A Lifetime’s Journey

A young man came of age in a small village near a forest. His family raised him well, and his community was proud to see who he became. He worked hard, learned all that he could, and was ready for a true test of adulthood. All the adults in the village had a trade and contribution. Some hunted and fished, others farmed and harvested, some built homes while some wove clothes, and everyone helped to care for their family and their neighbors. Life was simple, yet pleasant. The young man no longer wanted simple, no longer needed pleasant. He needed adventure.

I have to go, this isn’t for me any longer.

Once in a generation, or so it felt like, people would leave the village to seek a new life. Some were wanderers, some were outcast, and some sought peace away from unfortunate upbringings. There were countless other reasons from countless other people over the years. This young man in this village simply wanted more from life, or so he felt. He saw his village and knew it was good, but it would be good for someone else, not for him. The young man wanted to wake up every day and do something different. He wanted to see different places, breathe different air, and his village was the same as it always had been, the same as it always would be.

I’m leaving. Not forever, but for now. I love you and my people, but I don’t love this life. It’s time for me to go and find what else is out there.

The villagers always told a story about the forest next to their home. It was called Treasure Forest, and it was named for the sacred treasure hidden at the end of it. No one from the village ever returned from the journey if they sought out the treasure, so no one knew what it was. Some said it would be a mine with more gold and jewels than any one person could carry. Others believed it was a great city of prominence and strength, and those brave enough to find it would join its elite citizens. Others said it was a mystical power only bestowed upon those with enough wisdom and willpower to discover it. Everyone called it something, but no one knew it for real. The story was shared from parents to children, over and over for many years. The tale told that to find the treasure, whatever it was, one had to journey through the entire forest.

That is what I must do: I will find the treasure! The journey alone will be different every day. I will be strong and courageous, diligent and fierce. I will find the treasure, whatever it may be.

The villagers knew only a small region of the forest, that which was closest to them. The forest was vast and felt endless in all directions; it would be a lifetime to travel it all. That is why, it is believed, no one who sought the treasure would ever return. They would be so old by the time they arrived, that they wouldn’t have time to make the journey back. The young man knew this and thought about it for a while. He decided that he knew the perfect way to reach the forest’s end like no one had before, and he told his friends his strategy.

Everyone else who has ever made this journey did so at a normal pace. They marched during the day with a break to eat and made camp and rested every night. Once or twice a week, they wouldn’t march at all. That is what all the stories tell. Not me. I’m going to march until I can’t march any more. I’ll only eat what I find along the way, and only sleep as much as I need to get going again. The journey will still be years, but it won’t be a lifetime if I work hard enough.

The day came where the young man was ready to go. He packed a bag full of everything he would need, at least for a while. The tools may wear, the food would be eaten, and the clothes may tear or not fit. The young man would find more and figure out what he would need along the way. He met with his family, his friends, his neighbors, and everyone in the village. The community was closely knit, so everyone saw him off. The whole village contributed to his supplies, and everyone gave their own piece of advice. The young man heard it all, still ultimately deciding his own way was best. He hugged his mother and father, for the last time as their child, and he was off.

Goodbye, and I love you. That is all that’s left to say.

The journey began fine, though it was as familiar as his village. This was the part of the forest that they always hunted, gathered, explored, and camped. The young man made no effort to wait in this region, as he knew it all too well. His strategy of hard marching was tested here. This whole region may have taken a month to travel through normal hiking. The young man completed it in a week, only stopping to sleep twice. He felt the ache in his legs, but his spirit overcame the pain.

If the whole journey is this fast, I may return with the treasure in no more than a year. I’ve got to keep going, fast as I can.

