I sat beside a pond one evening, watching a few small fish swim between the plants beneath the surface. Every now and then, one would disappear into the darker water and reappear a little farther away. I found myself following their movements, forgetting for a moment why my mind had been so busy.
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I'd been worrying about the future, wondering whether I was making progress and how long it would take to get where I wanted to be. Even when nothing was happening around me, my thoughts rarely rested. There was always something I needed to figure out or something I felt I should have done by now.
The fish seemed to have no such concerns, at least from where I sat.
I began to imagine what one of them might say if it could speak.
“You spend so much time looking at what you don't have. Look at me. I have no legs to carry me across the land, no hands to reach for things, and no way to explore the world beyond this water. If I leave this place, I won't survive.
“Yet I don't spend my days wishing I were something else. This is where I live, so I swim. I look for food, move around what gets in my way, and carry on. You have a world full of possibilities, but sometimes you seem so worried about choosing the right path that you forget to enjoy the one you're already on.”
I watched the fish a little longer. The conversation existed only in my imagination, but it made me think about how easily I overlooked what was already good in my life. I was so focused on what I wanted to achieve that even small accomplishments rarely held my attention for long.
My eyes shifted to the water. Near the plants, it looked green; farther out, it reflected the grey evening sky. When a breeze crossed the pond, the reflection broke into ripples and slowly settled again.
I thought about how water finds its way around obstacles. It doesn't always move in a straight line. A stone can change its course, and the shape of the ground can send it in another direction.
I imagined the water saying:
“You think every obstacle must be defeated by pushing harder. But sometimes, the way forward is around it. I can change my course without losing what I am. Not every change in direction means I've failed to reach my destination.”
That thought reminded me of how stubbornly I sometimes held on to plans that were no longer working. Instead of considering another approach, I would keep asking myself why things weren't happening the way I'd expected. I treated delays as signs that I was falling behind, even when I had no idea what the delay might mean in the long run.
Sitting beside the pond, I realised I had been exhausting myself over things that didn't all require an immediate answer. Some needed effort and a decision. Others simply needed more time.
The fish continued swimming, and the water carried the fading light of the evening. Neither had changed, but I no longer felt the same urge to turn every uncertainty into a problem I had to solve that night.
Eventually, I stood up and headed home. My future was still uncertain, and the things worrying me earlier hadn't magically disappeared. I would have to face them when I could, make choices, and accept that some plans might need to change.
But I didn't need to figure everything out before allowing myself a peaceful evening.
As I walked away, I thought about how strange it was that a quiet pond had held my attention more successfully than hours of thinking. Perhaps I'd needed a break from trying to make sense of everything.
The fish had their water. The water had its course. And I had my own l
ife to return to, one day at a time.
