One day, the Wanderer met a high-ranking executive, a man far advanced in his career. Both had run with determination, and now they sat together, replenishing their bodies with nourishment. Before the executive stood a large mug of restorative beer. “Hard work demands hard pleasures,” he declared, speaking of his newly fervent passion for running—a pursuit he had taken up to escape the pressures of his work. He had not yet achieved great success in running, but with a strict regimen and goal-driven training, results would surely soon follow.
The Wanderer seemed to ponder for a moment before replying: “An ox is a thousand times stronger than its driver, yet the driver places the yoke upon the ox’s neck. Are you the ox, or are you the driver?”
The executive was taken aback and could not utter a word.
“Does a person not choose their own role, and what they cannot endure, let them cast aside? But you cannot choose away your humanity any more than you can command the wind to cease. When dawn breaks and you wake reluctantly, say to yourself from now on: ‘I rise to do the work of a human being.’ For surely no one was created merely to lie between the blankets?”
“Give daily to the CEO what belongs to the CEO,” the Wanderer murmured. “But in the evening, when your work is done, your family fed, your home tidied, and if a few grains of sand remain in the hourglass of your day—look then at the bird in the sky, flying freely, and ask yourself: Can I now lay down the ox and the yoke?
For how can you see the relentless rhythm of the working world, yet fail to recognize the same beat in your running?”
The executive, who was never at a loss for words, gazed at the Wanderer with grave seriousness. He pressed these words deep into his heart and examined them closely.
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