Introduction
Summary of the book Trying Not to Try by Edward Slingerland. Before moving forward, let’s briefly explore the core idea of the book. Have you ever sensed that life could feel easier, more natural, and more enjoyable? Ancient Chinese sages believed that humans could live like graceful swimmers carried by a gentle current, rather than thrashing about in turbulent waters. Without saying it plainly, they revealed how to align our minds and bodies so that everyday struggles become gentle dances. Their teachings—woven through concepts like wu-wei and di—show how to move fluidly through life, trust ourselves, and relate more deeply to others. They encourage a calm and steady presence, achieved not by forcing change, but by letting ourselves be guided from within. These old masters invite us to rethink how we learn, grow, and find meaning. Although they lived long ago, their insights remain surprisingly fresh and relevant. Let these ancient voices gently whisper suggestions into your modern world, and discover that the path to contentment might be simpler than you ever imagined.
Chapter 1: Uncovering How Ancient Chinese Philosophers Taught Us to Live Effortlessly and Joyfully.
Imagine a moment when you are so focused on what you are doing that the rest of the world seems to fade away. Think of painting a picture and becoming so deeply involved that each brushstroke feels natural, as if guided by an invisible hand. In ancient China, philosophers gave a name to this effortless yet deeply engaged state: wu-wei. At first glance, wu-wei may sound mysterious, but it is actually about being completely absorbed in the present activity without worrying about whether you are doing it right or wrong. It is a kind of natural harmony between your body and mind, much like when you ride a bicycle smoothly after plenty of practice, no longer thinking about balance or pedaling. In these moments, work, play, and creativity merge into one fluid experience. By understanding wu-wei, ancient thinkers believed that people could unlock true happiness and live more harmoniously, facing life’s tasks with calm confidence.
For many of us today, life seems like a series of stressful challenges, each one demanding careful planning and constant self-criticism. We often think we must always try harder, push more, and force ourselves to meet unrealistic expectations. Ancient Chinese philosophers offered a surprisingly different way to handle life’s demands. Instead of trying harder, they suggested trying not to try—relaxing into the natural flow of things. When you do this, you cease to feel stressed and become fully present. You stop worrying about the future or dwelling on the past. Instead, you give your entire being to this very moment. This does not mean being lazy or giving up. It means trusting the process so deeply that you let go of needless control. Paradoxically, by not straining and overthinking, your actions become more skillful, your mind sharper, and your emotions more stable. Ultimately, wu-wei invites you to find joy in each moment.
Ancient Chinese texts—like those written by Lao Tzu and the authors of the Taoist and Confucian traditions—explored this concept of effortless action in great detail. They observed that when you act with genuine ease, you move as smoothly as water flowing around stones in a stream. They noted that in this state, the division between your thoughts and your body fades away. This harmony arises when you do not force yourself, but instead cultivate a sense of natural rightness. Imagine playing a musical instrument: at first, you must concentrate on finger placement, timing, and reading notes. With dedicated practice, however, you reach a point where music simply pours out of you, as if you and the instrument have become one. This unity is what the ancient thinkers meant by wu-wei—an unshakable calmness paired with effortless effectiveness, achieved by merging your conscious mind and body in perfect fluidity.
To help people understand wu-wei, ancient stories painted vivid pictures of master craftsmen, wise rulers, and ordinary folk who achieved seemingly impossible feats without struggle. One famous tale involves a woodcarver who could create breathtaking bell stands. Before starting, he would purify his mind by fasting and entering a deep stillness, clearing away distractions so completely that he would forget his own body. Only then would he choose the perfect piece of wood, guided not by logic alone but by an intuitive sense of what the wood was meant to become. In this calm and effortless state, the carving seemed to happen on its own, guided by inner knowledge rather than forced effort. Such stories highlight an essential truth: when we become fully present and let go of anxiety, we unlock a remarkable kind of wisdom within ourselves—one that allows our natural abilities to shine effortlessly.