As he neared the end of the forest he knew, the ground and the trees began to notably change. The leaves were a different shade of green, the ground a little softer and a little colder. As the young man kept marching, the trees became smaller and farther apart from one another. He had been in this area for weeks, and as he marched onward with great focus, he didn’t notice any of the changes. He looked so far forward on his path that he couldn’t worry himself with his surroundings. After weeks became months, he saw something ahead in his path that looked different than he had seen so far: He saw a lake. The lake was small enough that he could see the other side of it, but large enough to take him by surprise. Surrounding the lake were docks with small fishing boats, beaches with children swimming, small houses and shops, and people who called this lake home. The young man asked the locals about the lake and the area. They offered him new maps, a hot meal, and a bed to sleep for the night. He accepted the maps yet denied the hospitality. The young man couldn’t spare all the time on a dinner and a full night away from marching. Instead, he found another young man like himself who owned a boat. His boat was small, yet clearly well maintained. The boater told the young man that most travelers like to swim across the lake, but that it would take a day’s time. He could ferry him across in a few hours. The young man traded small items he saved from his home in exchange for the boat ride. The young man slept for the first time in some days. He missed the pink sky at sunset, and a conversation with a new friend.

Please wake me when we get there.

After the lake, the forest grew wilder. The animals were larger, the plants were overgrown, and it looked like no person had walked through for ages. The trees grew flowers that the young man had never seen. The animals were not afraid of him, as they had never been hunted before. The young man hadn’t had meat for months now, and his stomach rumbled at the thought of it, but he felt compelled to let the animals be as they were. He instead found some bushes with berries he recognized. This wooded region seemed endless. The young man lost track of time, as weeks in these woods became months, perhaps years it felt so long. He kept about his journey, with the same hard marching as the first day he set out. The constant marching was starting to put a beating on the young man, who aged older than his journey. After some time, the animals became smaller, more evasive, and less numerous. This was the first sign of new land.

Finally, something’s changing. I thought these woods would never end.

The woods now had trails and footpaths, and he could tell there were hunters in the area. The young man followed the freshest path he saw and found a village much like his own. The people were surprised and yet friendly to this strange traveler. Much like at the lake, the people offered him guidance and hospitality. He accepted the guidance but hesitated to stay too long. He told them about his journey and his goal. The village had heard of the treasure at the end of the forest too. It had been years since they met someone actually searching for it. After spending a whole day discussing theories about the treasure and the path that they believed might lead to it, he decided against his better judgement (so he believed), and agreed to stay just one night. He gained more than he gave, as he had forgotten how meaningful it was to see and speak with other people. At the end of the night, the young man was offered a room and a bed by a married couple who took fondness to him. He washed his face and looked into his reflection. The young man had been traveling for far longer than he believed, as he looked more aged than he expected. He awoke early the next morning, before he could speak to his kind hosts, and left.

I have to go. If I stay even one more hour, I may never leave. I have to keep marching, and I can’t waste all this time.

Back into the woods the less young man went. He felt rested, reborn, and ready for the journey ahead. He kept his eyes straight forward and didn’t look around once. In the first week, he slept once. The next time he slept was over two weeks later. The week after that he had to stop and sleep twice. This pattern continued for longer than he could keep track of, and it started to alter his spirit. Soon, he noticed a sound in the distance. At first, he believed it was the wind. Every hour it grew louder and louder, making him believe something was going wrong with him. But then he saw it: A rushing river, running at a violent speed. His home village had a river, but it was so calm that this one barely reminded him of home. He walked with the current, believing it might lead him somewhere important. He met a group of fishers perched on some rocks, who found a way to master fishing in such a current. They told him they fished here every day and lived in a third village nearby. The young man offered them some camping tools in his bag that he still had from home. He realized that in all his travels, he never used them once. The fishers, in return, offered him an extra fishing pole, a net, and a day’s worth of catches. He had enough fish to eat for a while and could catch more for the remainder of the time he walked this river. Before he kept marching, he asked the fishers how long the river ran. They told him that it goes until the end of the forest.

The end of the forest… The treasure is near.

