I Moved Your Cheese (4 page)

“So I decided to do something about it.

“Discovering how to do it took only a few weeks. Each night, the administrators who designed our maze left instructions for their assistants. In the morning, the assistants read the instructions and made the appropriate changes to the maze. They then studied the mice all afternoon and noted their observations in a logbook. In the evening, the administrators read the data provided by their assistants and decided on the instructions for the following day. The same cycle repeated every day. It was all very mundane.

“That's when I stepped in.

“I started to change what the administrators described in their instructions, and then what the assistants noted in their logbook. In this way, I was able to affect the changes that were made in the maze. I started out slowly. In the beginning, I made only small changes—moving one wall at a time, usually in a remote passage of the maze. Eventually, I became bolder. I redesigned the maze almost completely. The maze is now more efficient and its design more inspiring. There is now more cheese in the maze, although it is not always easier to find.

“Why do this? What was my purpose? To help mice see the maze for what it is. To give them more time to evaluate the paths they are taking. To encourage them to think. To motivate them to discover what their happiness
really depends on. To encourage them to discover their own purpose.

“But do you see the irony? Try as I may to help other mice, the result is still a maze that is based on my preferences and that serves my purpose—
not theirs
. The mice in the maze are no freer today than they were before! The new maze is better than the old maze, but the mice are still subject to the rules of others.

“But this does not have to be.

“If a single mouse decided, on her own, that she was no longer going to blindly pursue cheese, she would be free. I would have no control over her. My rules would be irrelevant.

“If a single mouse decided, as I decided months ago, to leave the maze, she would be free.

“If a single mouse proclaimed, as you did earlier today, that there are more interesting and important things to ponder than cheese, she would be free.

“Tell all of this to a mouse in the maze. How do you suppose he will respond? If he believes that no one can achieve greatness, then he will thank you for showing him that it is possible. However, there are also mice who
hope
that greatness is not achievable—because this alone helps justify their unquestioning ways. Tell such a mouse that greatness is possible, and he will hate you for it.

“I believe that the hunger for inspiration is greater than the hunger for cheese. But even if I am wrong, I cannot allow a maze that teaches mice that they are small and unimportant. I cannot allow a maze that teaches mice that
there is nobility or wisdom in weakness and suffering. I cannot allow a maze that makes the pursuit of cheese a given. I cannot allow a maze that tells a young mouse that she cannot know or cannot achieve. I was a young mouse in exactly such a maze. And I will not allow it.

“And
that
is my pursuit.

“You are the first mouse with whom I share this because I know you will understand. And the reason I know this is simple …

“I moved the cheese for all sorts of mice in the maze—and I influenced them. By moving their cheese, I changed how they thought, what they felt, which direction they traveled, and what they believed.

“I moved
your
cheese, too, Zed—many times. And you simply did not care.”

Max had finished his tale. The look on his face suggested that he was content. He wanted nothing from Zed. He was not seeking approval. He was not looking for a specific reaction.

“Thank you for sharing your story with me,” said Zed. “Yours is truly a remarkable journey. You are a mouse like no other.”

It was now dark.

“Let's talk more tomorrow,” Zed suggested. “It is getting late. Will you meet me here in the morning?”

“Yes,” said Max.

Max expected Zed to get up and walk past him down the passage. Instead, Zed turned toward the corner and began to walk straight toward the wall. Max looked at him, confused. This was a dead end. Was Zed planning on staying here, in the corner, for the night? Had he become disoriented?

Zed kept walking.

It was perhaps a moment before Zed walked headfirst into the wall that Max opened his mouth to shout a warning: “Stop!”

And then he saw it happen.

Before his very eyes, Max saw Zed walk
through
the wall. He walked through it as if the wall were not even there … as if the wall were made of nothing but air … as if the wall simply did
not matter. And he was gone. Max stood there, staring blankly at the wall.

A moment later, he heard Zed's voice from the other side of the wall.

“You were right, Max,” he said. “It
is
possible to be free. And tomorrow, I will tell you
my
story.”

Max sat down, utterly stunned. He knew Zed was smiling. He had to smile back.

“And
I
have been the one talking this whole time,” Max thought to himself in amusement.

Max arrived at their meeting place early the next morning. He had not slept all night. But he felt more awake—more alive—than ever. He noticed that he was looking down the long passage in anticipation of Zed. He had to laugh.

Any other mouse would have to walk down that passage to come here, he thought. But Zed did not. He did not have to do anything. He could appear from anywhere.

And then he saw Zed walking toward him, as any other mouse would, down the long passage. And he laughed again.

Once they had greeted each other and were seated, Zed spoke.

“Yesterday, Max, before you started your story, you told me that everything you were going to tell me was true. ‘Even the impossible.'”

“That's right,” agreed Max.

“Well,” said Zed, “let
me
start by saying that nothing I will tell you is impossible.”

Max nodded.

Zed went on. “What would you say if I told you that there was no difference—none—between what you accomplished when you exited the maze and what I did last night?”

“I would say that it may be true, but I don't see how it is possible,” replied Max.

“Max, how did you exit the maze?” asked Zed.

“I reached for the top of the wall. I pulled myself
up. And then I climbed out. I had help. Big was there to help me up,” answered Max.

“All of that is true. But go back further in your story. Why are you the only mouse that has ever exited the maze? Why was Big there to help
you
? How did you get to a point in your life where you were reaching for the top of a wall?”

