There was once a traveller who found himself lost in the forest as night began to fall. The cold began to creep in, and he knew he would not last the night without a fire.
In a clearing, he found an old axe lying in the dirt, its blade dull from years of neglect.
“I must chop wood for the fire” he thought. “But first, I must prepare the axe.” And so, he set to work.
He honed the blade, testing its sharpness against his finger. “Is it sharp enough?” he wondered. “Perhaps it needs to be even sharper.”
Then another thought struck him.
“Before I chop, I must find the best wood” he reasoned. “A fire that doesn’t burn strong and bright will be of no use to me.”
And so, he wandered through the woods, tapping trunks, peeling bark, pressing his ear to the wood as if the trees might whisper which of them was best.
Then, a new thought troubled him.
“How am I meant to strike? What is the best technique? If I chop poorly, the wood may splinter and be useless. Perhaps I should practice first.”
And so, he spent some time swinging at thin air, adjusting his grip, shifting his stance, making sure everything was just right.
By the time he thought himself ready, darkness had fallen, and the cold had set in. But no wood had been cut.
Shivering, weary, and without fire, the traveller sat in alone in the silence.
It was then that an old man stepped from the shadows. He looked upon the traveller and smiled.
Without a word, he picked up the axe. He ran a finger along its edge and nodded.
With calm, steady hands, he found a dry, sturdy log and set to work, splitting it with deliberate strikes. Soon, he had gathered enough wood for a fire.
As the flames rose, the traveller sat beside him, warming his hands.
The old man smiled. “To prepare endlessly is to never begin. The sharpest axe has no use if it doesn’t swing.”
The traveller sat in thought, watching the fire crackle before him. He wouldn’t fear the cold again.