Chapter 2: Understanding the Mystical Power of Di to Transform Leaders and Ordinary Lives.
Wu-wei doesn’t merely make life easier; it also reveals a special kind of charismatic power known as di. In ancient Chinese thought, di was not just ordinary influence but a natural radiance or virtue that a truly effortless person seemed to possess. When a ruler had di, people followed willingly, without the need for threats or punishments. It was as if the leader’s calm presence and authentic nature inspired trust and loyalty by itself. Even ordinary individuals who embodied wu-wei and di found that others were drawn to them, sensing their genuine warmth and steadiness. Animals, too, might feel at ease around such a person, sensing no aggression or pretense. This gentle charisma comes from aligning one’s actions with nature’s flow, rather than imposing one’s will on the world. By acting from a place of calm integrity, a person with di holds a mirror to the world’s natural, peaceful rhythms.
At first, the idea of di might sound like a mystical concept that’s hard to grasp. But think about people you admire, those who seem relaxed yet confident, and who make you feel comfortable just by being around them. Often, they do not need to show off their intelligence or strength. Their influence seems effortless, as if they possess an inner magnetism. This is how di works. It comes from deep sincerity, honesty, and a lack of forced behavior. When someone moves through life without constant internal tension or hidden agendas, others naturally want to support them. This is the heart of di: it is not trickery or cunning; it is authenticity shining through like a clear stream.
In ancient China, some thinkers believed that di emerged when a person’s actions were perfectly aligned with the Way (often called the dao or wei). They understood that you cannot fake di. If you try too hard to appear confident, relaxed, or wise, people sense the artificiality right away. This is because forced effort leaves a certain strain in your voice, posture, or expressions. Instead, di emerges when you let go of self-importance and trust the natural guidance of your unconscious mind. Just as a skilled dancer stops counting steps and simply feels the music, a person developing di gradually shifts from conscious control to flowing spontaneity. Over time, di becomes like a hidden compass, guiding behavior effortlessly and attracting others toward a shared, meaningful path in life.
In our modern world, we see echoes of di in people who seem naturally good at what they do. Whether it’s a calm teacher who earns her students’ respect through kindness and understanding rather than strict rules, or an athlete who makes challenging moves look easy, di surfaces whenever someone acts in tune with their inner nature. There’s a reason many of us admire athletes, artists, and leaders who make it look simple. They are not just experts of skill; they are experts of letting go. This quality is deeply human and available to everyone who learns to trust the subtle, unconscious intelligence waiting within them. By seeking wu-wei—acting without anxious thought—and nurturing di, we can transform our relationships, our work, and our communities. It may seem mysterious at first, but di emerges from the honest pursuit of effortless authenticity, a goal each of us can approach in our own lives.
Chapter 3: How Confucian Rituals and Training Shape the Subconscious Mind for Genuine Wu-Wei.
Not all ancient Chinese philosophers agreed on how to achieve wu-wei. While Taoists, for instance, suggested a return to natural simplicity, the famed philosopher Confucius proposed a more structured path. Confucianism held that humans were not automatically good at flowing effortlessly. Instead, we needed to train ourselves through deliberate practice and careful cultivation of proper behavior. Confucius believed that by repeatedly performing rituals—such as showing respect to elders, using polite gestures, and following social etiquette—people could gradually shape their subconscious minds. Over time, these well-practiced behaviors become second nature. Just as an apprentice blacksmith hammers metal repeatedly until the motion becomes effortless, a Confucian student hones moral habits until kindness, respect, and sincerity arise without forced thought. This structured approach aims to transform a raw human mind into a polished one, mirroring the natural grace of wu-wei through disciplined cultural refinement.