The river took as long as the young man remembered ever traveling. Perhaps the time he spent on the river was as long as every other stop on his journey together. On the other hand, perhaps he had lost all concept of time months or even years ago, and his life near the river was too routine to track accurately. There were no other paths, not many turns, no new plants and no new creatures. Finally, after many fish eaten and not enough hours slept, the young man saw ahead that the trees were thinning. Much like when he arrived at the lake (however long ago that was), the trees became spaced out and much smaller. He could see what felt like a light at the end of a tunnel: Treasure Forest’s end. When the young man exited the forest, he knew he was close to the end of his journey, for he saw something that he had never seen before. He saw a great mountain, higher than anything he had ever seen. He made camp and slept for one night. Then he left behind his fishing gear, and anything else he didn’t need any more. He decided to climb the mountain, for the treasure must be at the top.

I’m this close, after so much time. I can do this. I just have to climb.

Climbing the mountain was the final test, the most excruciating test, and the longest test that this young man had faced yet. The other parts of the journey felt long perhaps because of the routine of it all, however the mountain climb was more physically challenging than any other march or hike that the young man went on, and he was hardly prepared for it. He didn’t know the best route to take. Sometimes he reached a point too steep to climb, and he had to go back down until he could find a different way. He went from stopping to sleep perhaps only a few times a week to at least twice a day. His body was not used to this kind of labor and strain. Sometimes the wind would be so fierce that he couldn’t climb at all. The waiting was worse than the climbing, for the young man who hurried himself into aging. He felt so close, yet so endlessly far. He couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. He had come so close now, so close to his goal, his treasure. And finally, one day, the sky had cleared, and the mountain felt less steep with some sunshine. The young man, perhaps actually not truly young any longer, reached the peak. Or so he thought. He looked ahead, and for miles the mountain plateaued for as far as he could see forward. He looked upward and saw that another segment of the mountain went so steeply to the sky that he couldn’t see the top. For once in his journey, he stopped for a moment and looked around. He wouldn’t call this plateau a forest, but there were clearly trees and wildlife, who made this place their home. Far away, he saw a mysterious figure, and called out to it:

Who are you? Where am I? Where are we?

The young man nervously approached this strange figure. As he walked closer, he could see more and more that they were old, and seated. Every other person the young man met on his journey made sense to him: People living and working around a lake, a village resembling his own, fishers along a river. But an old person living on a mountain? This confused him to no end. He came closer and was finally able to see the face of the old woman. The old woman sat comfortably on an old tree stump in the middle of several other prosperous trees. She appeared so tired that she should be brutish, but instead she smiled and spoke gently.

Hello there, young man.

I’ve been alone for a while.

Tell me who you are.

The young man explained himself. He told the old woman his name, his village, and his mission. He explained that he had to find the treasure that Treasure Forest was named after. He had no idea what the treasure was, if it was an object or an ability, but that he was not content living quietly in a village knowing that an indescribable, legendary treasure was just a few years of work and exploration away. He told the old woman about the woods he knew near his village, and then the lake where he hired a boater. He told her about the deep, wild forest that appeared untouched by man. He told her about the new village, where he felt almost at home, and he knew if he stayed any longer than that morning, he would never want to leave. Even though he felt that way about that village, he could not articulate why. He told the old woman about the river, the tools from his home (which he realized now were some of the last things he still kept from home) that he traded for fishing materials, and the long time he spent his days hiking and fishing, hiking and fishing. Finally, he told the old woman about the mountain, how tiring it was to climb the mountain, how many mistakes he made and how many nights he had to sit and wait. The young man realized, after all this time, the old woman was the first person to hear the whole story. The old woman listened to every detail intently. She pondered a moment, and then asked a question.

But why did you leave?

What is wrong with a village,

With a simple life?

The young man had never been asked that, not even by his own family and village. What is wrong with a village, with a simple life? The young man stood speechless, and he had no answer. He knew he wanted to adventure, he wanted more from life, but he realized that his problem was never with the village. The more he thought about it, the village he felt so compelled to stay in forever was as simple as his home. The people did their ordinary chores and duties, and they all built a good home and a good life. It made him miss his own home. And he left it behind, for what he was starting to think was for nothing. What was all of this for? He had no answer for the old woman. He grew uncomfortable with the thought of leaving behind his home for this treasure, when he couldn’t articulate why the village itself was not for him. Years ago, maybe he could have, but he could not now. Instead, he asked the old woman about the treasure. If he knew more about the treasure, he could justify his journey. The old woman replied.

