The white horse is everything. This Chinese legend came to me by way of a very close friend, who happens to be Taiwanese-American and—at a meaningful point in our friendship—told me the generational tale of a Chinese farmer and his horse. The story goes somewhat like this (or doesn’t, but this is the version we believe and have probably butchered).
Ages ago, there was a gentle, middle-aged farmer who lived with his wife and son outside a village in the plains of China. He devoted his life to the family’s two greatest treasures: the boy, and their sentimental collection of horses.
One day, quite by accident, the son left the stables door open and the family’s best stallion ran away. The farmer despaired that this was the worst thing ever to befall them.
Nothing to be done—the horse was gone.
A few days later, by great fortune, the stallion returned. The runaway was not alone. He had brought with him another horse—a beautiful, wild, white mare.
What joy! (See how I write like an ancient Chinese relative talks by the fire?) The man praised his fortune in the arrival of the mare.
Nothing to despair—the family had a new, magnificent horse.
A short time later, by terrible misfortune, the son was in the fields, atop the mare’s back, endeavoring to tame her. The mare bucked wildly and threw the boy violently to the ground. The fall shattered his leg, and the medical man pronounced that it would never fully heal.
The villagers keened in low voices over the blow to the family, as the son could hardly help his father any longer in the fields.
Nothing to be done—the boy was lame.
Some years passed, and an enemy invaded the land. The Chinese army thundered through the village, sweeping up all the young men to fight the invader. Nearly all of these boys were wounded or killed, except for the farmer’s son. The army had rejected him because of his lameness.
This time the man neither wept nor celebrated. He had come to understand the white horse.
After all, nothing to despair—they had each other.
A good fabulist would leave it there, and let the unspoken moral percolate in your mind for interpretation. But I am not a fabulist; I am a normal person with a fondness for belaboring the obvious. So here is the moral:
Sometimes, the impact of a thing is known only with the passage of time. The true significance often turns out to be the opposite of our original perception. You may find this concept familiar. Here, we call it “a blessing in disguise.”
What invokes devastation today may well end up being one of the best things ever to happen to you. Its meaning is shaped and solidified by additional events that unfold over time. This is the nature of life.
For more than two decades, my friend and I have used the shorthand “white horse” to convey an unanticipated blessing arising from hardship.
That’s what I hope and believe you will discover through this journey.
Welcome to White Horse.
