In 1983, my wife, Cynthia, my six-month-old son, Erik, and I journeyed to the People’s Republic of China where I would teach writing and we would learn more than we ever imagined. It was there in the dry, dusty, stiflingly hot or bitterly cold landscape of northeastern China that we discovered the strange contradictions of a changing Communist country and traditional culture—and a Taoist way of existing. We left with a love for the people and a lasting appreciation and wonder at their ability to endure these contradictions and, essentially, to go with the flow.

Just a few years later, I was working as a middle level administrator at a small University of Wisconsin campus. One day a supervisor lent me a copy of The Tao of Leadership. I was impressed and intrigued by a philosophy that seemed so different from conventional approaches. Little by little I began to adopt some of the book’s Taoist ideas.

Still, I didn’t recognize the growing influence of this philosophy on me, and I did not consciously follow up on the concept of Taoism until recently, when I met a practitioner of the philosophy and became curious to know more about it. I was reminded of a former student’s paper entitled “The Tao of Tutoring.” Dana, my student, had explored the interaction between a writing tutor and a student, from a loosely Taoist perspective. I liked the idea so well that it stayed in the back of my mind for years.

These scattered influences began to form a unity that seemed to make sense, not only in philosophical terms, but in practical terms as well. Each of these influences, these brief encounters with Taoist ideas and people, shared much in common. The Chinese culture (though not the government or political system) was to generous and valued community, a place where people could feel at ease and at peace, where life flowed along as the river flows. My old supervisor also taught me the joys of managing without controlling, of encouraging an atmosphere of community and generosity, of putting daily stresses into perspective. Then, young Dana showed me—or perhaps simply reminded me—that I could think about writing from this new perspective. It was all natural. Because I am a writer and a teacher of writing, and I spend a good deal of time thinking about writing and helping others to become writers, the connections between the Tao and writing started to become more and more apparent to me.

Taoism tells us that the “Tao” is the cosmic, mysterious, and ultimate principle underlying form, substance, being, and change. Tao encompasses everything. It can be used to understand the universe and nature as well as the human body. For example, “Tao gives birth to the One, the One gives birth to Two, and from Two emerges Three, Three gives birth to all the things. All things carry the Yin and the Yang, deriving their vital harmony from the proper blending of the two vital forces” (Tao Te Ching, verse 42). Tao is the cause of change and the source of all nature, including humanity. Everything from quanta to solar systems consists of two primary elements of existence, Yin and Yang forces, which represent all opposites. These two forces are complementary elements in any system and result in the harmony or balance of the system. All systems coexist in an interdependent network. The dynamic tension between Yin and Yang forces in all systems results in an endless process of change: production and reproduction and the transformation of energy. This is the natural order. This is the Tao.