“Life is really simple, but men insist on making it complicated.”
— Confucius
There is a profound stillness hidden within this observation by Confucius, a stillness that invites us to pause. When we set aside the noise of daily striving, we begin to see that life, in its essence, has never been difficult. The breath comes and goes. The sun rises and falls. Seasons change with effortless grace. The river flows without questioning its course. Nature reminds us again and again that life is already complete in its simplicity.
And yet, it is humanity that disrupts this harmony. We weave unnecessary complexities into the fabric of existence—building towers of desire, scaffolding of worry, and mazes of ambition. We mistake excess for meaning, motion for progress, and noise for truth. The complication does not arise from life itself, but from the restless mind that seeks control, ownership, and certainty.
To live simply, as Confucius suggests, is not to renounce the world, but to see it clearly. Simplicity is not poverty, nor is it denial. It is a return to proportion. It is to recognise that joy resides in the ordinary: in the taste of water when we are thirsty, in the warmth of companionship, in the quiet dignity of honest work, in the silence between words.
When we complicate life, we exile ourselves from the present moment. We become lost in what should be, what might be, what once was. But when we return to simplicity, we step back into what is. And there, in the ordinary now, we discover the extraordinary: the miracle of being alive.
Perhaps the true teaching of Confucius is not merely an observation but a gentle call to awakening. To strip away the superfluous. To listen more deeply. To walk more lightly. To let go of the burdens we have chosen to carry.
Life, simple and unadorned, is already sufficient. It has always been sufficient. It is we who must learn again how to see it, how to trust it, how to rest within it.
The river flows, unforced, at ease,
Yet we stir storms in search of peace.
Life asks so little, pure, complete,
But we make tangled webs of need.
