The Parable of the Pebble
It isn't the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out, it's the pebble in your shoe. —Muhammad Ali
[This is] a self-exploratory operation that is endless. An exorcism of not necessarily [your] demon, but of [your] divine discontent. —Harper Lee
Above: Common pebble, uncommon shoe.
For every person, there’s a pebble.
It makes its home in shoes, left and right.
Like snowflakes, no two are alike.
Some are smooth, others sharp.
Some bright, others dull.
Some readily apparent, others nearly imperceptible.
Regardless, they are there—we just have yet to feel them.
When we do, it can be a rude awakening;
pebbles rub and chafe and scratch and scrape.
Though unpleasant, we can ignore it for a short while—
gingerly limping and tenderly stepping—
but, eventually something must be done.
Otherwise, we will never know true peace.
The call must be answered.
Removal is no small feat, however.
Pebbles are often dug deep and hard to extract.
It requires stopping and shaking and sensemaking.
The work is a tedious therapy,
teaching that the duty is the privilege, the compulsion is the gift,
the madness is the genius.
That the curses and the blessings are one and the same.
When you feel it, find it.
When you find it, free it.
Left in the shoe, paltry pebble becomes Sisyphean stone—too heavy to budge.
Once removed, it’s no more than pet rock—ready to guide and guard.
Scoop it up and hold it close.
For everyone’s a David,
unsure when Goliath will come calling.