The Weight of Too Many Voices
There’s an old fable about an old man, his son, and a donkey who set out for the market one day. As they walked along the street, annoyed neighbors criticized them for not using the donkey appropriately.
“What is the use of a donkey if not to ride it?” they asked incredulously.
Embarrassed by his seeming ignorance; and perhaps already questioning his own judgment, the old man instructed his son to get on the donkey. The boy obeyed, and they continued their journey.
Further up the street, a group of men and women hurled insults at the young lad for riding the donkey while allowing his poor, elderly father to walk.
“You lazy boy! Have you no shame?” they shouted. “How can you sit there comfortably while your elderly father walks?”
A wave of shame flushed over the boy; not just shame at the accusation, but the deeper discomfort of being seen as someone he did not believe himself to be. Wanting to correct the story being told about him, he quickly shifted so his father could join him on the donkey. Once more, they continued, having made yet another adjustment.
Only a few minutes later, another group harshly scolded them for burdening the poor donkey with all their weight. At this point, confusion had turned inward. Doubt crept in. If everyone seemed displeased, perhaps the problem wasn’t the crowd- perhaps it was them.
Overwhelmed and desperate to get it right, the old man and his son climbed down, tied the donkey’s legs to a pole, and began carrying the animal on their shoulders.
As they walked on, onlookers pointed and laughed hysterically. And near the market bridge, the donkey managed to free one foot, kicked the boy, and when the pole dropped, the donkey fell into the river below and drowned.
When a Childhood Lesson Becomes Personal
I remember hearing this fable during general assembly many years ago in primary school. My principal at the time, the late Mrs. Verona Ricketts, shared it with us. My nine- or ten-year-old self listened with interest, unaware that one day I would not only remember the lesson, but feel it.
Because the truth is, most of us don’t abandon our vision loudly or all at once. We do it quietly. Incrementally. One adjustment at a time.
The Quiet Battle Within
We yield not because we are foolish, but because being misunderstood is uncomfortable. Because rejection, even implied rejection, stirs something deep within us. Because there is a part of us that wants to be seen as reasonable, considerate, and “doing the right thing.”
The old man and his son were clear before they ever set out. They knew where they were going-the market. They knew how they would get there-on foot. And they understood the role of the donkey- to carry their goods.
What unraveled their journey was not confusion about the destination, but insecurity about how they were being perceived along the way.
And this is where the danger lies.
When Perception Replaces Conviction
When we begin prioritizing how we are seen over what we were sent to do, we slowly drift out of alignment. We start making decisions not from conviction, but from the need to quiet discomfort. To prove something. To avoid standing alone in our clarity.
In the end, the donkey died, the very thing meant to carry the vision forward. And the people who offered their opinions did not remain to deal with the consequences. The old man and his son did.
They had to sit with the loss. With the regret. With the realization that in trying to satisfy everyone, they betrayed what they knew from the beginning.
And perhaps the hardest part was this: those voices faded, but they had to live with themselves.
Vision, Distraction, and the Cost of Approval
If there’s one thing this fable has taught me, it’s this: clarity of vision does not eliminate distractions. It only exposes what you value more: approval or alignment.
When a vision is placed in your heart, it’s given because you have the capacity to carry it. You are already equipped with what’s required to bring it into the earth. There is a reason it was entrusted to you and not to someone else.
But vision alone is not enough.
It must withstand scrutiny. Misunderstanding. Well-meaning advice. Side-eyes. Silence. Applause; and the absence of it.
If you are not clear on the final outcome, you will be tempted to surrender that clarity to every voice that sounds confident. Not every voice that sounds credible is authorized to influence the vision you’ve been given.
The Role and Limits of Counsel
Secondly, while mentorship and guidance are valuable, they should never be conclusive.
I say this as someone who deeply values mentors. I’ve had many, and I remain grateful for their wisdom and sacrifice. But clarity must come before counsel. Because even good advice, when misaligned, can dilute the vision rather than refine it.
Sometimes the danger isn’t bad counsel; it’s premature counsel.
Get clear before allowing anyone to put their hands on what you’re carrying.
Remaining Faithful to What You First Saw
Finally, remain true to what you first saw.
Guard it, not just from critics, but from the part of you that wants to belong more than it wants to be obedient to the vision.
The vision does not change. But the plans can.
The vision does not change. But the approach can, once it remains aligned with the intended outcome.
Because at the end of the journey, it will not be the crowd who lives with the consequences of your choices. It will be you.
And when you look back, let it not be said that fear of rejection cost you your donkey. Let it be said that even when you were misunderstood, you remained faithful to what you were given to carry.
That faithfulness may be the very thing that ensures your vision makes it safely across the bridge.
Leave a Reply