There is no treasure.

The Forest is a treasure.

As is a life lived.

This sparked a long conversation between the two. The old woman told her own story, which shared many similarities to that of the young man. She too came from a small village outside of Treasure Forest. When she came of age, she decided she wanted to leave, only it broke her heart when she did. She loved her family and friends immensely, yet felt so compelled to find the treasure that she knew she had to leave. Along the way, she too found new places and people. The old woman spent most of her life traveling in the forest. The young man heard this and explained that no one from his village who sought out the treasure ever returned, so the young man’s goal was to travel so vigorously that he might be able to return one day. The old woman took a closer look at the young man, realizing that he certainly did make the journey in only a few years, rather than a few decades. The old woman then explained that years ago, she climbed to the absolute peak of the mountain herself – the one that the young man saw before approaching the old woman – and expected to find the treasure there. There was no treasure. The old woman sat and cried at the peak of the mountain, until she fell asleep. When she woke up from her grief, she looked over the view of Treasure Forest, and wept again for a different reason.

It was beautiful,

And after all of that time,

I never once looked.

The old woman told the young man what she realized that day. She realized that all of this time spent traveling Treasure Forest became her life. Her life was no longer the quest for the final treasure, but the quest itself. She told the young man that now she’s too old to leave the mountain. Her legs wouldn’t handle the climb, and that this was her home now, for better or for worse. She found peace at this plateau, alone with her thoughts and memories, and with the best view she could ask for. She told the young man that the treasure was a myth, but that the time traveled was not wasted. She could see that the young man, though tired, was motivated to find something, anything, to believe his journey wasn’t a wasted effort. Because of this, the old woman knew she could give the young man one last challenge, that might give him new meaning.

Go along your path,

The same way that took you here.

Take your time and look.

The old woman might have liked to have a friend for a little longer, but the young man was upset. They said their goodbyes, and the young man left. He felt defeated and unsatisfied. He had his dream taken away so suddenly, when he believed it was the day he would achieve it. He tried to control his emotions, as he knew he had a long way back. As he walked away, he stopped and thought to himself, I could carry her down, and she wouldn’t have to die alone up here. But when the young man turned around, the old woman wasn’t there. The tree stump she sat on was empty. The young man was confused. Did she walk away? Did she disappear? What if she found the treasure and was hiding it? A hundred bad thoughts entered the young man’s mind. With each bad thought, he grew more and more sad, and then more and more angry. The fact that he spent several years of his life deprived of decent sleep didn’t help him in this moment. Then, he reached the end of the plateau. He looked down, and saw the path that he climbed, and he looked up, and saw the peak that the old woman claimed to climb.

I’ll show her.

She thinks she can hide the treasure from me.

I’ll find it on my own.

The young man felt furiously determined to find the treasure himself. Was the old woman hiding it from me? Did she not want to share it? Was she crazy from age? Was she simply a liar? Every accusation and bad thought stumbled into the young man’s mind during this climb. It was evening when he left the old woman, and suddenly it became the darkest night, but he kept climbing. The wind came out gusting, but he kept climbing. He was exhausted, but he kept climbing. His hands bled, but he kept climbing. All night he climbed as hard as he could, until finally he reached the peak. He looked around and saw snow and stones. The snow was fluffy, maybe untouched since the old woman made the peak. When he ran his fingers through the snow, he saw his blood staining the pure white. He picked up some snow to feel it melt in his hands. Though the bloodied pain went numb, his hands weren’t warm enough to melt anything. He dug into the snow, moved stones, hoping to see some marking or sign of treasure, but to no avail. After hours of digging around, he fell on his bottom, tired and depressed, and looked out over Treasure Forest as the old woman said she did. Suddenly, with the perfect timing that only a higher power could allow, the sun rose. The horizon lit up like a miracle, and a cloudless sky grew more and more visible. The tops of the trees, vividly green, swayed ever so gently. Their movement was so subtle that you had to stare with great intent to notice it. Sometimes birds would fly in flocks from one tree to another. The young man looked back to the sky and found that the sun had fully risen. He stared at this full picture without a thought in his mind, without a care in the world, and without a single negative belief about anything. Overtaken by the beauty in what he saw, in the details of the top of Treasure Forest and this perfect sunrise made just for him, the young man wept as the old woman did. He fought to keep his eyes open, but the more he saw, the more he wept. He finally understood what he ignored his whole life. Both the regret of his mistakes, and the optimism at a second chance, overwhelmed him.

