Battle of the boats

  There was once a river fisherman who spent his days gliding through winding waters in a humble pirogue, carved by hand and guided by instinct. He knew every bend, every current, and every hidden eddy of the river. His days were quiet, steady, and full of rhythm. As he pushed his oar into the water each morning, he felt a calm certainty that this was where he belonged.

Over the years, though, he began to feel a pull. He’d catch himself watching the newer fishermen with their sleek power boats, motors humming as they raced past. A part of him wondered what it would be like to move faster, to cover more ground, to bring in bigger catches. The desire wasn’t desperate, just curious. It stirred something within him, not as dissatisfaction with life, but as reflection on fulfillment.

Eventually, he saved enough and bought a power boat. It was a different way of being on the river as it was much louder, quicker, more efficient. But something unexpected happened. As he sat at the helm, slicing through waters he once meandered, he realized the boat wasn’t the destination. It was just another way of understanding himself. He didn’t love the speed as much as he thought. What he really loved was knowing the river, watching the water shift, feeling the morning mist on his skin.

He kept the power boat, but on most days, he still took out his pirogue.

Desire had not pushed him to abandon his past, it simply helped him clarify what mattered. The fisherman didn’t chase change because he was behind; he embraced it to better understand who he truly was.