The Modern Taoist

Weekend Check-In - Speaking In Absolutes

Speaking in Absolutes Is a Form of Giving Up I will never. This always happens. I'm just not the kind of person who. These sentences feel like honesty. Like finally facing the hard truth instead of pretending. They arrive with the authority of real experience behind them, and that authority makes them almost impossible to argue with from the inside. But they are almost never accurate. And the damage they do isn't in the moment they're spoken — it's in everything that happens after. In the way they quietly close doors that haven't actually been tested yet, and produce, over time, exactly the outcomes they claimed were inevitable. This weekend check-in is about what's really happening when we reach for the absolute. Why it feels like realism and functions like surrender. And what the small, honest shift looks like that leaves the future available without requiring you to pretend everything is fine. Follow The Modern Taoist so you don't miss the full Tuesday episodes. And if you know someone whose absolutes are running their life, send this one their way.

You Don't Have To Win Everyday

Life Is Not Asking You to Win Today Most people end hard days feeling like they failed them. Not because anything went wrong, exactly — but because the standard they applied to the day had nothing to do with what the day actually was. A day that deserved to be called endurance got filed under disappointing. A day that needed genuine rest got spent in guilty half-productivity that produced neither rest nor anything else. This episode is about the grading system most of us carry without ever choosing it — where it came from, why knowing it's unreasonable doesn't make it stop, and what actually changes when you start meeting each day on its own terms rather than forcing it through a metric it was never going to pass. Some days are for building. Some are for recovering. Some are simply for enduring. Learning to tell the difference — and to give each one the right standard rather than the same wrong one — turns out to be one of the more useful things a person can develop. Also: a listener question from Daniel in Melbourne about the I Ching — whether it's connected to Taoism, whether it's worth exploring, or whether it's just fortune-telling dressed up in ancient packaging.

Weekend Check-In - When Protection Becomes Possession

This weekend, I share a very personal experience that led me to wrestle with a much bigger question: What is the difference between protecting something and trying to possess it? It's a subtle distinction, but one that touches every part of our lives, from relationships and careers to our identities and expectations. In this Weekend Check-In, we explore why the Tao doesn't ask us to stop caring. It simply invites us to care without clinging. If you've ever struggled to let go, feared losing something important, or wondered why attachment creates so much suffering, this conversation is for you.

When The World is On Fire - Be The Rain

When the World Is on Fire, Be the Rain Some seasons of life don't arrive one thing at a time. The relationship breaks, the job disappears, the family tips into crisis — and suddenly everything is burning at once. The instinct is to fight harder, clamp down, match the energy of the chaos with more energy. Taoism suggests something different. Something that takes more courage than it looks like from the outside. This episode is about what it actually means to be the rain in a burning season. Not indifference. Not rising above it. Not performing composure for the benefit of people who find your struggle uncomfortable. But staying, in whatever small increment is available, more thoroughly yourself than the circumstances are making easy — and why that, in the end, is the only thing that actually works. Also: a listener question from Aoife in Dublin, who lost her marriage, her job, and has a seriously ill mother, all at once — and is exhausted by being told to be strong.

Weekend Check-in: Why Stillness Feels Like Doing Nothing

A listener wrote in this week with something a lot of people are feeling but haven't said out loud: they've been trying to do the things the practice asks — the stillness, the presence, the slowing down — and it's boring. The mind races. Nothing lands. The quiet that's supposed to feel like relief feels like a room with no windows and no particular reason to stay in it. This check-in takes that frustration seriously. Why does the removal of stimulation feel like deprivation rather than relief? Why does the Western nervous system push back so hard against the very thing every contemplative tradition in human history has pointed toward? And why does trying harder at stillness make it worse rather than better? The racing mind is not the problem. The racing mind is the symptom. And understanding what it's a symptom of is considerably more useful than trying to stop it.