It is better to do one's own duty, however defective it may be

Host:
The mountains were still. Dawn broke slowly over the ridges, spilling its pale gold through a curtain of morning mist. Below, the valley lay hushed, its fields painted silver by the fading moonlight, the world holding its breath before awakening. The only sound was the faint rustle of bamboo, the distant call of a bird, and the whisper of a small river winding like thought itself through stone and soil.

On the edge of a cliff, a small temple sat — weathered, humble, eternal. The air smelled of incense and cedar, heavy with peace.

Jack sat on the temple steps, his hands folded loosely in his lap, his grey eyes tracing the slow climb of the sun. The early light carved his face in quiet reflection, every line a map of questions asked but not yet answered.

Behind him, Jeeny appeared, carrying two cups of tea, their steam rising in slow, graceful ribbons. Her black hair was tied loosely, and her brown eyes reflected the sunrise with the kind of calm that comes only from long contemplation. She handed him one cup without a word, then sat beside him, her legs folded neatly beneath her.

For a while, neither spoke. The silence wasn’t empty — it was alive, full of the sound of their breathing and the soft pulse of the world waking around them.

Host:
And then, softly, carried by the hush of morning, Lao Tzu’s timeless wisdom drifted into the air, like a truth older than the mountains themselves:

"It is better to do one's own duty, however defective it may be, than to follow the duty of another, however well one may perform it. He who does his duty as his own nature reveals it, never sins."

Jeeny:
(quietly)
It’s beautiful, isn’t it? How something so old still feels like it’s speaking directly to us.

Jack:
(smiles faintly)
Yeah. Feels like he wrote it yesterday. Maybe even for me.

Jeeny:
You mean because you’ve been trying to live everyone else’s life except your own?

Jack:
(chuckles, looks down)
Maybe. It’s easy to confuse admiration with direction. You see someone walking a beautiful path and think, If I just follow their steps, I’ll end up where they are.

Jeeny:
But the steps don’t fit.

Jack:
Exactly. And then you spend years wondering why the journey doesn’t feel like home.

Host:
The wind stirred gently through the bamboo, carrying the faint chime of bells from the temple’s eaves. The air was warm now, but the light was soft — forgiving, like truth whispered kindly instead of spoken sharp.

Jeeny:
When Lao Tzu says “one’s own duty,” he’s not talking about a job. He’s talking about purpose.

Jack:
(nods slowly)
Yeah. The inner calling. The thing that only you can answer — even if the world doesn’t understand it.

Jeeny:
That’s the part that scares people. To do what only you can do means walking alone sometimes.

Jack:
And we’re pack creatures. We want approval more than authenticity.

Jeeny:
(smiling gently)
But authenticity is the only thing that lasts. Every borrowed dream wears thin.

Jack:
And when it does, you realize you’ve been living like a shadow — defined by someone else’s light.

Host:
A soft silence settled between them again, not as pause, but as reverence. The river below caught the new sunlight, scattering it in waves of gold across the valley. In that moment, the world seemed to breathe with them — two souls learning, remembering, simply being.

Jack:
You ever think about what your “own duty” is?

Jeeny:
Every day. And I think it changes. That’s the mistake most people make — thinking purpose is fixed. But nature shifts, seasons move, even mountains erode. Our duty changes as we do.

Jack:
So what’s yours right now?

Jeeny:
(pauses thoughtfully)
To live gently. To speak truthfully. To help without losing myself.

Jack:
(smiling faintly)
That’s… impossibly simple.

Jeeny:
And impossibly hard.

Host:
The steam from their tea rose higher now, curling like prayer smoke into the open air. A single butterfly drifted past, pale against the light, delicate yet unafraid.

Jack watched it for a moment, his voice quiet but certain when he finally spoke.

Jack:
When I was younger, I thought “sin” was about breaking rules. Now I think it’s about betraying yourself.

Jeeny:
(nods slowly)
Yes. When you silence your own truth, even for the best of reasons, something sacred inside you dies a little.

Jack:
You can’t live someone else’s calling and expect your soul to stay alive.

Jeeny:
Exactly. That’s why Lao Tzu said “He who does his duty as his own nature reveals it, never sins.” Because nature doesn’t lie. It doesn’t envy. It just is.

Jack:
(smiles faintly)
You make it sound so easy — just “be.”

Jeeny:
It’s the hardest thing in the world. Because it means letting go of everything you think you should be.

Host:
The wind picked up again, scattering cherry blossoms across the steps, their pink petals falling like soft punctuation marks in the stillness of the morning.

For a moment, both of them simply watched them drift — graceful, aimless, complete.

Jack:
You think the world would be quieter if people stopped trying to be each other?

Jeeny:
Maybe not quieter. But kinder. Authenticity softens judgment. When you’re at peace with your own path, you stop resenting others for theirs.

Jack:
That’s the paradox, isn’t it? The more we chase sameness, the more lost we become.

Jeeny:
(smiling)
And the more we honor our own rhythm, the more harmony we create.

Jack:
(quietly)
I wish I’d learned that sooner.

Jeeny:
No one learns it early. You have to get lost in imitation before you can recognize your own voice.

Host:
Her words landed softly, like leaves on still water. Jack’s eyes grew distant — not in regret, but in awakening. He wasn’t sad; he was remembering.

The sun had risen fully now, spilling warmth across their faces, setting the world aglow with gentle truth.

Jeeny:
You know what I love about Lao Tzu? He never tells you what to do. He just tells you to be true.

Jack:
(smiling faintly)
Yeah. He’s not commanding, he’s reminding.

Jeeny:
Exactly. He’s saying: your nature is the compass. Don’t trade it for someone else’s map.

Jack:
(pauses)
I think I finally get it. The goal isn’t perfection — it’s authenticity.

Jeeny:
And authenticity is holiness.

Jack:
(softly)
Then maybe “never sins” means “never betrays the self.”

Jeeny:
Yes. Because when you honor your own path, even the mistakes serve the journey.

Host:
The bells from the temple began to ring, low and steady — a sound that seemed to blend with the rustling wind and the whisper of the river below.

They both turned toward the sound, sitting in the golden silence that followed — not as seekers, not as teachers, but simply as two human beings learning to align with their own nature.

Host:
And as the light spilled across the mountain and the world stretched awake, Lao Tzu’s ancient truth unfurled like the morning itself — timeless, eternal, perfectly human:

That to follow your own path, however uneven,
is better than walking another’s road to perfection.

That the soul’s duty is not imitation, but expression.

That sin is not failure,
but forgetting who you are.

And that peace — the quiet, luminous kind —
is found only when you return
to the rhythm of your own nature,
grateful not for how smooth the path is,
but for the chance to walk it at all.

The sun rose higher,
the bells faded,
and for a brief, eternal moment,
Jack and Jeeny simply sat in silence —
not chasing wisdom,
but living it.