In the quiet village of Kesswil, Switzerland, where the calm waters of Lake Constance reflected the snow-covered Alps, a young man named Emil sat silently in the shadow of an ancient oak tree.
He had recently come back from years of pursuit of dreams abroad—dreams that had shattered. He had lost his investments, lost touch with close friends, and watched his self-assurance dwindle. Herr Baumann, his older neighbor and former gardener, sensed the weight in Emil's expression and sat down with him under the dense cover of the oak.
"Do you notice this tree, Emil?" the old man inquired, stroking his fingers lightly along the rough surface of the bark. "I have observed this tree for fifty years. Can you guess what keeps it so straight?"
Emil nodded silently.
“It’s because its roots running so deep inside,” Baumann said, his voice calm. “Far deeper than you can guess through stone, through cold, even through decay. A tree must face the darkness below if it ever hopes to reach the light above.”
As Emil looked up at the towering oak, something clicked. His setbacks, pain, and heartache—those were his roots. And now, with those roots beneath him, he felt ready to rise.
"No tree, it is said, can grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell."
Ever since then, Emil no longer held resentment towards his past. Rather, he accepted it as it was, realizing that it was fertile soil upon which his future would take root.
