There once was a boy
who carried around a large bag of rocks. He would groan and strain,
struggling to get from place to place. The bag of rocks he would
carry around with himself were always weighing him down and tiring
him out.
“Why don’t you
put the bag of rocks down?” another child asked.
“Oh, I don’t
mind it so much. You get used to it after a while,” the boy
replied.
The other children
were running up to the top of a nearby hill to play. The boy’s face
turned red as he trudged up the hill behind everyone else. Another
girl commented,
“You’d get up
the hill much easier if you just put down that bag of rocks.”
“But I’ve gotten
good at carrying it, don’t you see? It makes me stronger. Not just
anyone could carry this bag of rocks up this hill,” the boy
replied. The girl shook her head and trotted on up the hill.
By the time the boy
made it to the top of the hill, the other children had all finished
playing and were running off home. The boy collapsed, breathing
heavily, and wanting to cry at having missed out on playtime. After a
few moments of feeling sorry for himself, he noticed the girl sitting
nearby.
“I missed all the
fun! Everyone played and left without me!” the boy bellowed.
“You had every
opportunity to join us. But we couldn’t wait forever. If you’d
just put down that burden of rocks, you’d have been here,” she
said.
“But I’ve had
this bag so long. I’d hate to lose it,” the boy moaned.
“But is it making
you happy?” the girl asked.
“It did once. When
I first collected the rocks. They were all different shapes and
colors. I was so proud of them. They did make me happy,” the boy
replied.
“They did. But do
they now?” the girl asked. The boy paused and looked at his bag of
rocks. After a moment, he shook his head.
“Then why do you
carry it?” she asked.
“What will it do
without me?” the boy asked.
“It’s a bag of
rocks. It doesn’t give a fig if you’re carrying it around or not.
And if carrying around is just bringing you grief...” the girl
said, standing up and dusting off her pants. She started skipping
down the hill, then paused, looking back at the boy. The boy stood up
and looked at the bag in his hands. He set it down, and stretched out
his back, standing taller than he had in ages. He smiled, the burden
laid down at last. He looked at it, it seemed silly to be so
sentimental over something that didn’t make him happy anymore.
“I’m going to
remember when it made me happy. And leave it at that,” the boy
declared.
“That sounds like
a fine plan. And if the rocks ever make you happy again, you’ll
know where to find them.”
