One day while I was in high school, I was venting to my friend Kaleb about a boy. This boy had strung me along and made me feel like he liked me when he really did not. After I was done telling my tale of woe to Kaleb he told me a story.
He told me about the time he went hunting wild pig. About an hour into the hunt, he spotted a pig of normal size, nothing out of the ordinary. The pig was lean, and would not have a whole lot of meat to provide as spoils from the hunt. Kaleb said he had to make a decision: he could either shoot this pig and have it be his kill for the day, or he could keep going in hopes for a bigger, better pig further along the way. He decided to keep going.
This happened at the base of a mountain and his hunting party ended up hiking all the way up this mountain. At the top of the mountain, Kaleb was discouraged for a moment. But then, he saw something through his scope and he looked back and saw a gigantic pig. It was at least twice the size of the other pig. That ended up being the pig that he killed that day.
I do not agree with hunting for sport and I was very confused at why he told me this story. He then told me, “Lauren, you are the big pig. There are lots of small pigs that are easy to get, but they are not worth much. There is going to be a guy that hikes an entire mountain, past the small pigs of the world, to get to you, and that is how you will know he is right for you.” That story has stuck with me. It makes me laugh because I was called a big pig, but it brings me joy and confidence in a strange way.