Consider how you learn any new skill. At first, everything feels awkward and requires conscious effort. For example, when you first learn to drive, you must think about every action—pressing the clutch, shifting gears, checking mirrors. But after enough practice, these motions become automatic, handled by your subconscious. Confucius understood this learning process and applied it to moral and social skills. By observing strict rituals and following traditions, students of Confucianism were slowly rewiring their brains to naturally behave in harmonious, caring ways. Eventually, they would reach a point where generosity, politeness, and fairness emerged as effortlessly as breathing. Confucians believed that cultivating these virtues deliberately was essential for reaching a state of wu-wei. They wanted to shape character, so that people would do the right thing without even thinking about it.
Confucian rituals were not random rules. They were carefully designed social frameworks that encouraged empathy, compassion, and ethical action. For instance, bowing respectfully to elders or teachers was more than a meaningless gesture—it was a repeated physical reinforcement of reverence and gratitude. Over time, such rituals gently guided a person’s inner world, helping them feel proper respect as naturally as they would feel hunger or thirst. By embedding moral lessons in everyday practices, Confucius aimed to build character from the ground up, ensuring that moral values weren’t just lofty ideas but embodied habits. This approach might seem stiff or old-fashioned today, but its logic remains powerful: practice shapes the brain. If you practice kindness in small, consistent ways, kindness will become part of who you are. For Confucians, wu-wei arose as the graceful end product of a long training process, where effort eventually gave way to natural virtue.
This Confucian path shows us that while some can achieve wu-wei by simply letting go, others benefit from a structured pathway. Think of it like learning a language: some children absorb a second language naturally by hearing it spoken at home, while older learners might need to study grammar, vocabulary lists, and engage in repeated pronunciation drills. Both methods can eventually lead to fluent speech, but the routes differ. Confucius believed that humanity needed a proper education in virtuous living, guiding conscious effort until it sank into the subconscious. Once that happened, individuals would interact with the world gracefully and ethically without overthinking. They would behave as good people simply because they had become good people through conscious practice. In this way, Confucianism offers us a roadmap: if we find it hard to effortlessly do the right thing, we can train ourselves until doing right feels as natural as breathing.
Chapter 4: Lao Tzu’s Path of Letting Go, Unlearning Society’s Rules, and Embracing Natural Harmony.
While Confucius wanted people to perfect themselves through careful training, Lao Tzu—one of the central figures of Taoism—proposed almost the opposite. For Lao Tzu, the key to effortless action was not to learn more rules but to strip them away. He believed that people start out close to the natural flow of life but then become confused by social pressures, material desires, and learned fears. The more you pile on lessons, comparisons, and artificial goals, the further you drift from your natural state of calmness and contentment. Lao Tzu advised returning to the basics, thinking less with the head and more with the belly. The belly here symbolizes our innate, simple desires for things like nourishment, rest, and safety—needs that reflect our place in nature’s gentle rhythms. By trusting these fundamental instincts and ignoring flashy distractions, we begin to relax and move with life’s current rather than against it.
Think about it this way: we often become anxious when we constantly focus on what others have, comparing ourselves to neighbors, classmates, or celebrities. Our eyes wander to the newest gadgets, fancier clothes, or bigger houses, and we forget the simple joys we already possess. Lao Tzu argued that this tendency to look outward and judge ourselves by external standards pulls us off the path of wu-wei. Instead of embracing what we have, we chase illusions. By closing our eyes to these temptations—metaphorically speaking—and reconnecting with the quiet voice within, we can find calm. In the silence of not striving, you discover that you don’t need to force yourself to be someone else. You realize that the natural flow of life already has a place for you, as you are. This realization quiets the mind and releases the tension born of constant comparison.
Lao Tzu’s teachings often came in the form of poetic riddles or paradoxical sayings. These riddles were designed to puzzle the logical mind until it gave up trying so hard to understand. In that moment of surrender, a deeper understanding could arise. It’s similar to how athletes sometimes reach a runner’s high where they stop consciously controlling each step and simply run. Their bodies move gracefully, their breathing finds a rhythm, and they feel strangely happy and free. Lao Tzu encouraged people to enter this state not just during physical activities, but in all of life. By doing nothing—which really means stopping unnecessary struggling, analyzing, and competing—we begin to live more naturally. At first, it feels strange because we are so accustomed to forcing things. But with time, the effortlessness feels wonderful, like drifting downstream on a gentle river rather than paddling furiously upstream.
