Li Lao Shi
There is a man in Taiwan I think about often.
His name is Li Lao Shi — Teacher Li. He is in his seventies now. He is an acupuncturist, a fortune teller, and a feng shui master, all packed into one compact human being who eats people like you and me for breakfast. He is one of the reasons I do what I do. And one of my longest-standing dreams is to get him on a plane and bring him here to Eugene.
I first came to know him through tea.
Some of the earliest great teas I ever had came to me because someone had given them to Li Lao Shi, and he was generous enough to share. I remember sitting with those teas and feeling something shift. Not dramatically. Just — man, that was really good. I want more of that. I want to find my way back to that place. But I had no idea where to look. I'd wander into shops on the street, and nothing felt trustworthy. I was left hanging, chasing something I couldn't name.
Li Lao Shi was the one who forced me to follow my senses into the depths of tea. That chase became my life's work.
He has one real skill: he knows where to put the needle.
If he doesn't know you yet, expect around sixty. Once he decides you're serious — once he knows you respect what he can do — that number climbs to one-twenty. He doesn't hold back. But he doesn't leave them in long either. Only as long as it takes to place them all. When his wife helps unwrap the packaging, he moves even faster. Fast enough that your body doesn't have time to adjust to the last needle before the next one is already in. Fast enough to disconnect your breath from your body.
I had to ask him to slow down once. I thought I was going to faint.
He didn't mind. Li Lao Shi doesn't mind letting you drink from the fire hose.
If you ever get him to tell your fortune, you are really in for it.
He can diagnose illness from the color of your face, the strength and sound of your voice, your body odor. He will describe in excruciating detail the ways your habits are working against you. He will tell you, plainly, how you are likely to die. It is all very unpleasant. He made me cry at least once. That is a story for another time.
But here is the thing about Li Lao Shi: he is not cruel. He uses the shock method because he knows people won't listen otherwise. His greatest goal — his real obsession — is getting people to trade bad habits for good ones. To take their health seriously. Not just for themselves, but for everyone around them.
He would say: "Think about it — when you are sick, do you want to work?"
And of course, you don't. But when you feel healthy? When your body is working the way it should? You want to move. You want to build things. You want to show up. That is his whole philosophy in a single question.
In Li Lao Shi's world, health is not an achievement. It is a daily practice — exercise, soaking, meditation. Accumulated slowly, the way stone is shaped by water.
He put it this way:
"Two things you can work on that add up every day: health and knowledge. You don't run six miles and become healthy. Everyday, you do a little, do a little. You don't read a book and become smart. Everyday, you read a little, read a little. And over time, you can become more healthy and know more."
I have been thinking about that idea a lot lately — not just in the context of health, but in everything. Writing. Business. Tea. The slow accumulation of something real.
Every morning I ask myself what I will write. My goal is to show up at the blank page and make something only I can make. When I do, something releases. I feel like I have given what I have to give. And then — strangely — I find myself more present with the people around me. Someone at the bank. Anyone I run into. There is a connection there that feels almost surreal, like I am talking to someone I have known across lifetimes.
I think Li Lao Shi would understand that feeling. He visits me in my dreams sometimes.
I am still working on getting him to visit in person.