A Parable of Two Brothers

There once was a man named Ash. 

Ash spent all his days running uphill.  He never understood why.  It just seemed like what he had to do. Every morning, he woke up and began a new arduous trek.
 
Whenever he stopped, he felt unexplained forces poking him from behind, forcing him to keep running. But the path never evened out. Some days were a steeper incline than others, but the path was always uphill.

Ash was sad.  He looked around and saw that other people he knew walked level ground, while life forced him constantly to run uphill, and always against the wind.  Meanwhile, others seemed to be running downhill, or even laying in the sun.

It didn't seem fair. Nothing came easy to Ash.

For whatever reason, life just came harder for Ash than for everyone else he knew. He seldom got excited about much of anything other than seeing his friends, but he wasn't equipped with the right wiring to make that many friends, or to organize get-togethers with them once he had.

The only time Ash could stop running was when he had covered enough distance to stop and write something, or to fall into a meeting with one of his friends.  Ash enjoyed those moments, but they didn't come often.  And even if they did, pretty soon, he'd get poked by those forces behind him and have to start running again.

The doctors had a complex term for why life felt like a constant uphill climb to Ash, but to him, it was just unfair.

His older brothers and sisters never have to run uphill, nor did his friends.  His siblings had been the most popular kids at their schools, while he had to spend his summers reading self-help books just to be vaguely normal.  He did well in school, but once he got into the workforce, the act of actually accomplishing anything always seemed a Herculian effort.

Like running up a hill. 

One day, when Ash was running up one of those hill, he was surprised to look over and see his brother Sal, who had seemingly never had an uphill climb for which he didn't volunteer, reluctantly pushing a boulder up a mountain. 

"That isn't fair," said Ash. "Why must you push a boulder up a mountain when so many people around us don't even have to walk uphill?"

"I don't know," Sal said. "But my master told me I must do it. And I will be stronger for the experience when I finish."

"But why have you been given this task?" asked Ash. "It seems so much harder than what others around us have to do.  And what good does strength do at all unless your master arbitrarily assigns you more boulders to push? Surely this master of yours is a tyrant to assign you such a job while others around us seem to have such an easier path."

"Quite the opposite," Sal said. "You see, I am strong.  Strong enough to push this boulder up this cliff. If you look around us, you will see that many of the people that you see would not have been able to push this rock at all. If my master were not good, he would have given this task to someone not strong enough to push this boulder."

"But what is the purpose of this? Why does your master want you to push this boulder up this hill at all? Why can't you just run unencumbered wherever you choose?"

"The boulder is a burden to me now," Sal said. "But once I reach the top of this hill, it no longer will be.  And others who see me push this rock successfully may be inspired to do the same."

"But why must anyone push rocks at all?  What's the purpose of it all?"

"Oh, I understand now what you mean. It is true that pushing a boulder seems hard and unnecessary now. But once I get to the top of this hill, the boulder won't seem such an impediment.  In fact, instead of being a burden, it will become a tool.  You see, once I reach the downslope of this hill, this boulder is powerful enough to break down walls that others have built to separate themselves. Because of this boulder, I will be able to break through the barriers and talk to people who otherwise wouldn't have listened to me.  My master will use this boulder to burst through walls that people have built around themselves. 

"This boulder is a burden now, but it will be a blessing once I reach the other side. This boulder is heavy, but the impact of this boulder on the other side of this mountain is directly proportional to the burden it feels like now."

 Ash finally understood.

Compared to pushing a boulder, running uphill didn't seem so bad. And even if he had to run uphill, perhaps the strength he gained in doing so would someday allow him to carry someone else when his life's trail had flattened out.

And then, suddenly, he noticed that the path before him didn't seem to lead uphill at all.