Don’t do what I do,

do what I say. 

I don’t have any statistics to prove my theory, but I think it would be safe to say that parents have been saying this to their children for millennia. If not longer. And if not in so many words, then in their behavior.

“Turn off your TV!” as they turn on the soccer finals from the UK.

“Don’t waste time playing on your phone!” as they text a friend about the latest kerfuffle at work.

“You’re spending too much time on the Internet!” as they resume their computer game.

“Talk nicely to your brother!” as they return to a heated discussion with a neighbor.

Children learn by observing.

And if what parents say isn’t what they do, their children will see the disparity. And want to know why they should follow the rules when their parents aren’t. It’s pretty tough to come up with a good answer to such logic. “Because I’m your mother/father” won’t cut it. Unless parents want a mini-rebellion on their hands, they’d be better off doing what they’re telling their children to do. 

Humility isn’t a shortcoming, 

it’s strength. 

Remaining quiet isn’t avoidance, 

it’s self-control. 

Self-cultivation is about the quiet things, the inner work we undertake. It’s being humble not only when we fail, but also when we finally accomplish a difficult task and others congratulate us on a job well done. It’s remaining quiet when we’re tempted to babble, but know our speaking would disturb others and, very honestly, isn’t really necessary.

Like the other qualities we cultivate, to those who are unaware, those more used to seeing strength exhibited in a show of power and self-control displayed in regards to language or the restriction of physical appetites, humility and quietude could appear as weaknesses.

To those who master them, they are anything but.

A source of stability and contentment, our ability to remain free from arrogance or pride and to know our wisest course of action may well be to remain silent, can bring incredible peace of mind. 

Often a gift received, then presented to another, 

brings us more joy 

than if we consumed it ourselves. 

Usually, when someone knows us and has selected something we enjoy, we happily use it. It’s only good manners! The fact that we like the high mountain tea or those luscious dark chocolates has nothing to do with it. We’re just being polite. Honestly!

But what if we didn’t consume our gifts?

What if we, in turn, give the tea to a tea lover who probably has never savored this rare kind? Or give the chocolates to someone who wouldn’t think of splurging so on herself?

If we drink the tea and eat the chocolates, they’ll soon be gone. Especially those chocolates. We wouldn’t want to keep recalling the wonderful aromas and tastes because that smacks of attachments. But imagine our joy when years later a cup of tea is handed to us and the aroma triggers the memory of how much our good friend enjoyed his tea.

Our own personal pleasure is immaterial. Others happiness truly matters.