But most of the time, the truth is simple - people were just thinking,
or the moment passed. The ripples weren’t reality. Lao Tzu never told us to stop thinking—that only
makes the mind fight harder. Instead, he showed a gentler way: let thoughts rise and fall naturally,
like ripples on water. If you stop throwing stones, the pond clears on its own.
This is the heart of wu wei. Wu Wei is often translated as “non-doing,” but it really means
“non-forcing.” It’s not laziness. It’s moving with life instead of pushing against it. Applied to the
mind, it means letting thoughts drift like clouds in the sky. You don’t need to chase them, and
you don’t need to silence them. If you give them space, they move on their own. Meditation is one
way to practice this. Picture yourself sitting by that pond. Each thought is just another ripple. If
you don’t disturb the water, it clears by itself. You can try it now. Sit quietly for five minutes.
Close your eyes and let thoughts appear without fighting them. Rest gently on your breath,
or on the simple feeling of sitting here. Not to block thoughts, but to have something steady
as they pass. Over time, you’ll see—the less you interfere, the softer the mind becomes. Stillness
isn’t something you create. It’s what naturally returns when you stop stirring the water. And
in that stillness, you are no longer caught in the ego’s stories. You are simply here.
Take a simple example. You’re lying in bed, replaying a conversation. The mind keeps circling:
“Did I sound foolish? Did they misunderstand me?” Hours pass, and nothing changes. The conversation
is already over. Forcing the thoughts away doesn’t help - it only keeps you awake. But wu wei gives
another path. You notice the thoughts and gently tell yourself, “I don’t need to solve this right
now.” Then you return to your breath, the rise and fall of your chest, the weight of the blanket. The
thoughts still pass through, but you don’t follow them. Slowly, the grip loosens, and sleep returns.
3. Root yourself in the body’s wisdom Lao Tzu teaches us to “Empty your mind of
all thoughts. Let your heart be at peace. Watch the turmoil of beings, but contemplate their
return… Returning to the source is serenity.” The Tao isn’t just in big ideas or lofty
thoughts - it’s in your breath, in the weight of your feet on the ground, in the warmth of a
cup of tea in your hands. When the mind starts spinning, the body is where you can return..
We are living bodies - breathing, sensing, moving. The body has its own quiet wisdom. It
doesn’t argue or overthink - it just responds. Touch something hot, and your hand pulls back.
When you’re tired, your body asks for rest. Walk under trees, and your breath deepens naturally.
This intelligence is older than thought. It doesn’t need the ego’s constant chatter.
But the mind doesn’t always trust this. When the body says, “Slow down,” the ego says, “Keep
going.” When the body feels safe, the ego invents worries. That’s how we end up exhausted - the
mind tries to run everything, forgetting that life already knows how to guide us.
A Taoist way back is to let awareness drop from the head into the body. Imagine all
the energy buzzing in your mind - questions, doubts, worries. Now picture it sinking down,
like water soaking into the earth. Breath helps with this. Notice the inhale - life flowing in.
Notice the exhale—life letting go. Feel your chest rise and fall. Shoulders soften. Belly
loosens. Without forcing, you return to the present moment, carried by the body.
You can try this anytime. Maybe you’re waiting for a reply, and the mind races with stories. Instead
of feeding those thoughts, bring your attention to your feet. Feel their weight pressing the
ground. Notice the texture of your clothes, the sounds around you, the air on your skin. Slowly,
the mind begins to quiet. You’re no longer caught in imagined futures—you’re back in what’s real.
This doesn’t mean rejecting thought - it means balancing it. When awareness spreads
through the body, the mind feels lighter. Clarity comes naturally,
the way a lake clears when the wind stops. From this place, actions flow easily. You
eat when you’re hungry. You rest when you’re tired. You speak when words rise from calm,
not from worry. This is Tao in the body - simple, steady, unforced. The mind circles
because it forgets the ground it stands on. The body is that ground. When you return to it,
you reconnect with the larger flow of life moving through you.
