I Moved Your Cheese by Deepak Malhotra Page B

elsewhere to find the cheese
.
    After all, for a mouse in a maze, cheese is really all that matters.
    But then …
    Well … then there was Max.
    And Max was altogether different.

MAX
    When Max was younger, he once asked his parents why there was a maze. His parents didn’t understand the question. When he persisted, they told him that some questions have no answers and that the maze simply
is
. When he asked why the maze was designed the way it was, and why it had so many useless paths, they told him not to waste time wondering why. They told him to focus, instead, on learning how to navigate the maze. You don’t get to the cheese by wondering why, they said; you get to it by running around the maze as fast as you can. The maze, they explained, was a
given
. You work with what you’re given. It is pretty arrogant for a young mouse to think that he could do otherwise, they cautioned.
    Max was not blessed with the virtue of blind obedience. Instead, he continued to annoy his parents, his friends, his teachers, and anyone else who made the mistake of discussing such matters with him. The more he questioned, the more he discovered how little the other mice understood. They
knew
a whole lot, but they
understood
very little.
    One day Max came across the good book. It infuriated him. He could not figure out how such a book could be so widely read and so blindly accepted. Upon reading the book, all the other mice had resolved to accept change without question because change, it taught, was inevitable and uncontrollable.
    But Max was different. And upon reading the book, Max resolved quite the opposite.
    Max was determined to discover who had moved the cheese. He was determined to discover why they had moved it. He was determined to discover why the maze was the way it was. And he was determined to change what he did not like about the maze. And so he set about it.
    And a long time passed.

ZED
    Zed was a mouse who did not care much for cheese. He ate cheese because it helped sustain his body. And he cared to sustain his body mostly because it was needed to sustain his mind.
    Zed had a reputation for being wise, although few mice had ever spoken with him in great depth. He was a popular mouse, but he usually only spoke on important matters when someone else initiated the conversation. Zed loved company, but he seemed to appreciate moments of solitude just as much.
    Zed had a magnetic personality. He had a certain look in his eyes—and a half smile—that mesmerized his audiences. And an audienceis what they were—the mice who visited him were there to be in his company, to hear him speak, to be rejuvenated. No one could quite explain why he had such an effect on them.
    What they knew, and what every other mouse came to know, was that Zed was a mouse like no other. He did not care for cheese, he did not care to learn how to navigate the maze, and he did not feel compelled to follow the routines and customs of the other mice. Yet, somehow, it was clear that Zed loved his life—the life of a mouse—more than any other mouse they had ever known.
    As a result, those who knew Zed—or had heard of him—simultaneously revered and feared him. They revered him because his mere presence—his manner of being—inspired them to be great. They feared him because hewas living proof that someone who seemed to challenge their every belief about what was important could still be happy—and in fact, could be happier than any other mouse in the maze.
    One day, on seeing Zed sitting quietly in one corner of the maze, a small group of mice gathered. As Zed lifted his eyes, he noticed that they were eager to speak with him. Zed had grown accustomed to such unplanned, informal discussions. He was accustomed to the way they began, the way they progressed, and the way they tended to end. He did not expect any surprises.
    That, perhaps, is why they are called surprises.

WHY
    One of the younger mice in