There are a few ways of thinking about the Tao, a principle of Chinese religion and philosophy. Its literal definition is something along the lines of “path or way.” Merriam-Webster defines it a bit more philosophically as “the process of nature by which all things change, and which is to be followed for a life of harmony.” Personally, both are applicable to the one task that anchors me in this universe, the underlying precept that guides me and helps maximize my spiritual growth: Mowing.

I should clarify that when I am saying “mowing” I refer specifically to the use of a riding mower. Push mowers are a lot of labor and I find actual work-type work to be very un-philosophical. It’s hard to achieve harmony when you’re covered in sweat and yenning for the cold beer awaiting you at the end. A riding mower, however, is perhaps the most Zen practice of my life, one that I encourage my army of acolytes — I’m looking at you dear reader — to engage whenever possible.

I wasn’t always a practitioner. In fact, I kind of hated it when I first dabbled in its natural lessons back in middle school. At that point I saw it as a path towards making money to support my growing arcade game habit, a notably un-Zen-like attitude. Galaga does not exactly have a calming effect. If you don’t know what Galaga is then I just don’t know what to do for you. Inner peace will likely be out of your reach entirely. Sorry. Just stating facts here.

I remember hustling my neighbors for lawn jobs with my dad’s beat up John Deere push mower, only thinking about the payout at the end and not the heatstroke and time-suck that would be the way to get there. Upon reflection it occurs to me that my dad paid for the mower, paid for the gas, and usually ended up fixing the thing whenever I broke it but somehow never got cut in on the sweet, sweet profits. I suspect he was just following the teachings of the Dalai Lama who said, “Do not let the behavior of others destroy your inner peace,” which translates in American as “Kids suck.” Or something like that.

Let me pause for a moment as I’m beginning to sense anxiousness about you finding your own path towards enlightenment on the lawn of wisdom, but I would remind you to calm your mind and keep breathing. This article will move forward and, as the old Zen proverb states, “if we are facing in the right direction all we have to do is keep walking.” Maybe you should make some tea or something because while I understand that not everyone can be as calm as yours truly, I’m finding that your unrest is really harshing my mellow.

The Tao of Mowing begins with the idea of a path or road, which is basically the pattern we make as we ride our lawn tractor around the yard, trying to decide whether to create vertical lines, horizontal lines, or even diagonal, which is the most advanced design strategy. I once let my oldest kid mow the lawn and he cut all sorts of weird shapes and circles that A) totally wrecked my chi and B) made me concerned for his mental health. It’s straight lines and straight lines only. In fact, the diagonals are best left to the experts like people who work at golf courses or sporting events. Tell me you haven’t looked at the perfectly manicured outfield in Yankee Stadium and thought, there is the work of a true master. The grounds staff there must be so enlightened they practically float across the diamond.

Regardless, mowing is literally creating a path through the grass, although let’s be honest, 60 percent of our yards are just weeds that we cut down low and pretend is fescue or Kentucky bluegrass. It’s all green right? We create paths on our mower, making it a literal manifestation of the Tao, which might be the way we should speak about it to our families as in, “I can’t take you to your friend’s house this afternoon, I have to manifest the Tao over by the garden.” It’s also something that’s much harder to complain about. “Dammit, I don’t wanna manifest the Tao today!” Although, if you find yourself saying something like that you probably need to attend a retreat or maybe take some ayahuasca. (This is in no way an endorsement of ayahuasca. I don’t really know what that is anyway.)

Beyond the path, though, mowing is also the perfect demonstration of change and the way towards harmony. Growing grass is messy. It never comes back the same way. It never grows evenly. It’s always filled with dandelions and clover. It’s the epitome of chaos right outside our window, never-ending change with a side of frustration. But the mower reins in the madness and you, as the master of the machine, are the bringer of harmony. That is the truth of it … until you hit a rock and break one of the blades on your deck. Those things are such a pain to replace. Super frustrating, but then I remember what Thich Nhat Hahn said: “The feeling that any task is a nuisance will soon disappear if it is done in mindfulness and with a YouTube instructional video.” I’ve actually given up on repairs and mowed the yard with only one blade, which takes twice as long and does half the job. What is the sound of one blade mowing?

All philosophical musings aside, mowing the lawn is one of my great pleasures. My wife used to badger me to make the kids do it — task delegation is why we had them after all — but I just couldn’t give it up. For one, I didn’t want to end up exploited like my dad was by me, although maybe I kind of do want that, but also because I didn’t want to give up the one task I rather enjoy in the endless sea of to-do list ennui. Then one day, for some reason, my wife took a turn on our Husqvarna and things were suddenly very different around our household. Now I have to fight her to hop on the lawn tractor and rake the proverbial sand of my proverbial Zen Garden. I guess she gets it and once you get it, you can’t go back. As they say, “Before enlightenment chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment chop wood, carry water.” And mow. Always mow.