The Raft Parable

Derived from the Buddhist raft parable from the Alagaddūpama Sutta

A man on a journey comes to a river. The current is strong, the far shore distant. There’s no bridge or ferry in sight.

So he gathers what he can find—branches, vines, scraps of wood—and builds himself a raft. It takes hours of work, but eventually he finishes, paddles across, until he finally reaches the other side.

He stands on solid ground, catches his breath, and thinks: "This raft served me well. I might need to cross another river." So he lifts it onto his shoulders and continues on his journey.

Miles pass. His back aches and his pace slows. But even so, he still thinks about all the work it took to build the raft and still concludes, "I might need this someday."

Are you carrying a raft?

Maybe it’s the collaborations you maintain out of obligation, not mission. The rigid schedule that once brought order, but now feels restrictive. The expertise you're known for, but have outgrown.

They got you to the other side. Now put them down.

The weight you feel isn't always from what you're building today. It might also be from what you built yesterday and won't let go.

Every raft on your back is energy you can't spend on the path ahead.