Far in the distance, I spotted a lone house. It was a simple building, sturdy and stout. Like a single Centurion standing watch over the land, it loomed high above me. Already weary from my journey, I nonetheless stepped forth towards it, pushing the last dregs of my energy and willpower into my heavy legs. Each step more difficult than the last, my breath ragged and dry, I climbed the hill the house was built upon. At last, with one more exertion of will, I arrived. Crawling the last few metres to the doorstep, I knocked and rested at last.

The weathered door opened with a rusty creak. There in the doorway stood the Farmer. He looked at me, looked through me into my very core, and judged me with his piercing eyes. At last, he spoke: “Who are you?”

“I don’t know,” my voice whispered, barely audible in my exhaustion. I said the only thing I could, the truth.

Fortunately, it seemed to be enough. The Farmer took me in, and with a thankful nod, I accepted. Before I could get settled in or even properly look around, though, he immediately started to teach me his art. I learnt how to read the seasons and the weather so as to sow crops at just the right time and conditions, as well as when to reap them. I learnt to take care of them, to know when they needed watering and when fertilising, as well as how to ward off pests of all kinds, from the smallest critters like bugs and rodents to bigger threats like boars and deer. I also learnt to harvest, not just to gather my crops but also how to properly prepare and store them.

I learnt a lot, but while I appreciated the art, my heart wasn’t in it. I could see it on the Farmer’s face. Perhaps he didn’t smile through all the work, but despite that, there was passion in him. In me, a void. So, when the final hour came and the Farmer had imparted me all the knowledge he could, I wasn’t surprised with what he said. Nay, I expected it.

“You’re no Farmer,” he proclaimed and said farewell.

I was crestfallen, but used to it. So I bid my farewell as well and took off once more. Another journey lay in front of me, another walk without a name. Perhaps the next one would be the one, and if not, then the one after that. I left the Farmer behind.

It didn’t take long for me to wander off the trodden path and get lost. I walked and I wondered, but no matter what happened, I couldn’t find my way back. So I simply roamed, drifting as a raft at sea. I walked, but a thick and heavy fog obscured my sight in all directions. I walked, but a dense forest stood in my path no matter which way I turned. I walked and walked until at last the path was clear and my own nature was not all that beckoned me onwards.

Far in the distance, I spotted a lone house. It was a simple building, nothing much to it. I looked up at it up on the lonely hill and knew it was my destination. With exhaustion creeping in, I carefully laid one foot in front of the other, slowly making my way up. Just as my willpower was about to run dry, I made it and knocked.

Behind the door stood the figure of the Baker. His eyes glanced over my worn-out body, and then he asked, “Who are you?”

“I don’t know,” I said as loud as I could, but with honesty.

To my luck, it was good enough. The Baker invited me inside and got right down to teaching me his art. I did the best I could. Learning to mix dough, as well as how to knead it. How to heat the oven and knowing precisely for how long to leave the dough inside. But then I had to learn how to do it all in large quantities while maintaining quality. And then learning how to do all this effectively and efficiently.

I saw the beauty in it, in the art of baking, but my spirit did not. For the Baker it was a passion; for me, work. So it came to be that as I learnt the last of what I could be taught, I already knew the proclamation that would follow.

“You’re no Baker,” he spoke my fate.

Once more, it weighed heavy on me, but once more I went on. I bid the Baker farewell and left for another journey, another chance. Next time, or the one after that.

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Despite my hope, I once more found myself straying. Straying off the path, straying from my destination, straying from my goals. With no house, with no one, to guide me, I didn’t know where to go. Which way to go. But then the dark forest opened up, and a new guiding light came into my path.

Far in the distance, I spotted a lone house. A simple building with nothing much to it. Exhaustion already seeping deep into my bones, I approached and, with the last of my strength, knocked and then waited.

At last, the Hunter opened. As soon as he spotted me, he asked, “Who are you?”

“I don’t know,” I replied out of breath, but honestly still.

He invited me in and soon after began to teach me the skills of his art. From him, I learnt how to take care of the wildlife, as well as how to sneak around and manage it when necessary. I also learnt to take care of my tools, to keep them always efficient.

In the end, while I’d learnt the hunter’s art, I couldn’t replicate a Hunter’s grace. And when the Hunter showed me the last of his skills, he knew it too.

“You’re no Hunter,” the Hunter said to me.

I knew it was coming, but it hit me all the same. I said goodbye, and not longer after I was off once more.

Ignoring much of what I’d just learnt, I got lost once again. Alone again, deep in the dark woods, I dared not call for help. And so I waited, waited and searched until a lucky break brought me out.

Far in the distance, I spotted a lone house. A simple building up on a lonely hill. I approached, tired as I was, and knocked.

The Builder opened and asked me, “Who are you?”

“I don’t know,” I said simply.

Soon after, I was inside his house, and the Builder began to teach. Teach how to build houses and how to lay bricks so that they don’t collapse under their own weight.

But while the Builder built homes, I built houses. And he knew this all too well.

“You’re no Builder,” he decided.

The effect was the same as always, numbed as I had become. We parted, and I didn’t look back.

Again, I tried to follow the path as best I could, but somehow I found myself off it one more time. So I persevered like usual, and again I found something new.

Far in the distance, I spotted a lone house. I approached the simple building and knocked.

“Who are you?” asked the Carpenter.

“I don’t know,” I replied.

To my luck, he took me in. I learnt much from him, how to carve wood into the artwork it desired to be.

Still, I never quite managed to get the essence of it.

“You’re no Carpenter.”

The familiar words rang through my mind as I said goodbye and left.

Far in the distance, I spotted a lone house. I approached and knocked.

“Who are you?” said the Smith.

“I don’t know,” said I.

I was invited in all the same, and the Smith taught me all he could about moulding the earth’s veins.

But the metal did not yield to me.

“You’re no Smith.”

I thanked him and left for greener pastures.

Far in the distance, I spotted a lone house.

“Who are you?” the Tanner.

“I don’t know.”

He taught me about the art of hides, about the skin of animals past.

Not enough.

“You’re no tanner.”

And so I left.

Far in the distance, I spotted a lone house.

“Who are you?” the Tailor.

“I don’t know.”

I was taught all he could teach me.

I failed.

“You’re no Tailor.”

I left.

Over and over, again and again. I clawed my way out of foggy forests and tried to learn, but it never worked out. Time and again I tried to mimic, to fit in, to be what was asked of me, but time and again the message was clear. Without heart, without soul, without spirit, I could not do it. Cycle after cycle, attempt after attempt. But the result remained the same. No, no, no. Those were the words most familiar to me. I had to end it, to break out of this loop. I had to put a stop to this. And then, out of nowhere, something new appeared.

Far in the distance, I spotted a lone house...