“Finish your supper and feed the horses. If you’re not back in fifteen minutes, you know what happens. Hurry on now.”
My father is a complex man. He, my mother, and I live on our farm in what seems like miles from civilization. They homeschool me, feed me, clothe me, and abuse me. I’m seventeen now, and when I’m eighteen, I’ll be giving them the news that I’m leaving for the big city for more opportunity—in reality, it’s more like an escape. Life on our farm is difficult, especially for me, as I do most of the work myself while my mother gets high on drugs and father watches television. I bet mother was a beautiful woman once before the drugs consumed her day-to-day activities and stole her health like a thief.
“Yes sir,” I say to father as I finish eating.
As I walk to the barn, I can see my breath and feel the shivers of my body succumbing to the frigid air. As I enter the barn, I noticed something I haven’t seen before. In the upper corner of the barn, I saw a barn owl. I don’t know how long it’s been here, but father might make me kill it if he knew of its existence. He doesn’t like anything near his horses, even harmless animals. Frantically, I begin thinking about how I can protect the future of this beautiful animal, but it dawned on me that father is usually too drunk to shoot a bird himself or remember that he told me to kill it.
Several months passed and father hasn’t even entered the barn once since I first saw the owl. He usually sticks to his whiskey and television and the occasional high with mother while I feed the horses and restock supplies. I have seen the owl every night, and its constant presence makes me think about life. Through the freezing cold and probably a lack of food, the owl perseveres. He continues his life, pushing forward evermore. No matter how difficult life is here, I will take this lesson from the owl; I will continue pushing forward. I will not tremble or faint at the sight of fearful things, no, I will instead remind myself of the owl. Before, when I planned to leave for the city to escape this meaningless existence of mine, I had virtually no plans. Now, though, I instead decide to become a beacon for lost souls, for those who have difficult parents and lives. I will become hope. I will become the owl.
Several more months pass, and I have been invigorated with a new sense of purpose. This new hope has invaded my thoughts and has become the basis for everything I do. Today is my eighteenth birthday, and I have told father and mother of my plans. I don’t really know how well they were listening, but they weren’t happy. They threatened to never speak to me again, to never call, and to never visit. I am not bothered, I think to myself, as I walk away from the farm, never to see it again.
Today, I am 34-years-old. I have a wife and several sons of my own. Once I left for the big city, life became even more difficult. I had no one, but I worked very hard, lived on the streets, and completed college while working. It wasn’t easy; sometimes I stayed with my college friends or slept in cars that were unlocked at night. But I made it, and I can thank the owl for my new life. I work as a counselor for kids in abusive homes, and I think I’m making a difference every day. I haven’t spoken to my parents once since that day, but I think it’s for the best. Through the rain and cold, I have persevered in my life. I kept pushing and kept believing in the value of life. I do not have the biggest house, the nicest car, or the most money, but I have the greatest thing of all: a loving family and a splendor for life. I have become the owl.
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“This Story Will Change the Way You Think”
Ethan had always felt like life was moving forward without him. Every morning, he woke up with plans and went to bed with disappointment. He worked hard, stayed honest, and tried to do the right things, yet nothing seemed to work. Promotions went to others. Opportunities appeared for people who seemed less deserving. Over time, Ethan began to believe that effort didn’t matter—that success was reserved for a lucky few. He often told himself, “Maybe I’m just not meant for more.” One evening, after another long and tiring day, Ethan missed the last bus home. With no other choice, he started walking. The city was unusually quiet, and the streets felt longer than usual. As he passed a small tea stall near a closed bookstore, he noticed an elderly man sitting alone, slowly turning the pages of an old notebook. The notebook caught Ethan’s attention. Its pages were yellow, but every line was written carefully, as if each word mattered. “Are you writing a story?” Ethan asked. The old man looked up and smiled. “No,” he said gently. “I’m rewriting my life.” That answer confused Ethan, but he sat down anyway. “What does that mean?” Ethan asked. The old man closed the notebook. “For years, I blamed the world for everything I didn’t become. Then one day, I realized the story I kept telling myself was the real problem.” Ethan felt uncomfortable. The words felt personal. The old man continued, “Tell me, young man—what story do you tell yourself every day?” Ethan hesitated. Then he spoke honestly. “That no matter how hard I try, it won’t be enough.” The old man nodded slowly. “And so life agrees with you.” That sentence hit Ethan harder than he expected. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Life listens,” the old man replied. “Not to your words—but to your beliefs. If you believe effort is useless, you will unconsciously prove yourself right.” Ethan laughed nervously. “So you’re saying my thoughts control my life?” “No,” the old man said. “Your thoughts control your actions. And your actions shape your life.” The rain started falling lightly. People rushed past, but Ethan stayed. For the first time in a long while, he felt like someone was speaking the truth he had been avoiding. The old man opened his notebook and showed Ethan a page. It had two columns. On the left side, it said: What I Fear On the right side, it said: What I Can Control “Most people,” the old man explained, “live on the left side. They fear failure, rejection, and judgment. Few people live on the right side—where effort, learning, and patience exist.” That night, Ethan walked home thinking deeply. He realized how often he replayed his mistakes, how often he compared his life to others, and how rarely he focused on what he could improve today. The next morning, Ethan made a small decision. He stopped saying, “Why does this always happen to me?” Instead, he asked, “What is this teaching me?” At work, he stopped waiting for motivation and started building discipline. He arrived earlier, learned skills outside his job, and asked questions instead of pretending to know everything. Some days were painful. Old habits tried to pull him back. There were moments when quitting felt easier than continuing. But Ethan remembered the notebook. What can I control? He couldn’t control promotions. He couldn’t control opinions. But he could control his effort. Months passed. Slowly, things began to shift—not dramatically, but meaningfully. Ethan gained confidence. His work improved. People started noticing his consistency. One afternoon, his manager called him into the office. Ethan expected criticism, but instead, he received an opportunity to lead a small project. It wasn’t a reward—it was a test. Ethan accepted. The project was difficult. Mistakes were made. Pressure was constant. But for the first time, Ethan didn’t run from responsibility. He faced it. The project succeeded. That success didn’t make him rich. It didn’t make him famous. But it changed something far more important. Ethan no longer saw himself as a victim of circumstances. Years later, Ethan walked past the same tea stall. The bookstore was still closed. The city still rushed. But the old man was gone. Ethan smiled, understanding the lesson at last. Life had never been against him. Life had been responding to the story he believed. When he changed the story, life changed the direction. Final Lesson Change the story you tell yourself—and your life will follow.
By Inayat khan6 days ago in Motivation
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