Letting the Mud Settle
On stillness, clarity, and the courage to stop moving
Today’s Words of Wisdom:
Turbid: Cloudy, opaque, thick with suspended matter
Repose: A state of rest, sleep, or tranquility
Discernment: The ability to judge well; perception in the absence of judgment
I walked into the meeting running on momentum. Everything was prepared. Slides done, talking points rehearsed, data pulled. But I’d skipped the pause. That moment of stillness between finishing the prep and stepping into the room. The mud was still swirling. I wasn’t present. I was performing.
I know what that feels like now because I know what the opposite feels like. When I take that beat, even just a minute of quiet after the work is done, something settles. I walk in differently. Not because I know more, but because I’m not fighting myself anymore.
The phrase comes from Lao Tzu, the Tao Te Ching:
“Do you have the patience to wait until your mud settles and the water is clear?”
I first encountered this in an Eastern mysticism class in college. I was fascinated then, still am, with the Taoist idea that flowing with the natural current of life makes it richer and, honestly, easier. Not passive. Not lazy. But a matter of getting out of your own way by returning to yourself.
What turbid water looks like
I’ve learned what it feels like when I don’t let the mud settle. It usually shows up as lack of preparation, lack of reflection. Things get chaotic. Control loosens on the stuff I’m actually capable of controlling. Without meditative action, or non-action as Lao Tzu might call it, there’s no moment of repose. Things tumble forward, for better or worse, and I’m just reacting.
That momentum can feel productive. It can feel like progress. But there’s a difference between moving and moving with clarity, and I’ve spent enough time confusing the two.
The uncomfortable part
Here’s what I’m learning: sometimes letting the mud settle means seeing things you’ve been avoiding.
That’s the key. And it’s why we stir the water in the first place. Not always out of impatience, but because stillness can be uncomfortable. Maybe it’s been a long time since you let things settle. Maybe you didn’t realize you were operating with muddied lenses. When clarity finally comes, it might show you something you weren’t ready to look at.
I’m in a season of that right now. New job, learning new processes, trying to provide results while the ground is still shifting. The temptation is to keep moving, stay distracted, prove myself through output. But I’m starting to recognize that instinct for what it is: a way of avoiding the stillness that might show me what actually needs attention.
The field
There’s something beneath all of this that I’m still finding words for.
I recently watched the show Shrinking. The therapist character Paul talks about “the field.” A place where you just know what needs to be done. In clinical terms, they call it intuition, or gestalt awareness. Expertise compressing complexity until the right move becomes obvious.
I don’t think it’s only for therapists. I think it’s available to anyone willing to get still enough to access it. Not mystical, exactly. But not purely rational either. It’s the thing that knows before you can explain why you know.
Steering toward that, toward Truth with a capital T, is what I’m practicing. Not blind belief, but alignment. Feeling over pure intellect. Getting quiet enough to hear the signal underneath the noise.
It’s a matter of getting out of your own way by returning to yourself.
The mud settles. The water clears. And then you move.
- DJD