The Wisdom That Waited by the Water

Last Sunday, I was sitting quietly by a pond.

It was one of those slow, still moments when time seems to soften and the mind finally pauses. The water was calm, sunlight gently dancing on its surface. As I sat there, my attention was drawn to the fish swimming near the edge. Pieces of food floated at one corner, and the fish kept returning there again and again.

What caught my attention wasn’t their hunger. It was their behavior.

Whenever two fish approached the same piece of food, something very subtle yet striking happened. If one fish was closer and moved ahead to eat it, the other didn’t react. It didn’t rush. It didn’t push. It didn’t compete. It simply turned back and swam away, as if it already knew there was something else waiting.

No struggle.
No sense of rivalry.
No urgency.

As if it understood something we humans often forget. That there is enough.

Watching them, a thought slowly settled in my mind.

Those fish lived with a quiet sense of abundance. They behaved as if more food existed even when they couldn’t see it. They didn’t cling to one piece as if it were their only chance. They trusted the flow, and because of that trust, there was peace.

And then I thought of us.

How different we are.

We see someone succeed, and something tightens inside us.
We see someone achieve what we wanted, and suddenly we feel left behind.
We see someone receive love, recognition, or opportunity and a fear rises that maybe there won’t be enough left for us.

So we compare.
We compete.
We quietly resent.
Sometimes, we even try to pull others down.

All because somewhere deep within, we believe life gives in limited quantities.

We begin to think only one person can win.
Only one can be chosen.
Only one can shine.

But nature tells a different story.

The sun doesn’t dim itself because it shines on many.
The river doesn’t stop flowing because many drink from it.
The sky doesn’t shrink because countless birds fly across it.

Yet we live as though love, success, and happiness are scarce. And this belief quietly gives birth to jealousy, insecurity, and unrest.

The fish didn’t fight because it trusted its surroundings.
It trusted that another piece is available for them somewhere.
That missing one moment didn’t mean missing everything.
That what was meant for it would come.

And that trust kept peace alive.

Imagine if we lived the same way.

If someone gets the promotion and we congratulate them with the core of our hearts and genuinely think, “Good for them. My time will come too.”
If someone succeeds and we feel happy for them and the thoughts for our own selves are, “If it happened for them, it can happen for me.”
If someone receives love and we remember that love multiplies. It doesn’t reduce.

But instead, we often think, “They took what was meant for me.”

And that single thought is enough to steal our peace.

When you believe in scarcity, you rush.
You compare.
You feel threatened.

When you believe in abundance, you slow down.
You stay grounded.
You trust your journey.

Abundance doesn’t make you careless.
It makes you secure.
And security gives birth to grace.

That quiet moment by the pond taught me something simple yet powerful:

Peace comes from knowing that what is meant for you will never miss you.

You don’t need to snatch.
You don’t need to fight.
You don’t need to envy.

What is yours will arrive.

In its own time.

In its own way.

And just like the fish, when you truly trust that there is enough, you stop wasting energy on comparison and start moving through life with calm confidence.

Because the pond is wide.
The food is plenty.
And your share was never dependent on someone else losing theirs.