A young traveler set out at dawn, filled with ambition for the long journey ahead. The sky was clear, the air cool, and the road stretched before him like a promise. He walked with light steps, proud of his steady progress. By late afternoon, he had covered more ground than he expected.

But as the sun began to sink, the path suddenly changed. The smooth dirt road turned into uneven stones and jagged rocks. Each step became slower and more painful. Dust swirled around his ankles. His confidence evaporated.

Annoyed and exhausted, he stopped, looked up at the sky, and shouted:

“Why must the road become so harsh now?”

“If this is what the path is going to be like, I’ll never make it to the end!”

His complaint echoed into the hills.

From the shade of a nearby tree, an old man—gray-haired, leaning on a wooden staff—lifted his head. He had been resting there quietly, watching the scene unfold. With a gentle chuckle, he approached the traveler.

“Young man,” the old man said, “you’ve judged a thousand miles by seeing just one.”

The traveler frowned. “What do you mean?”

The old man smiled.

“You walked an entire day on good road and assumed the whole journey would be easy. Then one patch of stones, and you assume the whole journey will be hard. A path is made of many kinds of ground—smooth, rough, steep, flat. But none of them last forever. Only a fool decides whether he can finish a journey based on a single moment of it.”

The traveler looked at his tired feet, then at the rocky stretch ahead. The old man tapped the ground with his staff.

“Keep walking. Tomorrow may surprise you. But if you stop here, this small rough patch will become your whole world.”

Understanding dawned on the young traveler. He bowed to the old man, steadied himself, and continued onward into the twilight—one careful step at a time.

And as the old man watched him go, he murmured:

“The journey becomes clear only to those who keep moving.”