If this idea sounds too dreamy, consider how often we tie ourselves into knots over small problems. Lao Tzu’s approach reminds us that we’re making life harder than it needs to be. Instead of endlessly planning how to impress friends, achieve praise, or outdo rivals, we can simply be ourselves. Instead of blaming ourselves for not being perfect, we can accept that nature rarely demands perfection—only balance. By embracing a childlike openness and stopping the endless chase for more, we naturally settle into a calmer, happier rhythm. In such a state, the mind is not cluttered with schemes and worries. It clears, like a still pond, reflecting the sky without distortion. From that place of clarity, we can respond to life’s changes more skilfully. Rather than resisting or overthinking, we flow with events, confident that the simplest path is often the right one.
Chapter 5: Mencius’ Balanced Approach to Realizing Our Innate Goodness and Expanding Compassionate Action.
Not every thinker chose the strictness of Confucius or the radical simplicity of Lao Tzu. Mencius, another influential philosopher, believed in a middle way. He taught that every human is born with seeds of goodness, like tiny sprouts waiting to grow. To achieve wu-wei, we don’t need to overhaul ourselves or reject society completely. Instead, we must nurture these natural seeds of compassion and virtue. Mencius suggested we could strengthen the caring parts of ourselves by using our imagination to broaden our empathy. For instance, if you feel sympathy for a wounded animal, you can extend that same feeling toward other people who are hurt. With practice, your concern grows until it becomes effortless to feel empathy for others, not because you are forcing yourself, but because your heart naturally expands to embrace them.
Mencius also understood that people often get stuck labeling actions as right or wrong, good or bad, which can create a rigid way of thinking. He encouraged flexibility, warning against getting trapped by strict rules. Instead, we should learn to navigate life’s complexities with an open mind. When you stop clinging to fixed judgments, it becomes easier to adapt to changing circumstances. In this sense, Mencius praised a mental fluidity that allowed people to thrive without forcing themselves into narrow categories. Unlike Confucius, who favored disciplined training, or Lao Tzu, who recommended discarding learned behavior, Mencius advised a more gentle and natural growth. He believed that by carefully cultivating your kindness and learning to apply it in various situations, you would gradually sink into a state of effortless action. Wu-wei, in his eyes, arises when your compassion, understanding, and adaptability blend into a quietly radiant way of living.
Another idea found in texts like the Zhuangzi, often associated with Taoism, echoes Mencius’ balanced approach. The Zhuangzi suggests leaving behind the labels of right and wrong, good and evil. This doesn’t mean giving up morality; it means recognizing that rigid judgments can lock us into narrow perspectives. When we drop these harsh distinctions, we free ourselves to see the world’s complexity and respond gracefully. Imagine trying to draw a picture with only black and white paint. You miss out on the subtle beauty of grays and color. By moving beyond strict categories, you open yourself up to a full spectrum of human experience, making it easier to adapt. This adaptability is closely linked to wu-wei, because when your mind is not stuck on fixed ideas, it can follow life’s changes smoothly. You become like a reed bending in the wind rather than a stiff branch snapping under pressure.
Both Mencius and the authors of the Zhuangzi offer a refreshing lesson: you can find an effortless way of living not by forcing yourself to follow rigid rules or by completely abandoning human culture, but by balancing structure and openness. Their wisdom encourages us to trust our inner goodness and to train our imaginations so that empathy becomes our guide. We can learn from different philosophies without becoming prisoners of any single viewpoint. By seeing ourselves as gardeners, gently nourishing the seeds of kindness, flexibility, and understanding, we help them grow naturally. Soon, our thoughts and actions sync with a deeper current, allowing us to face life’s unexpected turns without fear or frustration. From this vantage point, wu-wei is not just a distant ideal; it becomes a natural outcome of tending to our hearts and minds with care and honesty.
