Silently Letting Go
In a lifetime we meet many people and go through many things. As the ancients said, of ten things, eight or nine go against our wishes; the people and events we meet that fall short of our hopes outnumber those that match them. When things do not go our way, people feel downcast, and this is only human. But as age and experience grow, we must learn not to be thrown into emotional turmoil, silently letting go of the people and events that displease us—neither forcing a smile to please others, nor provoking them.
I used to know nothing of silence; I always wanted to argue right and wrong out. But the years have taught me that silence is also an effective way of expressing oneself. In the Zhanguo Ce (Strategies of the Warring States), Yue Yi said: "When a gentleman breaks off a friendship, he does not speak ill of the other." There are people we wish to break with; there are others with whom we do not go that far, yet from whom we need to signal our disapproval. At such times, silence is a rational and dignified choice.
Silence avoids "speaking ill"; once words of ill will are spoken, grudges are hard not to breed. The Caigentan (Vegetable Root Discourse) has a famous line: "Winning the delight of a thousand is not as good as releasing the resentment of one." I am told Li Ka-shing took this as his motto. Releasing resentment is good, but better still is never to form it; if no grudge is formed, there is no need to release it. As Buddhists often say, "The bodhisattva fears causes; ordinary beings fear effects." Resentment, too, is best cut off at the source.
I am told that on Samoa, a South Pacific island nation, parents from childhood love to work their children into great excitement and then let them feel deep disappointment. This educational tradition, of uncertain origin, has made the islanders a happy people. Because from childhood they understand that many expectations in life ultimately come to nothing, they have grown accustomed to living without setting their hopes too high. This attitude gives them emotional stability, and they are easily contented and happy.
Samoa's fine tradition is, in its own way, akin to Buddhist practice. The aim of Buddhist practice, too, is to extinguish greed, anger, folly, pride, and doubt in the mind, and to still overly strong desires and clinging emotions.
Life passes like a white horse glimpsed through a crack—gone in a flash—and the least worthwhile thing to cling to is negative emotion. Any matter, set aside for ten years and looked back on, is no great deal. Though at the time we may be elated or downcast by it, under the washing of the years all such events will in the end leave no trace.
The greatest gain age and experience bring us is the ability to stay unruffled in the face of change. Unflappability is a precious life skill, a worldly wisdom refined out of countless disappointments. After middle age, many people take change in stride better than when they were young. This is because the mind has matured, and one has developed greater endurance—or stability—than in youth.
Most middle-aged people are quieter than the young; their emotions are not so easily set off. Life has already taught them better ways to avoid emotional outbursts. If a person reaches middle age without this ability, he has not grown up properly.
Youth is like fire; middle age is like water. Fire is scorching; water is still. So the quarrels the young love no longer much interest the middle-aged.
The same person who in youth was eager to stand out may, in middle age, be skilled at reining himself in; one who in youth loved to argue right and wrong may, in middle age, become taciturn. From youth to middle age, in some respects we turn into our opposite. Life is the best textbook; the nourishment we draw from it is enough to make us live better.