Tolstoy’s The Three Questions: A Timeless Parable About Slowing Down

I want to share one of my favorite classic stories.

It’s a parable written by Leo Tolstoy, and it’s a reminder to slow down, to return to presence, and reconnect with what actually matters beneath the noise when you let go of the pressure and stop rushing. So wherever you are, whether you’re walking or folding laundry, riding the subway, or taking a quiet moment, let this be a small invitation to soften your pace.

Here’s the story.

There once was a king who believed that if he could find the answers to three questions, he would never make a mistake again. The questions were simple yet impossible.

First question What is the right time to begin any task? The second question was Who are the right people to listen to? The third question he asks what is the most important thing to do?

So again, what is the right time to begin any task? Who are the right people to listen to? And what is the most important thing to do?

He asked scholars and priests and wise men, and their answers were thoughtful, but they all disagreed. One told him the right time is always tomorrow, plan ahead. While another insisted, the right time is right now. Act immediately. And another said The most important thing is science or prayer or courage or strategy.

The king grew tired of the noise, so he decided to visit a hermit who lived deep in the forest, a man known less for his brilliance and more for his presence.

When the king arrived, the hermit was digging in the earth with a simple spade. He was frail and old, and the work looked exhausting. The king approached him. I’ve come to ask you three questions, he said. The hermit did not answer, instead he kept digging slow, deliberate strokes. So the king took the spade from him and began to dig himself, helping the man complete the work.

Hours passed. Suddenly a man staggered out of the woods, clutching his stomach, bleeding badly. The king and the hermit rushed to him. They cleaned the wound, stopped the bleeding, and carried the man inside. The king cared for him through the night.

By morning the wounded man opened his eyes and whispered “Forgive me”. The king was confused. The man explained that he had once been his enemy and had planned to ambush him on his journey. But when the king didn’t return, the man went searching, was wounded by the king’s guards, and stumbled toward the hermit’s hut, where the king himself saved his life.

The man wept. The king forgave him and promised to send him home healed and cared for.

When the visitor left, the king finally turned back to the hermit. I must know the answers to my questions, he said.

The hermit looked up from his work and smiled. You have already been shown the answers, he said. The right time is the only time that exists, the moment that you are in. Had you not stayed and helped me dig, you wouldn’t have met the wounded man. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, none of it matters more than now.

The right people are the ones who are with you in the present moment. Had you not attended to the wounded man, you might still be enemies.

And the most important thing is to do good for the person in front of you, for this alone is what life requires in the moment.

The king stood still. The forest was quiet. The sun slipped through the trees in thin golden lines, and for the first time in a long while he felt peaceful.

Tolstoy wrote this in the 1800s, but its wisdom feels almost tailor-made for the world that we live in right now, doesn’t it? We’re always strategizing and planning and projecting into what’s next, but this story reminds us that life only ever unfolds one moment at a time.

The right time isn’t in your calendar, and the right people aren’t the ones that you’re chasing. And that most important thing, well, it isn’t the thing you’re trying to get to. It’s the thing and the person right in front of you.

We rush because we’re afraid of falling behind. And we speed up because we think our worth is measured by output. But when we slow down, we can actually see what wants tending. Maybe that’s the real secret. Slowing down isn’t about doing less. It’s about doing what matters.

I hope that this story brought you some breath, or maybe you had pause or a flicker of clarity. And I’d love to hear what resonated if you feel like leaving a a response on wherever you listen. And if you feel if you feel called, share this episode with someone who might need a reminder to slow down and return to themselves.

Until next time, may your moments be spacious and grounded and full of possibility.

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