Chapter 6: Embracing Sincerity, Finding a Higher Purpose, and Fully Entering the Flow of Wu-Wei.
All these different philosophical paths—Confucian discipline, Lao Tzu’s simplicity, Mencius’ gentle nurturing—point toward a single truth: you cannot fake wu-wei. This state of effortless action depends on sincerity. If you pretend to care about kindness or try to look relaxed when you are actually anxious, people will sense the tension. Your own subconscious will know you’re not being genuine. True wu-wei arises when your inner intentions, emotions, and actions align perfectly. If you truly believe in generosity, for example, you won’t need to force yourself to give. Generosity will flow from you as naturally as water downhill. To achieve this, you must discover a purpose higher than yourself—something that inspires deep commitment. If you ground your actions in a meaningful principle, like treating others with the respect and love you wish to receive, then sincerity will come more easily. Over time, you’ll find yourself acting naturally from this place of purpose.
Sincerity is the bridge between inner belief and outward behavior. Without it, you might perform rituals, say kind words, or pretend to be calm, yet still feel restless and anxious beneath the surface. Sincerity means truly meaning what you do. When your mind and body are united by honest conviction, what was once difficult becomes effortless. Athletes who love their sport play with a special spark. Artists who love their craft create with a natural rhythm. Similarly, when you commit yourself sincerely to a virtuous path—be it kindness, honesty, or service—you reduce the mental noise of self-doubt and judgment. You stop over-analyzing every move and enter that subtle zone of flow where doing the right thing feels easy, not forced. In that zone, wu-wei blossoms, and you can live as the best version of yourself without constantly struggling or pretending.
Cultivating sincerity may seem like a tall order in a world full of distractions and mixed messages. We are constantly bombarded with advertisements urging us to want more, or social media feeds encouraging us to compare ourselves to others. It’s easy to lose sight of our true priorities. However, if you can identify a higher purpose—something that matters deeply to you—this purpose becomes a guiding star. For example, if your higher purpose is to help others feel safe and valued, you will shape your decisions around this goal. Over time, this guiding principle weaves itself into your habits, your speech, and your way of thinking. Gradually, sincerity emerges not as something you must force, but as a natural response to your inner calling. As sincerity grows, you feel less need to impress others or to worry if you’re doing it right. Instead, you trust your own path.
When sincerity and higher purpose merge, your quest for wu-wei begins to feel less like a struggle and more like coming home. No longer do you rely solely on willpower and discipline, nor do you feel compelled to reject all human traditions. Instead, your actions flow smoothly because you genuinely care about what you do. The body and mind sync up like dancers moving to the same beat, and your every effort resonates with meaning. In this state, you don’t just achieve tasks; you embody values. Living becomes an art, each moment brimming with authenticity. While it takes time to reach this point—time spent clarifying values, practicing habits, and letting go of pretense—the result is a graceful way of being. You find that life’s challenges no longer throw you off balance so easily. Instead, you face them with a calm smile, grateful for the chance to live with sincerity.
Chapter 7: Practical Steps for Applying Ancient Chinese Wisdom to Everyday Real-Life Modern Challenges.
You might be thinking: these ancient Chinese ideas sound beautiful, but how can I use them in my daily life, surrounded by homework, family expectations, and social pressures? The good news is that these philosophies were never meant to be ivory-tower theories. They were practical guides for ordinary people. To start, pick a principle you admire—perhaps kindness, honesty, or patience. Make it your guiding star. Each day, practice small acts aligned with this principle. If you choose kindness, offer a genuine compliment to someone who seems down, or help a friend study without expecting anything in return. At first, you may have to remind yourself intentionally, but with repetition, kindness will start to feel natural. Over time, this deliberate practice will sink into your subconscious, allowing kindness to flow without forcing it.