This is the Treasure.

I can see that now.

She was right, so I will keep going.

The young man slowly made his way down the mountain, taking more time to rest, and observe each unique view. He no longer cared how long it took, nor how fast he traveled. When he reached the bottom, he found the place where he stored his fishing gear, and he returned to the river. This time, he walked back against the current, and he looked at everything he could. He tried to observe each rock that created a rapid, big or small. When he stopped to fish, he paid careful attention to the way the water flowed, any of the fish he could see through the water, and the way they behaved when he caught them. He observed the way the trees’ roots would be exposed, as their ground was eroded by the river. When it rained, he sat silently and listened to the way each drop made a sound with a tree, the river, or the ground; he focused on how the raindrops felt like painless pins on his own skin, and how the river’s roar grew louder with the weather. Every night, the young man slept. After months, or more, the young man ran into the same fishermen who gave him his gear. This time, he spoke to them with kinder words and more attention, asking about their lives and their home instead of just trade and directions. They invited him to stay with them, and he accepted without hesitation. He gave his fishing gear back to the village, without a trade, so one day another young man could bring back food for his people. He stayed well into the next day, but then had to leave.

Thank you for your kindness,

But I have to be going.

There’s somewhere else I have to be.

Though he was in no hurry, it didn’t take the young man much longer to find the village he left sooner than he should have the first time. Though years had gone by, they remembered the young man and his journey for the treasure. He found his old hosts, and everyone he recognized. He asked them if he could stay with them again. They obliged, and the next night he stayed in his old room. The next morning, he slept in and came out with a smile and spoke with them. The same feeling rushed over him as the last time he was here: Stay. He asked his hosts what they did, and how he could help. The husband was a builder, the wife butchered meat. He carried lumber for the husband in the morning and cleaned knives for the wife in the evening. After weeks of this, the husband trusted the young man and agreed to teach the him how to build, and the wife said she could clean her own knives just fine while he apprenticed. The husband and the young man began building a small house. Every day, the husband taught the young man a new technique, ways to fix small mistakes, and how every step of the process was connected to the next one. After another few weeks, the house was done, and it became the young man’s home. The husband partnered with the young man, and they continued to build and fix homes for the village. The young man attended bonfires, dinners, and every gathering of the village people. During his time off, he explored the woods nearby, paying close attention to everything he saw. It didn’t take long before he met his great love in this village, the reason he needed to stay. They grew close, committed to one another, and she joined his home. They fulfilled each other’s lives, and they were a family. They shared all of their stories, made new stories together, learned every detail about the other, and loved each other for their perfections and their flaws. Their partnership was one of joy and passion. She was his home, and he was hers. It was love. I was right, the man thought to himself many times for many reasons, I might never leave after all. Nearly 30 years they spent together, experiencing all of the bliss, rage, sacrifice, and satisfaction that a lifetime of love will provide. They loved every moment together, and every detail of each other. Unfortunately, she grew ill, and passed in her sleep after months of struggling. He grieved. He buried her. And then, with great pain in his heart, he knew it was time to leave.

This village is beautiful,

But she made it my home.

I’m too sad to stay.

