Why I Chose a Parable
There’s a reason some stories stay with us long after we’ve finished reading them.
There’s a question I’ve been asking myself lately that has been sitting underneath everything I’ve been writing.
It isn’t about what happens next in the story, but rather, why I chose to tell it this way at all.
Because I could have written this differently, and, initially, that was my plan. I could have written a book about decision-making. About clarity. About what it takes to move forward when the stakes are high, and the path isn’t obvious.
I know that world. I lived in it for many years.
But that’s not what I’m writing. I made a different choice. I’m writing a parable. And that choice wasn’t accidental.
What Parables Actually Do
You see, a parable isn’t just a story. It’s an experience disguised as a story. It’s a way of saying something without saying it directly, so that you can arrive at the insight instead of having it handed to you.
That distinction matters more than I realized when I started.
Because when you’re used to solving problems—to naming things clearly, structuring them, making them usable—there’s a strong pull to get to the point. It’s more than just a reflex. It can be what drives you. It did me.
I want to explain the lesson. All of them. I want to make sure you can see what I see. But parables don’t work that way.
They are different because they don’t force clarity. They create space for it. And that space is where the real shift can happen.
Where This Started for Me
While we all experienced many parables as children, if I trace my fascination with them as an adult, it starts with The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.
I clearly remember the first time I read it. It was a Christmas gift from a friend. I’ve been told I’m not an easy person to buy gifts for, but a good book has never missed the mark.
This one was intriguing, and I read it during that surreal stretch of time between Christmas and New Year’s—and something about it stayed with me.
It wasn’t just the story. Or, quite frankly, even the message. It was how they were woven together. I’ve read it again in that same week every year since. Or, I should say, I now listen to Jeremy Irons read it to me on Audible. A good story deserves a good storyteller, and he is definitely that.
It’s not out of habit. Once a year doesn’t quite qualify as a habit. It’s not even really what I think of as tradition or ritual. It’s more than that. It has remained as it started. It is a gift. Only now, I’m giving it to myself.
Because each time, it meets me somewhere different. And each time, it shows me something I wasn’t ready to see before.
That’s what a parable does.
The story doesn’t change.
It’s you who has.
Over time, I noticed The Alchemist wasn’t alone — other books had done the same thing to me, in different voices but with the same underlying truth.
Why This Hasn’t Been Easy
To be clear, though, this hasn’t been the easiest way for me to write.
Because I do see the lessons, I can feel them forming as I write. If you’ve been with me here for a bit, you’ve experienced that.
That’s fine for these articles; it helps me refine the messages, but for the book, it needs a different approach.
There are moments when I’m working on the manuscript where I want to pull the lessons forward —as I do here each week—to make them explicit, to underline them, to make sure they’re clear.
But every time I do that, something gets lost. The story flattens, and the experience narrows. And the very thing that makes a parable powerful starts to disappear.
So I’m learning to hold back and to trust the story.
To let it do its work without forcing it to perform.
And in doing that over the past few weeks, something unexpected has happened:
I’m understanding the lessons more deeply myself because I’m not rushing to explain them.
How Cooper North Came to Life
You might find this interesting.
Cooper didn’t start as a character. He started as a question.
What does it look like when someone reaches a point where what worked before… no longer works?
Not because they failed but because they’ve outgrown it. What does it look like to sit inside that moment—without rushing past it?
That question became a voice.
Then it became a perspective.
And eventually, it became a person.
Not a perfect one.
Not a finished one.
But a real one.
What This Is Really About
It feels important at this point in our journey together to remind you (and me) that I’m not just trying to tell you a story. I’m trying to create a space where you can see your own.
Because the best parables don’t stay on the page. They follow you.
They show up later—in a conversation, in a decision, in a moment where something feels familiar, but you can’t quite place why.
And then you realize: It’s not about the character.
It’s about you.
An Invitation
So before the next part of Cooper’s story unfolds, I wanted to pause here.
To let you see the intention behind it.
Because this isn’t just about what happens next for Cooper.
It’s about what becomes possible because of what happens next.
And if a parable does its job well, that possibility won’t belong to the character alone.
It will belong to you, too.
Reflections
These aren’t meant to be answered quickly. They’re meant to stay with you for a bit.
Where in your life have you had to change not what you do, but how you do it?
Is there a story you’re still telling yourself that no longer fits the season you’re in?
What are you holding onto simply because it worked before?
Recommended Reading
If this idea of story-as-insight resonates with you, these are a few of the voices that have shaped how I think about parables—and why I chose to write this one.
The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
A story I return to every year—not because it changes, but because I do.The Go-Giver Series by Bob Burg and John David Mann
This link is to the complete series, but each book is a worthy read on its own. Each is a powerful reminder that the way we approach success shapes what success becomes.The Noticer Collection by Andy Andrews
Stories that center on perspective—and how a shift in perspective can change everything.The Cabin at the End of the Train: A Story About Pursuing Dreams by Michael V. Ivanov
Another rich story about perspective.
More recently, I’ve been drawn to writers who bring parables into business and everyday life, especially as that is what I’m working on.
These are from Jeff. C. West (with co-authors):
The Hidden Heist, which he co-wrote with Bill Cates
Streetwise to Saleswise, which he co-wrote with Bob Burg
Publisher’s Note: If you are new to The Possibility Factor, this publication offers a behind-the-scenes look each week at the book I’m currently writing under the same working title.
Our central character is Cooper North, a business owner who is at a crossroads and learning that much of what he thought he knew isn’t giving him the answers that he needs. An unexpected mentor gives him a journal—one that isn’t offering answers, but better questions.
Note: You can find the earlier chapters and reflections collected here: The Possibility Factor.