The power of maybe: Finding calm in the uncertainty of life

Over the last few weeks, there have been moments in my life that have quietly nudged me back towards an old story, an age-old Chinese parable about a farmer. It’s one of those simple tales that lingers, not because of dramatic twists or elaborate lessons, but because of the quiet wisdom it carries.

From the versions I have heard, it goes a little something like this...

There once lived an old farmer who had spent years tending his land with care and consistency. His livelihood depended on a single, loyal horse that helped him plough his fields and sustain his way of life. One day, the horse broke through the fence and ran away. When the farmer’s neighbours heard the news, they rushed over in sympathy. “What terrible luck” they said. “You’ve lost your horse at the worst possible time”. The farmer listened, nodded gently, and replied “Maybe.”

A few days later, the horse returned and brought with it several wild horses. The neighbours came back, this time full of excitement. “What incredible luck! You now have more horses than before. Again, the farmer responded simply “Maybe.”

Soon after, the farmer’s son tried to ride one of the untamed horses. He was thrown off and broke his leg. Once again, the neighbours gathered. “This is awful,” they said. “How will you manage without your son’s help?”. The farmer smiled faintly. “Maybe.”

Not long after that, soldiers arrived in the village. The emperor had ordered that the eldest son of every family had to be drafted into the army. One by one, young men were taken away, families tearfully saying goodbye, uncertain if they would ever see each other again. When the soldiers reached the farmer’s home, they saw his son’s broken leg and passed him over. He was deemed unfit to fight. The neighbours returned once more and said “How fortunate you are” they said. “Your son has been spared”. And again, the farmer thought to himself “Maybe”.

There’s something quietly powerful about this story. On the surface, it’s about luck (good and bad), but underneath it challenges the way we label the events in our lives. Our perspective about what happens to us. Sometimes, we are quick to judge what happens to us.

We celebrate the wins, we resent the loses, and we attach meaning almost instantly…this is good, this is bad, this shouldn’t have happened. The farmer resists that instinct. He doesn’t deny reality and he doesn’t pretend everything is fine. Instead, he creates space. He creates space between the event and the judgement. In that space lives a single word: maybe.

“Maybe” is not indecision. It’s perspective. It’s the quiet understanding that life is rarely as straightforward as it seems in the moment. What feels like a setback today might become the very thing that protects or redirects us tomorrow. What appears to be a stroke of luck could carry consequences we don’t yet see or present immense challenges in the future.

And if I’m honest, this is where my own thinking has evolved.

I don’t really believe in luck, not in the way we often talk about it. Not as something that simply happens to us, randomly, without influence or input. What I do believe in is awareness…in recognising opportunities when they appear and in creating them when they don’t. I believe in the power of how we respond, adapt and take responsibility for the role we play in every situation we find ourselves in.

Because even in the farmer’s story, you could argue it’s not about luck at all.

The horse returning with others? An opportunity.

The untamed horse? A risk that required care and judgement. The broken leg? A consequence—unfortunate, but real.

Avoiding the draft? A moment shaped by everything that came before it.

The events themselves weren’t inherently good or bad, they were simply turning points. What mattered was how they were met, how they were responded to and what the farmer did next. Often in life, that’s the part we often overlook.