Once again, I find myself on a journey. After hanging up a friend's call, I gazed through the clean glass window at the drifting clouds in the sky, feeling a sense of restlessness within my soul.
There was a time when I loved this feeling of wandering, believing that I should not be confined to a single city or trapped within the gentle world of one person. Thus, I packed my bags, carrying a heart that sought both peace and freedom. With only two sets of simple clothes, I traversed cities of all sizes, riding different vehicles, meeting different people, and witnessing diverse landscapes, all while harboring countless expectations. Occasionally, I would linger in a city, only to encounter souls sharing the same melancholy or loneliness. Yet, despite the eventual partings, regrets, and sorrows, I would unhesitatingly pack my bags once more, plunging into that endless cycle of wandering.
The most beautiful sentiment I ever heard is that life is a journey. In the Jokhang Temple in Lhasa, I witnessed the most devout pilgrims. They held their hands above their heads and prostrated their foreheads to the earth. The marks on their brows and the worn traces on the ground, etched by years of repetitive devotion, speak volumes of the power of persistence. In that moment, rereading the poetry of Tsangyang Gyatso—“In that lifetime, I traversed mountains and rivers, only to meet you on the way”—I reached a profound epiphany.
I also heard a beautiful legend: after death, the soul retraces all the places it traveled in life. In the Dunhuang Mogao Caves, I saw believers whose devotion was no less than those in Lhasa. Amidst the vast sands, they knelt with utmost sincerity before the magnificent Buddha statues, whispering their earthly confusions and praying for future happiness. Back then, I thought my youth was inexhaustible, so I allowed myself to drift through the ups and downs of life.
In Lijiang, I was deeply moved by the story of "A Meter of Sunshine," where the unwavering loyalty of the Naxi woman to her love gave hope to those who strive for devotion despite hardship and danger. That trip to Lijiang was my longest stay. Upon my return, I chose a serene city to settle down, living a quiet and tranquil life, no longer squandering my years in aimless wandering.
Later, when I found a true sense of belonging, my desire to wander vanished completely. I began to care for the flourishing flowers in my courtyard, the arrangement of my rooms, and whether my loved ones were warm enough when going out. Even the withered tree by my window now appears strong and vigorous, much like a stroke in an ink painting.
In my leisure time, I hold my partner's hand and walk through the quietest parts of the city, smelling the fragrance of fresh grass, tasting smooth chocolate, and watching children run by with laughter. Or perhaps, I find a small shop in a rural area far from the city's hustle, sipping bitter homemade tea that leaves a refreshing sweetness in the mouth and nose. In this process, I suddenly realized that my past cowardice and avoidance were merely ways to hide a humble heart. Like chocolate and rural tea, which are bitter at first and sweet thereafter, is this not the very essence of life's journey? Now, the days of wandering have become a nostalgic memory. Occasionally, seeing a traveler with a backpack reminds me that once, I lived just as simply. As the wild geese fly south outside my window, I know it is a necessity of their life; after the frost passes, they will return. I believe my friends currently on their journeys will do the same.
Let me share another story. A young man was walking his purebred Tibetan Mastiff, worth millions, boasting to everyone that the dog was so powerful that it would take several hundred pounds of strength just to hold it back.
He saw an old, balding man sitting by the road with a scruffy, nearly hairless dog. The Mastiff barked ferociously at the old dog, but the old dog didn't even bother to look up.
Annoyed, the young man challenged him: "Old man, what breed is that dog of yours? How about a bet? If your dog loses, give me 500; if my Mastiff loses, I'll give you 2,000."
The old man replied, "I'm actually worried about my old friend's food for next month! How about a bigger bet? If my dog loses, I'll give you 50,000; if you lose, you give me 30,000."
The young man was incensed: "This is a purebred Tibetan Mastiff! Fine, let's bet!"
Within two minutes of the confrontation, the Mastiff was defeated and had not dared to bark since. The young man, holding 30,000 yuan, muttered in frustration, "Sir, what breed is that dog? How is it so fierce?" The old man, counting the money, replied calmly, "I'm not sure what breed it is, but before it lost its hair, it was called a Lion!" The young man was left speechless, caught between laughter and tears.
In life, never boast; stay humble. What you boast about often reveals what you lack. Those who truly possess strength exist in a state of calm and peace, much like that old man and his "old dog"—existing with composure and grace.
You are already a lion; why prove it? Why boast? Life is not about comparing yourself to others, but about living out your greatest self and making your greatest contribution.
