The man stood at the threshold, uncertain and nervous. It was cold outside, and it had been a long, weary day. Most days were like this one, nowadays. The wind chilled his bones, and worry creased his brow. It was cold, and every cell in his tired, cold body wanted to rush inside, and escape from the bleakness, from the dampness, from the darkness. And yet, he hesitated. What lay ahead? He was not sure.
Thoughts flashed in his mind. Happy times. Confident times. When he thought he had life under control. When every move was planned, every outcome deliberated. When he had made the most of everything. Money, fame, family, friends. It had all worked out. He had it all worked out. Ruthless decision-making, an iron heart, a stronger than strong will. Never to be outdone, never to be defeated. It had all worked out. Were there setbacks? Sure, they were. Had they fazed him. Never. He always picked himself, dusted them off, and made the next calculated move. Staying focused was his forte. It always had been.
Focused on the outcome. The end-game. More thoughts - how that focus had eventually become ruthless. Doing whatever it took. Playing the game with the single objective of winning. Suddenly, people flashed across his tired mind. People he had used, manipulated, hurt and rejected. People he had stepped on, on his way to the top. All the way to the top. Friends, family, strangers.
He had enjoyed the power. He had thrived on the elixir of that heady life where he was in charge, and his fame and fortune were growing. There was nothing he didn't have, couldn't have. And for a long, long while, he had everything. He was invincible.
And then one day, a streak of misfortune made its way into the cushy scene of his life. The perfect slow storm of bad luck, bad timing, back-stabbing people, misfiring calculations began to brew. It took effect slowly, and he fought back with everything he had. He became even more ruthless. He became even more merciless. He spared no one, and no thing. But over time, his actions began to catch up to him. He lost friends. His family left him. His colleagues stopped trusting him. All he had was his fortune. He then began using that for vice. No matter that people didn't respect him. He could still use his money to get what he wanted. And so he did. There was no luxury that he didn't buy. There was no whim, no fantasy that he didn't fulfill. It was ostentatious, and it was excessive, and it was obscene, but his money flowed like a raging river to fill his life with material pursuits.
And then one day, he began to run out. Slowly but surely, he spent more than he made. Recklessness caught up with reality, and he was soon out of a job, an income, a home, a safety net. He woke up one day realizing he had to literally figure out how to have a roof over his head.
He could not believe it had come to this. Where had he gone wrong? He was the smartest person he knew. He was the best at everything. He had the best of everything. How did he lose it all? Dejected and depressed, he embarked on a journey. It was a physical one, although he knew not what his destination was. He just knew he had to get somewhere to reach the answers he was seeking. He had to find the answers along the way. Each day he would move, and keep moving, looking for something. For the first time in years, he really saw the world, saw other people, saw things that he never bothered with before. He understood people, and things. He began seeing bits and pieces of himself in the scenes that played out as he went from here to there, on his journey.
On one such day, after he had walked for several hours, the weather suddenly took a turn for the worse. It began to rain and soon he was soaking wet. He no longer had fancy clothes and shoes, and protection from the elements. He no longer had a belly full of energizing food and drink. He no longer had luxurious boarding and lodging, or people to do his bidding. He longed for those things, but knew he had to keep going. And so he did.
He walked and walked, wondering if he would ever find what he was looking for. Did he even know what he was looking for? Weary and bone-tired, wet from the still stinging rainfall, he finally came upon a house at the end of the road. It was a strange, solitary house and he walked quickly up to it, eager to seek shelter. Upon getting closer, he saw that there was something different about it. Something that felt off. And yet, he was drawn to it. It was dark inside, yet the door was ajar. All he had to do was reach it and take shelter from this howling wind. So, why did he feel hesitation? Why did he feel fear?
By now he was shaking from the cold. And so tired and hungry. Maybe someone was inside, someone he could talk to, someone who would finally be kind. Maybe he could talk to this person. Start from the beginning, and tell the story of his life. Maybe they would offer him something hot to drink, and some food too. Maybe he could finally stop torturing his body and his mind, and get some rest.
He walked up to the gate of the house, opened it and walked inside. A sensation of foreboding washed over his wet body and tired mind. Yet, he kept walking, putting one foot in front of the other till he was at the door step. The door was ajar, and a small light shone in the back of the front room of the house. Even though it was dark, he could feel the warmth from inside.
He stood at the threshold, uncertain and nervous. It was so cold now, and it had been a long, weary day. The wind chilled his bones, and worry creased his brow. It was cold, and every cell in his tired, cold body wanted to rush inside, and escape from the bleakness, from the dampness, from the darkness. From the darkness that was this day, and from the darkness that was his life.
