This morning, as Håkan and I sat in our daily gratitude ritual after meditation, we realized it was the last day of 2024. “A complicated year,” Håkan summarizes. We had expected a year of my recovery from cancer treatments. Instead, life presented us with Håkan’s diagnosis and the progression of his disease.
Life rarely follows our carefully written scripts. Sometimes it tears up our plans entirely, leaving us to write new stories on blank pages we never expected to face. This reality brought to mind an ancient tale that speaks to the heart of human experience…
In a small village in ancient China lived a farmer and his only son. They weren’t wealthy, but they owned one precious possession: a magnificent horse that helped them work their land through scorching summers and bitter winters. The horse was essential to their survival, enabling them to plow the fields and transport their harvest to market.
One chilly morning, the farmer discovered their horse had vanished. His son had forgotten to secure the stable gate the night before, and their precious horse had escaped into the wilderness. Word spread quickly through the village, and soon neighbours gathered at his door.
“What terrible misfortune!” they exclaimed. “Your only horse, gone! How will you manage the farm now? This is truly a disaster!”
The farmer simply nodded and replied, “Maybe yes, maybe no.”
The very next morning, the villagers awoke to an astonishing sight. The farmer’s horse had returned, but it wasn’t alone. Following behind were six wild horses, all of which followed the farmer’s horse right into his stable. The son quickly secured the gate, and suddenly the farmer who had owned just one horse now had seven.
The neighbours rushed to congratulate him. “What incredible luck!” they celebrated. “Now you have seven horses! You’ll be the wealthiest farmer in the village! What a blessing!”
The farmer simply nodded and replied, “Maybe yes, maybe no.”
The following day, the farmer’s son attempted to break in one of the wild horses. As he worked with the spirited animal, it bucked unexpectedly, throwing him to the ground. The fall was bad—the young man’s leg was broken. Once again, the neighbours gathered.
“What a tragedy!” they lamented. “Your only son, injured and unable to help with the farm work! And just when you needed him most to help with all these new horses! What terrible luck!”
The farmer simply nodded and replied, “Maybe yes, maybe no.”
Within a week, imperial officers arrived in the village, conscripting all able-bodied young men to fight in a war against a powerful invader. The battles were known to be fierce, with few soldiers returning home. But because of his broken leg, the farmer’s son was passed over.
The neighbours gathered once more. “What a blessing!” they rejoiced. “Your son has been spared from certain death! You must be so grateful!”
The farmer simply nodded and replied, “Maybe yes, maybe no.”
This tale, passed down through generations, originates from ancient Chinese Taoist teachings. It appears in the classical text Huainanzi (淮南子), written around 139 BCE, and continues to offer timeless wisdom about the interconnected nature of fortune and misfortune.
As I reflect on this ancient wisdom, I find myself wondering: Is Håkan’s new condition truly a tragedy, or maybe not? I appear to be cancer-free now – am I lucky, or maybe not?
The story also illuminates a profound truth about impermanence – everything changes, and nothing remains static. But here’s the real question: Should we let the shadow of what might come eclipse the light of what is? We’ve made a conscious choice that feels both radical and natural – to live our days with clear intention, to love more boldly, to laugh more freely.
What wisdom is there in borrowing tomorrow’s sorrows? Instead, we choose to be architects of moments, creators of memories, and carriers of light.
As we step into 2025 and celebrate Håkan’s 60th year of life, we do so not with resignation but with anticipation. Our focus sharpens on what makes life rich with meaning:
– Deepening connections with those we love
– Supporting others in their strides and challenges
– Spreading love in our unique ways, both grand and subtle
– Treading gently on this Earth that sustains us all
So, dear friend reading these words, I extend this invitation to you: How will you write your story in the coming year? What if every challenge is not just a barrier but a doorway? What if every ending is also a beginning?
