The countryside this afternoon feels different. The harsh golden sunlight of the year’s final days stretches across the dyke slopes, the wind carrying the pungent scent of freshly harvested rice stubble and the lingering smell of cooking fires. I wheel my bicycle out through the gate, beginning a journey that I never imagined would become a deep expedition into the depths of my soul.
I’ve lived away from home for over 20 years, returning only once or twice a year and staying just a few days before leaving again, so this bicycle ride feels almost like discovering a new place. My feet slowly pedal through the winding village roads. The landscape in my memory was once dirt paths with wild grass on both sides, now paved over with smooth concrete. The rows of crimson hibiscus fences from years past have been replaced by solid brick walls. I keep pedaling, pedaling on, passing through neighboring villages, crossing vast open rice fields.
Something strange happens: I encounter old acquaintances, farmers I used to greet when I was a child running and playing along the canal banks. They’re still there, but time has carved hardship into their faces. I look at them, but they look at me like a passing stranger. It takes a greeting, a lingering glance before they recognize the little boy from years ago. In the land of my birth, I suddenly become a traveler sightseeing.
In that moment, a very strange feeling overtakes me. At first, a bit of confusion, but immediately after, an oddly profound peace. When no one recognizes who you are, you no longer have to play any role. I’m no longer the manager of 1,200 employees, no longer the passionate speaker at the podium. I’m just me, a living entity existing between earth and sky.
I begin to enjoy that stillness absolutely. I listen to the rhythmic clicking of the bicycle chain – a simple mechanical sound that’s been buried beneath the city’s car horns for so long. I hear birds calling to each other from the old bamboo groves, sense the rich fragrance of ripening rice fields. This quietness isn’t the silence of death, but a symphony of life.
Excitement Within Stillness
This feeling is truly so different from what I’ve always believed. Until now, I’ve always defined myself through connection. I manage over 1,200 people. Each day, I immerse myself in meetings, exchanges, standing before crowds of colleagues to overcome together the tumult of work. I find joy in the commotion, feel myself full of vitality when sharing career guidance with students – young people whose eyes sparkle with desire to reach new horizons.
I once thought I was purely extroverted. I liked the noise, liked the energy radiating from crowds. I used to fear that if one day I had to be alone, in a place where no one knew me, with only trees and birds, I would surely drown in loneliness. But the truth unfolding this afternoon on the bicycle has refuted everything.
I realize that we often fear being alone because we’ve never truly met ourselves. As spiritual master Eckhart Tolle wrote in The Power of Stillness:
“Stillness is your essential nature. What is stillness? The inner space or awareness in which the words on this page are being perceived and become thoughts. Without that awareness, there would be no perception, no thoughts, no world.”
When “I” And “Universe” Are One
The stillness I’m experiencing isn’t separation, but a profound integration. When I swim alone in the open sea, when the shore is just a blurred strip of sand and a person is just a tiny speck in the vast ocean, I don’t feel isolated. On the contrary, I feel myself living more intensely than ever. Every cell in my body seems to be “singing,” sensing each wave of water, each pulse of the tide.
At that moment, the concept of “loneliness” completely dissolves. Only stillness and savoring remain. I feel myself and this universe as one. This feeling is like an awakening to pure existence, where you don’t need someone beside you to validate your worth.
I recall the early days when I first began my solo running or trekking journeys. Running through empty stretches along the river or sparse forests, I also once felt uncertain, afraid of being isolated from the world. But after many, many repetitions, that uncertainty gave way to a profound understanding: This is where I recharge.
Over the past 6 years, I’ve run 7,600km, trekked over 400km, and cycled over 3,000km. Yet I’ve never participated in any race or trekking competition. Many people ask why I don’t seek medals to mark my achievements. The answer is simple: I already have the most precious reward, which is stillness. I don’t run to beat anyone, I run to find peace in my own footsteps. This is completely different from living separated from the world. I’m still here, still working, still contributing, but I possess a spiritual “charging station” reserved for me and only me on this earth.
10 Years “Offline” To Connect More Deeply
One of the clearest manifestations of my stillness is leaving social media. For the past 10 years, I haven’t used Facebook, TikTok, or messaging apps. At first, some called me “backward,” eccentric. But after a decade, those whispers have also disappeared, leaving only peaceful stillness.
Many fear that not using social media means losing connection with close friends. But I did the opposite. Instead of scrolling feeds to see what they’re eating, where they’re going, I pick up the phone and ask them directly. Our relationships have become more authentic and deeper than ever. We don’t communicate through mindless “likes,” I connect with friends on my wavelength with my whole soul.
Stillness in communication helps me filter out what truly matters. I’m no longer surrounded by information noise, unnecessary drama. My mind is like a calm lake surface, where only what’s truly important can create gentle ripples.
Journey To The East
The book that “touched” me wasn’t about a physical journey but about shifting the mind from the bustling external world to the inner world where vast space awaits exploration.
In the journey seeking stillness, I always remember the words of meditation masters and sages. They teach that stillness isn’t the absence of sound, but the absence of resistance in the mind to what is.
Eckhart Tolle once reminded:
“As long as you identify with your mind, you remain subject to time and urgency.”
When I cycle through the countryside, I don’t think about tomorrow’s meeting, nor regret yesterday’s mistakes. I only have the “Now.” And in that now, I’m richer than anyone.
The journey toward stillness brings me vast space. It’s where I can see life’s ups and downs with more compassion. When stillness is the foundation, joys become deeper, and sorrows lose their bitterness. It’s like the ocean – on the surface there may be storms, roaring waves, but deep below remains eternal tranquility.
Returning To Move Forward
The lesson from that afternoon cycling home has solidified in me a fierce conviction: Stillness is the key to savoring life fully in every moment. Don’t fear standing alone. Don’t worry when no one recognizes you. Because it’s precisely in those “anonymous” moments that you have the chance to recognize your truest nature.
Loneliness is standing in a crowd yet feeling empty. Stillness is being alone yet feeling the entire universe in your heart.
I will return to work, continue inspiring students and new employees, rejoin life’s hurried flow. But from now on, I carry with me a “secret.” It’s a lush green rice field, the steady clicking of bicycle gears, and a vast stillness always present in every breath. I’m still here, savoring this world as fully as possible, but never again fearing solitude.
Because I know, in stillness, I am never alone.
