Wu Wei 無為
By Mentor Brendan from Columbia University
I was in crisis mode. The funny thing about an identity crisis is you don’t really even know where to begin. When all your baseline assumptions are in flux, you can’t be sure of anything. Everything’s on fire, even the water.
It was the summer of my sophomore year, right in the middle of my college career. I was standing in my kitchen making dinner on a standard weekday night when I finally admitted to myself that dance didn’t make me as happy as it used to in high school. The thought had lurked in the back of my mind since coming to college, but I always dismissed it, feeling too scared of its implications.
It came as a slow burn. Little by little, I found myself realizing that I didn’t have any real passions. I didn’t have anything that I did just for the sake of doing it, just simply because it made me feel good. Despite how big of a part of my identity dance was, I don’t believe my departure from dance was necessarily the singular thing that left a void in my soul. I think the hole was more of a culmination of choices and behaviors I made throughout my school career. Dance simply wasn’t enough to fill the space anymore.
For as much time as I put into training and dancing, I don’t think I ever labeled myself as a “dancer”. In a studio that comprised mainly Asian American Bay Area dancers, the endgame was rarely about pursuing dance and living life on the stage. In the back of all of our minds, we knew that once we went to college, our dance careers would wither away.
There was always this weird tension in our studio’s culture and mindset. On the one hand, we were fiercely competitive and prideful. Our studio was known to be the “Best of the West” - at least back in the 2000s. Our studio owner had a persona and, more importantly, a reputation. A reputation that we all felt it was our responsibility to uphold.
On the other hand, none of us planned on being professional dancers. The majority of us simply didn’t see it as a realistic option. On average, dancers have incredibly short careers. Then there’s the high risk of life-altering injury that could shorten it even more, of which some of us already had a taste. All that combined with a meager earning potential? To middle class professionals who sacrificed everything to even afford dance lessons for their kids, choosing dance as a career would be a spit in the face.
That attitude towards dance was the attitude I had towards everything I did in high school. Yeah, it’ll look good on my resume, but it probably isn’t a viable “career” option. I was the editor-in-chief of my school’s yearbook, but I never truly considered a career in journalism. I served at a soup pantry for all four years, but I never intended to work for a non-profit.
Everything I did in high school, I did to prove that I could outperform, that I was an above average student, worthy of attending a top rated, brand-name university. I framed all my interests as a vehicle to achieve my college admission. It was always about how much better I was than the dancer next to me, or how many more hours I put in at the yearbook office. In the midst of it all, I forgot how much I loved being on stage with my best friends or how satisfying it was to see our books in print. In the rush to check all the boxes, I forgot to appreciate the fun I had with my friends.
By the time I got to the steps of Low Library, I was burnt out. I was exhausted. I put in all this time and effort to get into college that I had no idea what I wanted to do now that I was actually there. By focusing on what I thought colleges would value, I lost sight of what I personally valued.
Looking back, I think what helped me most was bringing the focus back to me. As rudimentary as it sounds, I began to frame my thought process around my own interests and values. However, I stopped putting all these filters on my perspective. I let go of questions like, “Is this impressive? Will it make good money? What would my parents think? What would my friends think?” I had to allow myself the space to wonder. What do I like to do? What energizes and inspires me? Did I have fun?
I think when you start with you, as an individual who has a unique set of experiences, strengths, and values, everything around you falls into place. When you decide to choose yourself first, to do the things you know you intrinsically value, everything you never knew you needed just flows naturally into your life.
There’s this Taoist philosophy of Wu Wei (Chinese: 無為; pinyin: wúwéi) - it describes the notion of “effortless action”. You’re probably more familiar with the Western term, the “flow state”. In Wu Wei, the actor does not consciously exert themselves, and yet they are able to accomplish greatness by allowing the currents of their surroundings carry them.
This concept does not excuse inaction and passivity. Instead, it encourages us to choose the paths of least resistance. By letting go of external measures of success, we can hear the quieter, internal calls towards fulfillment. Rather than forcing ourselves into an ambiguous, contorted mold, we are empowered to play to our strengths and find greatness in our own way.
Follow your currents. Let greatness come to you.