Another practical step is to regularly take moments to slow down and reconnect with the present. You can do this by taking a slow walk outdoors, paying attention to the sounds of birds or the feel of the breeze. If you’re playing a sport or practicing an instrument, try focusing entirely on the action itself—how your muscles feel, how the notes resonate—rather than on winning or impressing others. As you learn to immerse yourself fully in the here and now, you’ll notice that your mind stops racing. This calm presence makes even challenging tasks more enjoyable and less stressful. By cultivating these mini-wu-wei moments, you gradually train your mind to work effortlessly, turning tasks that once seemed stressful into experiences filled with ease and grace.
It also helps to remember that you don’t have to master everything at once. Ancient Chinese thinkers understood that life is a journey. You can experiment with Confucius’ disciplined approach by introducing small rituals into your day—like quietly reflecting on your goals each morning or thanking your parents for a meal. Or try Lao Tzu’s method by spending time letting go of unnecessary desires, maybe by turning off social media for a while and noticing how calm you feel without constant comparisons. If Mencius’ ideas appeal to you, practice expanding your empathy: when you see someone struggling, imagine their feelings and respond with understanding. All these small efforts guide you toward a more harmonious way of living. Over time, you’ll discover which paths suit you best, refining your approach until your actions start to feel effortlessly sincere.
As you apply these ancient insights, you may find subtle changes happening in your interactions. Maybe you become more patient with classmates who once annoyed you, or find that creativity flows more freely when you stop worrying about results. Perhaps you’ll notice that people respond positively to your calmer presence, just as they might have responded to a leader with di in ancient times. The real power of these ancient philosophies lies in their timelessness. Though developed in a world without smartphones and modern stresses, their core truths still resonate. They teach us that when we work with our minds and bodies rather than against them, we achieve more with less strain. By blending sincerity, a higher purpose, careful practice, and a willingness to let go, you can move through life with a fluidity and joy that brings out your true potential.
All about the Book
Discover the art of effortless living with ‘Trying Not to Try’ by Edward Slingerland. This enlightening book merges Eastern philosophy with Western science, guiding readers towards authentic self-expression and tranquility in a fast-paced world.
Edward Slingerland, a renowned professor and author, explores human behavior and ancient philosophies, blending academic rigor with accessible insights to foster personal transformation and deeper understanding.
Psychologists, Life Coaches, Philosophers, Educators, Mindfulness Practitioners
Meditation, Yoga, Philosophy Reading, Creative Writing, Self-Improvement Workshops
Stress Management, Work-Life Balance, Authentic Self-Expression, Mindfulness and Presence
The best way to get out of your own way is to stop trying.
Malcolm Gladwell, Elizabeth Gilbert, Deepak Chopra
Gold Medal – Independent Publisher Book Awards, Finalist – Foreword Reviews’ INDIES Book of the Year Awards, Featured in Best Books of the Year by NPR
1. What happens when we let go of effort? #2. Can embracing spontaneity enhance our creativity levels? #3. How does ancient wisdom inform modern life choices? #4. What role does mindfulness play in everyday actions? #5. Can we achieve more by trying less intentionally? #6. How does balance impact our productivity and well-being? #7. What can we learn from the concept of Wu Wei? #8. How does social context shape our decision-making? #9. Can relaxation improve our problem-solving abilities? #10. What is the relationship between effort and success? #11. How do rituals help in achieving flow states? #12. How can we cultivate natural talent through playfulness? #13. What are the implications of stress on creativity? #14. Can surrendering control lead to unexpected breakthroughs? #15. How do cultural practices influence personal development? #16. What techniques can help us embrace uncertainty? #17. How does letting go support personal growth journeys? #18. What insights can humor provide in serious situations? #19. Can being less serious improve our life satisfaction? #20. How can acceptance transform our approach to challenges?
Trying Not to Try book, Edward Slingerland, mindfulness and spontaneity, philosophy and psychology, Eastern philosophy, Western philosophy, self-improvement, stoicism and Taoism, effortless living, cognitive science, mindfulness techniques, overcoming anxiety
https://www.amazon.com/Trying-Not-Edward-Slingerland/dp/0553447240
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