Max thought for a moment. Then he answered. “I was the only one trying to get out.”

“So what,
essentially
, is the reason for your accomplishment?”

“My decision. My resolve. My
thought
. The thought that I would escape.”

“And everything else followed from that,” added Zed.

“Yes.”

“You had a thought. And that thought directed actions that gave physical shape to your thought—to your vision. It is the same with me. I did what I thought I could do. I did what I decided was the way it had to be. I do not think about the maze, or its walls, the way most others do. You and I have that in common.”

“But there is a difference,” said Max. “What I did was … possible. What you did … physically, or however … is not … It defies everything we know. It's not supposed to be.”

“Then there is no difference at all,” said Zed. “There's not a mouse in the maze who thought it was possible for you to accomplish what you did. It transcended
their
thinking, but not yours.”

“I agree. But, still, there is a difference. I can explain to you how I escaped the maze. I have done so. Can you explain to me—describe to me—how you walked through that wall?”

“Yes. I can explain it,” answered Zed. “Everything that happens—everything that we do—stems from our thoughts. Consider physical pursuits: if we want to reach for a piece of cheese, our thinking directs our body to move toward the cheese. Although our thoughts and body are not physically connected, the body reacts because the mind
insists
it is possible to move the body in specific and meaningful ways. Watch a newborn mouse and you will see that such conviction is not something we are born with, but something we must cultivate through sustained practice and reflection. It's the same with our other pursuits—those that are not
physical. If we focus on solving a problem, there is no physical connection between the intention to accomplish this goal, the mental effort that follows, and the ultimate solution. What allows us to go from problem to analysis to solution is the insistence of the mind. This is what must be understood—what must be realized.
This
is the explanation, for all of it: there is no physical continuity anywhere, and
everything
stems from the insistence of the mind.”

Max looked at him attentively, considering the words.

Zed continued. “It doesn't matter whether
you
think that you can walk through walls. After all, you found your own way to escape the maze. But you should realize that the same process was in play when you went farther than any other mouse you had ever encountered. You
refused to accept the assumptions, the rules, and the constraints that others had accepted. You were able to have the thought—and to develop the conviction—that you could know more and do more. And so you went about doing it. I did the same. I challenged assumptions. I broke rules. I ignored constraints. I refused to believe that
anything
was a given. The result was inevitable. The maze ceased to exist.”

“Then … it does not really exist?” asked Max. “For anyone?”

“It does. For most mice, it does. They define themselves—their very existence—in reference to the maze. You have said it many times yourself—you have described them as mice in the maze. That statement isn't false, but it is dangerously misleading.”

“How so?” asked Max.

Zed smiled.

“You see, Max, the problem is not that the mouse is in the maze, but that the maze is in the mouse.”

Max and Zed had sat together now, in silence, for almost an hour. Neither had more to say. Neither was in any rush to leave.

Max was thinking—his mind was working to understand, to capture, all that Zed had just explained to him. He knew that it would be a long time before he could
realize
—to make real for himself—what he was beginning to comprehend. But the conversation had left him energized. He was happy.

Zed was also thinking. He was thinking about the incredible mouse sitting before him, who had managed to climb out of the maze and take control of his world. He had learned something from Max—something he
had never cared to know before. But, knowing it now, he was amused … It had been Max, working away in the logbook outside the maze, who had placed that fresh piece of cheese he found next to his bed each morning.

After some time, the two mice parted. They would meet again as friends.

Each would continue to follow his own path. But each would be helped along in his journey—strengthened by the knowledge of the other … knowing that somewhere in the maze—or beyond—there was a mouse like no other.

It was a day like any other for Big. He woke up, stretched, and then began his morning run. He ran through the maze—fast—following his usual path. He normally ran for an hour, and then shifted his attention to strength training.

Big had used a single criterion when he first decided to chart out the path he would follow during his morning runs. Big wanted to sprint at maximum speed through the maze and did not want the hassle of having to dodge crowds of other mice. His path consisted of the least crowded passages in the maze.

But on this day, Big noticed that something had changed. The passages he was running through—the ones he had always run
through—were crowded. After he finished his run, he reflected on this. He realized that the population of mice in the maze had been increasing, slowly, for quite some time. He had noticed this earlier, in some parts of the maze, but never thought much about the trend until today. Today, it had affected his run.

Something had to be done about it. Big spent the afternoon walking through the maze, exploring it fully. He paid special attention to the more remote passages. After he felt that he had seen enough, he considered his options.

The path he had followed in the past was still one of the best. Some improvements could be made, of course, and it seemed like a good idea to make them. Big worked on the problem for an hour, until he was satisfied that
he had mapped out the best path for his run. He looked at the map. It was good. But it wasn't great.

The path he charted out could work—for a while. But soon even the more remote passages would become crowded—not tremendously crowded, but enough to slow him down. That was unacceptable.

He reflected on the situation. He found himself considering, for the first time in his life, the maze. He had never before given it any thought. It had been irrelevant to him. But now its design, its very existence, was standing in the way of his pursuit. He could not accept that.

The maze was big. But it was not big enough.

The maze was a way of life. But it was not his way of life.

The maze was all he had ever known. But it was not all he could imagine.

The decision was made.

It was late in the evening. Big walked toward one of the edges of the maze. When he reached the wall, he touched it gently. He took a step back. Then he thrust forward with all his might … and punched straight through the wall.