Before he left, he looked at a reflection of himself, as he did the first night he ever spent there. I look like my father, the man said with a tear and a smile. Then he said his goodbyes and left behind an understanding village. He returned to the forest that was untouched by people. The last time he came through this forest, he rushed so quickly that he didn’t see how lucky he was. The grass was longer than he had ever seen before, yet softer. The trees grew wildly without their branches being chopped at, and the flowers were unique and had every color the young man could imagine. The animals were fatter, happier, and more approachable than any he had seen anywhere else. He learned their behavior, and became one with them. He petted more animals in these woods than any other man would in a lifetime. Even the wolves seemed less killer somehow. The small critters ate from his hand, and the birds perched on his shoulder. Yet again, he couldn’t make himself hunt, but this time he knew why. These animals, unlike others, built a home unbothered by mankind. Perhaps if these animals avoided hunters for so long, what made me deserve the kill? Especially when they welcomed me to their home? How could I betray such trust? He was happy in these wild woods. Every day was a delight, but every night felt empty. When he rested in his camp, without any animals to distract him, he cried softly for his lost love.

She would have loved this.

Though, we would not have come here.

Still, I wish she was here.

Eventually, the day came that the man traveled away from the wild woods. He didn’t belong there anymore. He went back the way he came those years ago, and felt the air cool down, saw the trees grow smaller and scattered, and remembered what came next. He arrived at the lake that he rushed through decades before. There were more shops and houses now, but the beaches were the same. The fishers sat relaxed on the docks where they waited for their catches. The man went to the boats and approached all the owners, hoping to find the same one from many years ago. Finally, he saw a boat that he recognized - it was older, but just as well cared for as the first time he slept in it. He almost overlooked it, as it was small and not impressive, but he knew it was the one. The owner spent his lifetime taking care of this boat and making it last. He looked at the boater, and asked “Do you remember me?” He didn’t, so the man explained himself, “The quiet treasure hunter in a rush.” Unexcitedly, the boater remembered. This time, the man decided to speak with the boater. They were still around the same age, that age was just much older now. They sat, told stories, warmed up to one another and laughed. Nightfall came quickly. The boater invited the man to spend the night in his home. He accepted, and he slept in a guest room. What a friendship I could have had, if I had only taken my time here. The man stayed at the lake for many months, perhaps over a year. He spent his time helping fix some of the houses, teaching the fishers his river techniques, and soon it was time for him to leave. The boater asked the man if he wanted a ride, “Like the good old days,” jokingly. The man denied the kind offer.

Thank you, my dear friend,

But this time I’ll swim.

I have the time to.

The man swam and took his time. Floating in the sunlight, feeling the cool of the water surround his body, diving down to see the fish, and observing the beauty surrounding the lake. The man could hardly believe it: All his travels over all his life, the places he’d been and the things he’d seen… He never swam a day in his life, even as a child in his village. He reached the end of the lake, then rested for two days. He looked back on the lake, and thought of his relatively short time there. He realized, however long he had left in his life, he could still find joy and passion. He thought about his lost love, and all the nights he spent mourning her. He now felt some peace. He could think about the good times with her, and the good times without her. He was grateful that they loved each other, and for the time that they had together. He continued walking, and suddenly, he knew exactly where he was. Not because of the memories of his journey the first time, but because the man knew these surroundings anywhere. He knew every footpath, though they looked more worn, and every tree, though they grew taller. Every direction he looked he found another memory. Hunting with his father, camping with family, exploring with friends, and his life before he left for his journey. The happiness of nostalgia overwhelmed the man. Before he could continue in these woods that he knew and loved, he cried tears of joy. After all this time, these decades of his life, he was home.

I left in such a hurry,

And I never really thought,

That I might come back.

After months of slowed down travel, the man walked into his village, and he could not hide his smile. Though there were many new faces, the spirit of home was unchanged. People approached and asked who he was. He told them his name, and he told them he left for the treasure. Many of the people forgot him, many remembered his story, and many recognized him at a first glance. His parents had passed, and his family had their own families, who loved him the moment they met him. His village had changed, but it was still his village. The man arrived as an unexpected visitor, and quickly they stirred up a homecoming celebration for him. All night, he answered every question and told every story. One question came from almost everyone: “Did you find it?”

No, but also yes.

I never found the treasure,

But Treasure found me.