4. Rest in simplicity Lao Tzu once observed “He who knows
that enough is enough will always have enough.” In Taoism, Lao Tzu spoke of what he called the
Three Treasures—compassion, moderation, and simplicity. These weren’t meant as lofty ideals
to admire, but as practical ways to live with the Tao. Of the three, Lao Tzu held simplicity
the most dear. Because when life becomes tangled, simplicity steadies us. It grounds us
when the mind drifts into endless complications. Think about the way most of us live. We’re always
chasing more—more success, more possessions, more recognition. The moment one goal is reached,
the mind already asks, What’s next? Even when we try to rest, our thoughts
rehearse problems that may never come. That’s where overthinking begins. It’s
like carrying a backpack everywhere you go. Each “what if” and “what’s next” slips another
stone inside—tomorrow’s meeting, next month’s bills, next year’s uncertainties. Before long,
the bag is so heavy that even the smallest step feels exhausting.
Simplicity is the choice to put the bag down. It doesn’t mean giving up responsibility or
abandoning what matters. It means not carrying everything at once. Simplicity isn’t about
living with nothing—it’s about knowing what’s enough, and letting the rest go.
One way to practice this is moderation. Moderation invites us to pause and ask: What’s enough
right now? Enough food to feel nourished, not stuffed. Enough work to feel useful, not burned
out. Enough possessions to feel comfortable, not overwhealmed. When we draw these boundaries, the
chase slows, and the mind finds room to breathe. Another way is gratitude. Gratitude is simplicity
of the heart. When we notice what’s already here—a warm meal, good health, a quiet evening—we stop
obsessing over what’s missing. Gratitude brings us back to the present, softening regrets about
the past and easing worries about the future. It shows us we already have more than we think.
Simplicity also reveals itself in small choices. Cleaning a messy room isn’t just about tidying—it
lightens the mind. Every pile of clutter is like a whisper of unfinished tasks. When space is
lighter, the mind is lighter. The same goes for time. When days are crammed with tasks,
the mind jumps restlessly from one thing to the next. But when we do fewer things with
full attention, life steadies. Even something as ordinary as walking instead of rushing through
traffic can turn stress into calm awareness. Overthinking thrives on clutter—clutter in our
homes, in our schedules, in our expectations. But when we strip away the excess, slow down,
and notice what’s right in front of us, the noise inside begins to fade.
The endless wanting loosens its grip. And in that silence, the heavy backpack is gone.
5. Trust the bigger picture In our final quote from Lao Tzu
for this video , he says “Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t
resist them—that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow
naturally forward in whatever way they like.” Lao Tzu often reminded us that life moves in
cycles, not straight lines. Day turns into night, winter gives way to spring,
what rises will one day fall, and what falls will rise again. This rhythm is bigger than our plans,
but the mind forgets and tries to force everything into neat timelines.
When we’re caught in overthinking, it’s usually because we want life to match
our script. We want success now, healing now, answers now. But life doesn’t move on
deadlines—it moves in seasons. Some chapters need more time in the dark before they bloom.
Trusting the bigger picture means remembering that what feels stuck today may be preparing
you for tomorrow. You are exactly where you need to be, even if it doesn’t feel that way
right now. The ego resists this. It whispers, “If I don’t control everything, I’ll lose my
way.” But control is only an illusion. Even the most careful plans can be scattered by chance,
just as storms can undo a harvest. The Tao teaches us that uncertainty
is not a mistake—it belongs to the design. What looks like a detour may actually be the
path itself. And often, we only see how it all fits together when we look back.
The best way to build this trust is through small things. Drink your tea without rushing.
Take a slow walk. Everyday acts like these draw you back to the
present and remind you of life’s quiet rhythm. Spending time in nature deepens this practice.
Watching clouds drift across the sky, listening to the steady flow of water, or walking slowly
among trees—all of these invite you to rest in the same effortless rhythm that life itself moves in.
Taoist philosophy is rooted in observing the natural world, because nature reminds us that
nothing is forced. Overthinking begins the moment we separate ourselves from these rhythms and try
to control what was never ours to control. So when life throws you delays or unexpected
turns, pause before reacting. Instead of asking, “Why me?” try asking, “What if this is part of
something I can’t see yet?” Trusting the bigger picture is knowing you’re part of
something larger—something that unfolds at its own pace. You are exactly where you need
to be. The river already knows where it’s going - our peace comes from learning to flow with it.
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