The Game of Reasons: A Fable

 

There was once a woman who lived at the outermost edge of a crowded city. She wasn't wealthy. She wasn't particularly powerful, either. But she had something in abundance that was rarer than either of those things – time. And because her time was precious, many came knocking at her door.

At first, they asked for what they wanted gently and with prudence. “Walk with me,” said one. “Write me a letter,” said another. And the woman, being kind and mindful of the feelings of others, often said yes. But when she said no, they demanded to know why.

So she gave them reasons. “I am tired.” “I have work to do.” “I must tend my garden and feed my animals.”

And each time, the petitioner smiled, tied a little rope around her wrist, and said, “Then I will wait until you are rested.” Or, “Then I will walk with you while you work.” Or, “Then I will help in your garden, and you will owe me your company.”

Soon, both of the woman's wrists were completely bound by great quantities of rope woven from her own words.

Then one day, a stranger came, not to ask, but simply to watch. He noticed the woman tugging at her bindings and rubbing her red, raw wrists. He saw the neighbors tightening the bindings and adding more of them with every new reason she offered. Finally, he asked her, “Why do you keep handing them more rope to bind you with?”

The woman was weary. “If I do not give a reason, they will think me cruel,” she said.

The stranger shook his head. “No. If you give them rope, they will only bind you tighter. The cruelty is theirs, not yours. Why not simply stop playing the game?”

So the next time someone asked, “Why will you not give me your time?” the woman answered only, “Because I do not want to and simply will not.”

And this time, when they reached for the rope, there was none to take.

Some grew angry. They shouted. They called her cold, selfish, and unkind. But their hands remained empty all the same, and so their games ended there because they had to. Others, seeing she would not be bound, stopped asking for reasons at all. They learned to ask for less and accept her answers as they came (if they came).

The woman, though lonelier at first, eventually grew lighter day by day. Her wrists healed, and the raw redness went away. Her garden flourished. She forgot what it felt like to be bound. She also found that the ones who stayed were those who loved her without proof. Those who could cherish the yes while retaining the ability to hear no.

So it is told. The ones who demand reasons seek only control. The rope you hand them is woven from your own excuses, and the only way to win the game of reasons is never to play.