He built a new home, he fished, and he built and fixed homes for others. He helped whoever he could, however he could. He put his whole self into everything that he did. He put forth a great effort to be the best person he could be for his nieces, nephews, and the children of his cousins and friends. He made up for lost time. He took them through the woods and showed them all he could. He answered any question fully and honestly. He tried to share knowledge, while also admitting mistakes and ignorance. The man settled down as much as he could, though he would still travel time and again. He visited his best friend who lived on the lake. He visited the grave of his love in the village they called home. He visited the fishers on the river, and the untouched wild woods. One place he never returned to, though, was the mountain. He couldn’t bring his body to climb that mountain again, let alone the thought of the old woman not being there. But every time he left, wherever he went, the man always came home to the village where it all began.

Home’s where the heart is,

And my heart has been around.

Now it stays right here.

The man grew older as each day went by. He aged with grace, and happiness, and appreciated everything around him. When the wind blew, he walked in the cool breeze. When the rain fell, he focused on every drop. When the sun burnt down, he embraced the warmth like a hug. When it snowed, he played like a child again. In his house and with his loved ones, in the village and in the woods, on the lake and on all his travels, he lived fully in every moment. He took nothing for granted. Any time he felt negative, any time he had a bad thought, he remembered the wise old woman on the mountain. He took his time, and he looked around. He spent so much time seeking a treasure that never was real, that now he saw treasure all around him. Every step and breathe he took, every hug and laugh he shared, every place and every face, he saw treasures all around.

The greatest treasure,

Is what you want it to be.

I just can’t decide.

The old man in the village was approached by someone’s son’s son. He knew the face but couldn’t remember whose boy it was. “I’m going through the forest to find the treasure! The treasure you journeyed for!” This young man looked determined and energetic. The old man looked in his eyes and saw the same look that he himself probably had. The old man couldn’t believe it: A few generations pass, and they forget that the treasure is a myth. How do I tell this boy that the treasure isn’t there? All those years he’ll spend only to find nothing. The old man remembered his own travels, and every step he took. Every memory was beloved, for even the hardships brought him where he is now. He stopped himself from giving warnings, and instead wished the young man good luck. The old man gave him some tools and fishing gear as a parting gift. The young man shook the old man’s hand, and asked for any parting advice. The old man said simply, “Take your time, and look around at it all.” With a polite smile, the young man turned and went about his way. The old man watched and grew happy, thinking about another young soul out on a journey. He could have told the boy to stop. He could have explained that the real treasure is the journey, and the friendships, and the memories. But it wouldn’t have been the same. He needs to find that on his own.

The treasure is life.

But you can’t simply be told.

You have to live it.

The old man grew tired. He spoke more quietly, his memories became harder to remember, and every step became harder to take. People around him noticed and tried to help him. He appreciated their kindness, but he missed taking care of himself, the days where he would provide for others. Though now, he allowed them to return the favor. He remembered the old woman on the mountain, how she died up there alone. She found peace with his surroundings, with no one to love him. The old woman on the mountain didn’t see everything that this old man in the village saw, yet that wise old one changed this old one’s life! What joy he had because of her! What life he lived because of her! He stood up, determined as he was as a young man, and walked slowly into the woods he knew. Any day could be my last. I want to see Treasure Forest on my own feet, while I still can. He had a walking stick in his hand, and he took his time more than ever. Every villager he walked by offered to help him. He looked them all in the eye, took in every detail of their being, and kindly declined their assistance. It meant the world to him that he was so loved by so many, but he had to do this on his own, he had to do this one last time. He went into the woods. Some pathways changed, while others were right where he left them. He looked as high as he could turn his neck, as far as his eyes could focus, and took it all in one last time. The man grew tired and needed to stop for a while. In his tired state, he thought of his lost love, and smiled warmly at the memory of her. Just when he needed it most, he came upon a tree stump. The tree must’ve been chopped down years ago, as the surface was smooth and inviting. He thought of the old woman on the mountain, how she sat comfortably on a tree stump and passed on the greatest knowledge of his life. With a smile, his mind went back to his lost love, one last time. Perhaps this was another gift from above, inviting the old man home.

I’ve traveled so long,

And this looks like a good place,

To sit down and rest.