Life happen every day

Life happens every day.

The other day, I was sitting in my office. At the moment, there isn’t much work on my desk because our project is still in the analysis phase, and I am part of that process. With nothing urgent to do, my mind began to wander.

It drifted into the past.

I started asking myself many questions. Why did certain things happen to me? Why did people behave the way they did? Why was I treated that way?

Later, another thought appeared.

This time it was about my son.

What will happen to him? He isn’t studying seriously. He doesn’t seem focused on his education. As he is my only son, I couldn’t stop imagining what his future might look like.

Without realizing it, I spent the whole day traveling between the past and the future—replaying old memories and worrying about things that had not yet happened.

Then I remembered something that Zen teaches.

Zen is beautifully simple. It is not about complicated rituals or endless philosophical discussions. It is about direct experience. It reminds us to stay in the present moment, to live consciously, and to act with intention.

When we are fully present, we naturally make better decisions. We give our complete attention to what we are doing right now. If we continue acting consciously today, tomorrow will largely take care of itself. Worrying about the future rarely improves it, but acting wisely in the present often does.

The past is different.

It is only a collection of memories. We cannot return to it or live there again. We can only learn from it.

When painful memories keep returning, perhaps the best response is not to fight them but simply to observe them. Our mind may not be trying to torture us. It may simply be warning us:

“This happened once. Be careful that it doesn’t happen again.”

I have experienced this while programming.

Whenever I face a difficult technical problem, memories of previous failures sometimes come back. I remember the frustration, the stress, and the feeling that I had no solution.

At first, those memories make me anxious.

But then I remind myself that they are not predictions of failure—they are reminders of experience. They tell me where I struggled before, so I can approach the problem differently this time. Instead of becoming trapped by those memories, I use them as lessons.

I once came across a quote often attributed to the Buddha:

Someone asked, “We all have to die one day.”

The Buddha replied, “No. We die only once. We live every day.”

Whether or not these were the Buddha’s exact words, the message is powerful.

We often become obsessed with the fact that one day we will die. Since death is inevitable, we sometimes forget that life is happening right now.

The truth is that we die only once.

But we are given the opportunity to live every single day.

That realization changes everything.

Instead of asking, “How much time do I have left?” perhaps the better question is, “How fully did I live today?”

If I live each day with awareness, do meaningful work, love the people around me, learn continuously, and become a better person than I was yesterday, then I have already lived a complete life.

When that day finally comes, I hope I will have no regrets.

Because if I have truly lived every day, I will not need another life to feel complete.

Why implementation of knowledge is important

Have you ever noticed that raw iron has almost no value?

It’s just a lump of metal pulled from the earth.

But when a blacksmith heats it, removes the impurities, shapes it, and forges it into a sword, a tool, or a machine part—its value increases dramatically.

Why?

Because value is created through knowledge, effort, and application.

The same principle applies to wisdom.

Today, we have access to thousands of books, podcasts, videos, and philosophies. But simply knowing something doesn’t change your life.

Knowledge alone has no value. Applied knowledge does.

Taoism teaches us to flow with life instead of constantly fighting reality.

Zen teaches us to be fully present in this moment, not trapped in regrets about the past or anxiety about the future.

Stoicism teaches us to focus on what we can control and let go of what we cannot.

These ideas sound powerful—and they are.

But they remain just words until you practice them.

Reading about patience doesn’t make you patient.

Learning about discipline doesn’t make you disciplined.

Understanding wisdom is not the same as living it.

Just as raw iron becomes valuable through fire and craftsmanship, wisdom becomes valuable only when it is forged into action.

Don’t just collect knowledge. Transform it into behavior. That’s where real value is created.

Between Struggle and Stillness

While sitting alone in my room, I try to bring meditation into my daily life. Life is truly difficult. Challenges keep appearing one after another — my motorcycle engine oil is leaking even after spending money to fix it, the expenses of raising a teenage son, his lack of focus on studies, people ignoring you, and situations that make you feel small and worthless. Yet somehow, I am still surviving.

Financial struggles are another heavy burden. But even then, I keep moving forward. I struggle, focus on what I can control, set goals, and put effort into the next action in front of me. Again and again, I remind myself of Amor Fati and what the Gita teaches: detach yourself from the outcome and focus only on your actions. These ideas help me keep going.

There is a book called The Practicing Mind. It explains that no one can master a musical instrument by practicing only a few times. A musician may repeat the same tune fifty times a day before being able to perform it beautifully on stage. During practice, the mind keeps making noise — telling us to stop, to do something else, to escape discomfort. Many times, we become bored, restless, and frustrated, yet we continue practicing anyway.

Maybe that is the real lesson of life: stay with the present moment, focus on what needs to be done, and keep practicing your path, no matter how noisy the mind becomes.

The Story of the Depressed Monk

Two young monks arrived at a Buddhist monastery. Both wanted to learn martial arts and study the deeper truths of Buddhism.

One was cheerful and full of energy. The other was quiet, burdened, and often sad.

The Master observed them for a while. Then he said,
“You,” pointing to the cheerful one, “will join the martial arts training.”
“And you,” turning to the sad one, “will clean the monastery each day. When your task is complete, you may begin your training.”

The sad monk was surprised. He had hoped to practice martial arts right away. But the Master’s word was final. So he bowed and accepted his duty.

Every morning, he swept the courtyard, cleared away dry leaves, and dusted every corner. Yet, by the next morning, the courtyard was covered again — leaves fallen, dust blown by the wind.

After a month of this, he went to the Master and said,
“Master, no matter how much I clean, by morning the dust returns. I feel the same about my mind. Thoughts of regret, betrayal, and worry come back again and again. I try to forget, but they return.”

The Master smiled.
“That is the lesson,” he said. “The courtyard gathers dust every day, and you clean it again. The mind does the same — it gathers thoughts, emotions, and pain. You cannot stop the dust from coming, but you can keep cleaning. That is the practice.”

The monk bowed deeply. He finally understood.

From that day, he continued his cleaning with peace in his heart. Weeks later, the Master told him,
“Now you are ready for martial arts training — for you have learned the first lesson: to clean the mind.”

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