Last week I found myself on a thirty-minute call with a tech support agent based in Egypt, trying to untangle a stubborn internet connection issue. I started the conversation irritated—wife upset, Wi-Fi dropping at the worst possible moment, and a persistent issue that randomly happened in the evenings. My tone was clipped, my patience thin.

The agent, calm and methodical, walked me through the usual steps: modem resets, cable checks, reprogramming the modem. As the minutes passed and the problem slowly resolved, the conversation shifted. He asked, almost shyly, whether I worked in information security and what the field was really like. He explained that he had been quietly studying networking on his own time and was wondering about realistic next steps—certifications, entry-level roles, whether a career switch from support was even feasible.

I paused. Here was someone halfway across the world, in the middle of a routine support shift, seizing a fleeting opening to seek guidance on a dream. I let the frustration drain away and answered as clearly as I could: start with CompTIA Security+, find local security conferences like B-sides that he can visit, review videos on Youtube for the major conferences to find a starting point or area of focus to start in, build hands-on labs with TryHackMe or Hack The Box, contribute to open-source security projects if possible, and network on LinkedIn with people already in the industry in his area. I told him the field rewards persistence and curiosity more than formal degrees, and that many professionals begin exactly where he is now.

By the end of the call the connection was stable, the issue resolved, and the agent’s voice had brightened noticeably. He thanked me repeatedly, almost laughing with relief and gratitude. When he asked how he could possibly repay the favor, I told him exactly what came to mind: “Pay it forward when you are able. That is what was requested of me when I started to learn the dark arts of InfoSec from the head of our InfoSec team years ago. That’s all I ask.”

From a Taoist perspective, the entire exchange felt like a living illustration of several core principles.

First, the initial frustration I carried was a clear example of resistance to what-is. The Tao Te Ching (Chapter 71) reminds us: “To know that you do not know is strength.” My irritation arose from clinging to an expectation that the problem should resolve instantly; the moment I released that grip, the conversation opened into something meaningful.

Second, the agent embodied wu wei—effortless action. He remained soft and adaptable, never pushing back against my mood, simply flowing with the interaction until a natural space appeared for his question. That receptivity turned a routine troubleshooting call into a small bridge between two lives.

Finally, the request to “pay it forward” aligns perfectly with the Taoist understanding of virtue as something that circulates rather than accumulates. Laozi describes the Tao as generous yet nameless, benefiting all without claiming credit (Chapter 34). Kindness, like water, finds its level by moving onward; when we hold it, it stagnates, but when we pass it along, the current keeps flowing.

I hung up the phone no longer frustrated but quietly grateful. A half-hour that began in tension ended in shared humanity, reminding me that every interaction—even the most ordinary—carries the potential for harmony if we stop fighting the moment and simply meet it.

May we all remember, the next time impatience rises, to soften instead. The Tao moves through the smallest openings, and sometimes the person on the other end of the line is waiting for exactly that softness.