In the quiet hours, when the mind wanders like a leaf on a stream, I often ponder the invisible currents shaping our lives. One of the strongest? The people we surround ourselves with. Taoism, with its emphasis on harmony and flow, teaches that our circle isn’t just company—it’s a mirror, a catalyst, and sometimes a chain. Choose wisely, and it becomes a boon, propelling you toward effortless growth. Choose poorly, and it’s a harsh wake-up call: time to prune the branches before the tree can thrive.

The Mirror of Influence

Taoism doesn’t preach isolation; it warns of entanglement.

“The sage stays behind, thus he is ahead.
He is detached, thus at one with all.
Through selfless action, he attains fulfillment.”
— Tao Te Ching, Chapter 7

The people around you are the water you swim in. If they’re stagnant, you grow moss. If they’re flowing, you move with the river. I’ve seen this in infosec circles: surround yourself with ethical hackers who challenge assumptions, and your defenses sharpen. Hang with complainers who cut corners, and your own vigilance dulls.

It’s not judgment—it’s physics. Influence seeps in quietly, like mist through a screen door. A boon when it elevates: old friends who drag you to retreats, sparking the fire you thought was ash. A reality check when it drags: realizing your “tribe” is more echo chamber than growth chamber, amplifying doubts instead of dissolving them.

The Harsh Pruning

Sometimes the Tao delivers lessons with a thorn.

Recently, I shed an old self—muted, small, fitting in. With it went friend groups that fed that version: safe, but stagnant. It hurt. Like ripping out roots. But Taoism reminds us:

“To yield is to be preserved whole.
To be bent is to become straight.
To be empty is to be full.”
— Tao Te Ching, Chapter 22

The harsh reality? If your circle doesn’t reflect the you you’re becoming, it’s holding you back. Success—measured not in metrics, but in inner alignment—demands improvement. Cut the ties that bind without flow. It’s not abandonment; it’s alignment. Like weeding a garden so the flowers can bloom.

In my life, this meant leaving behind beer-fueled rants lasting till dawn with catalysts who say, “Stop hiding.” The new circle? They balance calm with challenge, pushing without breaking. Finding ones self walking the middle path rather than sitting at the start wondering if you should go forward and risk it.

Balancing Calm and Growth

Here’s the Taoist pivot: harmony isn’t stasis. It’s dynamic equilibrium.

Calm is the yin: the still pond where reflection happens. Growth is the yang: the current that carves canyons. Too much calm, and you stagnate. Too much growth, and you burn out.

“The Tao is forever undefined.
Small though it is in the unformed state,
it cannot be grasped.”
— Tao Te Ching, Chapter 32

Your circle should embody this balance. Friends who offer quiet wisdom during strife, but also prod you toward progress. In other terms: mentors who teach you to hack your own complacency, revealing vulnerabilities not to wound, but to strengthen. As they say, always strive to be the dumbest one in the room.

I’ve found my tribe now—loud when needed, silent when wise. They remind me: growth flows from calm, and calm blooms from growth. No force, just flow. To take the time to celebrate wins but know that they are temporary moments of content while the next challenge looms ahead. The cycle always moving, always in flow.

The Return to Self

Pruning your circle isn’t loss; it’s reclamation.

After years adrift, the industrial bar in my ear marks the boundary: no more shrinking. The new influences? They amplify the real me, turning strife into strength. Welcoming challenge rather than shy away from it.

If your life feels stuck, look around. Is your circle a river or a swamp? Improve it, and watch success—true, measured success—unfold without effort.

Because in the end, the Tao flows through us all. But it flows best with clear channels.