And yet, he hesitated. He stopped. He turned around and looked through the thrashing rain at the road on which he had come. Something drew him back to that road. He turned and opened the door some more. Something drew him into the house.
He sighed. He closed his eyes. He took a deep, long breath. And he stepped inside.
Thoughts flashed in his mind. Happy times. Confident times. When he thought he had life under control. When every move was planned, every outcome deliberated. When he had made the most of everything. Money, fame, family, friends. It had all worked out. He had it all worked out. Ruthless decision-making, an iron heart, a stronger than strong will. Never to be outdone, never to be defeated. It had all worked out. Were there setbacks? Sure, they were. Had they fazed him. Never. He always picked himself, dusted them off, and made the next calculated move. Staying focused was his forte. It always had been.
Focused on the outcome. The end-game. More thoughts - how that focus had eventually become ruthless. Doing whatever it took. Playing the game with the single objective of winning. Suddenly, people flashed across his tired mind. People he had used, manipulated, hurt and rejected. People he had stepped on, on his way to the top. All the way to the top. Friends, family, strangers.
He had enjoyed the power. He had thrived on the elixir of that heady life where he was in charge, and his fame and fortune were growing. There was nothing he didn't have, couldn't have. And for a long, long while, he had everything. He was invincible.
And then one day, a streak of misfortune made its way into the cushy scene of his life. The perfect slow storm of bad luck, bad timing, back-stabbing people, misfiring calculations began to brew. It took effect slowly, and he fought back with everything he had. He became even more ruthless. He became even more merciless. He spared no one, and no thing. But over time, his actions began to catch up to him. He lost friends. His family left him. His colleagues stopped trusting him. All he had was his fortune. He then began using that for vice. No matter that people didn't respect him. He could still use his money to get what he wanted. And so he did. There was no luxury that he didn't buy. There was no whim, no fantasy that he didn't fulfill. It was ostentatious, and it was excessive, and it was obscene, but his money flowed like a raging river to fill his life with material pursuits.
And then one day, he began to run out. Slowly but surely, he spent more than he made. Recklessness caught up with reality, and he was soon out of a job, an income, a home, a safety net. He woke up one day realizing he had to literally figure out how to have a roof over his head.
He could not believe it had come to this. Where had he gone wrong? He was the smartest person he knew. He was the best at everything. He had the best of everything. How did he lose it all? Dejected and depressed, he embarked on a journey. It was a physical one, although he knew not what his destination was. He just knew he had to get somewhere to reach the answers he was seeking. He had to find the answers along the way. Each day he would move, and keep moving, looking for something. For the first time in years, he really saw the world, saw other people, saw things that he never bothered with before. He understood people, and things. He began seeing bits and pieces of himself in the scenes that played out as he went from here to there, on his journey.
On one such day, after he had walked for several hours, the weather suddenly took a turn for the worse. It began to rain and soon he was soaking wet. He no longer had fancy clothes and shoes, and protection from the elements. He no longer had a belly full of energizing food and drink. He no longer had luxurious boarding and lodging, or people to do his bidding. He longed for those things, but knew he had to keep going. And so he did.
He walked and walked, wondering if he would ever find what he was looking for. Did he even know what he was looking for? Weary and bone-tired, wet from the still stinging rainfall, he finally came upon a house at the end of the road. It was a strange, solitary house and he walked quickly up to it, eager to seek shelter. Upon getting closer, he saw that there was something different about it. Something that felt off. And yet, he was drawn to it. It was dark inside, yet the door was ajar. All he had to do was reach it and take shelter from this howling wind. So, why did he feel hesitation? Why did he feel fear?
By now he was shaking from the cold. And so tired and hungry. Maybe someone was inside, someone he could talk to, someone who would finally be kind. Maybe he could talk to this person. Start from the beginning, and tell the story of his life. Maybe they would offer him something hot to drink, and some food too. Maybe he could finally stop torturing his body and his mind, and get some rest.
He walked up to the gate of the house, opened it and walked inside. A sensation of foreboding washed over his wet body and tired mind. Yet, he kept walking, putting one foot in front of the other till he was at the door step. The door was ajar, and a small light shone in the back of the front room of the house. Even though it was dark, he could feel the warmth from inside.
He stood at the threshold, uncertain and nervous. It was so cold now, and it had been a long, weary day. The wind chilled his bones, and worry creased his brow. It was cold, and every cell in his tired, cold body wanted to rush inside, and escape from the bleakness, from the dampness, from the darkness. From the darkness that was this day, and from the darkness that was his life.
And yet, he hesitated. He stopped. He turned around and looked through the thrashing rain at the road on which he had come. Something drew him back to that road. He turned and opened the door some more. Something drew him into the house.
He sighed. He closed his eyes. He took a deep, long breath. And he stepped inside.
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