I still remember the day I walked into his lecture hall. There was a strange silence in the air, the kind that signals something important is about to be said. He smiled softly, almost knowingly. “Welcome,” he said. “Sit. I want to begin with a story.”
The Story That Was More Than a Story
He leaned forward. “Once,” he began, “someone placed an eagle’s egg beneath a sitting hen. When the eggs hatched, the eagle emerged among chicks—tiny, yellow, clumsy creatures who looked nothing like him but acted like his entire world.”
I raised my eyebrow as I heard someone ask, “So he grew up thinking he was a chicken?”
He nodded. “He followed them everywhere. When the mother hen called, he rushed under her wings. He pecked grain with them, scratched the soil with them. Every warning the hen gave, he memorized: stay on the ground; danger comes from the sky; never look up too long.”
“And he believed all that?” someone asked.
“How could he not?” he asked. “Identity is inherited from the conversations we are raised in before it is chosen by us.”
The First Glimpse of the Sky
“One day,” he continued, “while grazing in the fields, the mother hen gave her warning cry. Everyone ran. He ran too. And then… his eyes fell on the sky.”
He paused for effect. “Up there,” he whispered, “was an eagle—grand, effortless, floating like it owned the wind.”
I smiled. “So the eagle chick was mesmerized?”
“More than mesmerized. Conflicted. Fascinated yet terrified.”
“Because he had been taught to fear what he actually belonged to,” someone remarked.
He nodded again, pleased.
“Every night, he dreamed of that creature. Sometimes the dream felt like a nightmare—sometimes like a longing. Confusion is often the first sign that you’re seeing a truth you’ve never met before.”
The Encounter That Changed Everything
“One day,” he said, “the eagle heard a sudden loud voice behind him, ‘Are you sick?’”
I laughed as I heard someone say, “That must have scared him to death!”
“Oh, he panicked,” he said. “A full-sized eagle was standing beside him. He ran as if his life depended on it.”
The boy sitting next to me leaned forward and asked, “And the eagle chased him?”
“Yes—but only to fly over him gently and say, ‘Why are you afraid? You are mine. You are like me.’”
I frowned. “But he wouldn’t believe it.”
“Of course not. When you’ve lived your whole life in a certain narrative, truth first appears as a threat.”
“But the big eagle kept coming back?”
“Every single day. Not to frighten him, but to talk to him—to give him a new conversation. Gradually, fear softened into curiosity. Curiosity became openness. Openness became friendship. And friendship became transformation.”
The First Flight
He leaned back. “Then came the day the great eagle said, ‘Let me show you who you are. Try extending your wings.’”
“And he tried?”
“He tried. Awkwardly first. Clumsily. But then—with a bit of practice, a bit of courage—he lifted off the ground.”
I exhaled slowly. “So the sky that was once a terror became his home.”
“Exactly,” he replied. “But not because someone dragged him up there… Rather, because someone changed his conversations.”
The Mentor’s Lesson
“So,” someone asked, “what does this story teach us?”
He raised a finger. “Everything,” he said quietly. “Everything about how human beings become what they become.” Then explained:
- Some skills you think you cannot develop are simply things you were told you cannot do.
- Some strengths you believe define you were once someone else’s description of you.
- Your fears, your limits, your worldview—they all carry fingerprints of the conversations you grew up in.
I heard someone say, “So the question is not who I am—but whose voices built me?”
He smiled. “Exactly.” Then added, “Growing is not only about learning new things—it is about choosing which conversations to stay in… and which ones to walk away from.”
“Why conversations?” someone asked.
“Because conversations shape communities,” he replied. “And communities shape identity.”
“And if I change my conversations…”
“…your life will inevitably change. Because you cannot remain the same person while breathing different air.”
He looked at me kindly. “Sometimes the people around you will not change. But you must decide what your inner circle—your real community—will look like. Who gets to influence your mind? Who gets to define your sky?”
The Students’ Realization
“So you’re asking,” someone said slowly, “whether I am living like an eagle raised among chickens?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Because the question landed.
Am I limiting myself because of borrowed fears?
Am I shrinking because of inherited conversations?
Am I denying the sky because people around me never believed in it?
He leaned in one last time.
“Today,” he said, “your real task is not to find a new identity. Your task is to stop living a borrowed one.”
The Mentor’s Closing Words
As the session came to an end, he looked around the room with a quiet warmth in his eyes.
“At the end of every session,” he said gently, “I ask only two things from you.”
He raised his first finger.
1. Practice one small insight in real life.
“This work is not meant to stay inside your notebooks or in your thoughts. Learning becomes real only when it turns into even a tiny action. Don’t overwhelm yourself with big steps—choose one small thing you discovered today and live it out. A moment of awareness, a short pause, a new way of speaking, a slightly different choice—anything. Small practices, repeated sincerely, reshape a life far more than grand intentions that never leave the mind.”
Then he lifted his second finger.
2. Share your experience next time—without fear or shame.
“When you return, tell us what happened. Not to impress anyone, but to be honest—with yourself and with this community. Maybe your practice worked beautifully. Maybe you struggled. Maybe you forgot. All of that is part of growth. When you speak without fear, you release shame. And when you share openly, you give others the courage to try as well. Together, we turn individual efforts into collective strength.”
He smiled softly, as if blessing the moment. “We are all here because we want to grow. Growth is slow, gentle, and honest. It begins with one small step—and becomes stronger each time we speak truthfully about our journey. Do this, and you will not remain the same person you were when you walked in.”
