Once a circle missed a wedge. It wanted to be whole, so it looked around for its missing piece. Because it's incomplete, it can only roll very slowly. Along the way, he envied the flowers. It chats with worms. It enjoys the sunshine. It found many different pieces, but none of them fit. So he dumped them all on the side of the road and kept looking.

Then one day, it found the perfect fitting. It was very happy. Now it can be complete, lacking nothing. It loaded the missing parts and began to roll. Now it had become a perfect circle, rolling very fast, too fast to notice the flowers, too fast to talk to the bugs. When it realized how different the world had become because it was rolling so fast, it stopped, left the pieces it had found by the side of the road, and rolled slowly away.

The lesson of the story, I think, is that in some strange sense we are more whole when we are missing something. The man who has everything is in some ways a poor man. He will never know what it is to yearn, what it is to hope, what it is to nourish his soul with dreams of good things. He will never know the experience of having someone who loves him give him something he has always wanted or never had.

Once a circle missed a wedge. It wanted to be whole, so it looked around for its missing piece. Because it's incomplete, it can only roll very slowly. Along the way, he envied the flowers. It chats with worms. It enjoys the sunshine. It found many different pieces, but none of them fit. So he dumped them all on the side of the road and kept looking.

Then one day, it found the perfect fitting. It was very happy. Now it can be complete, lacking nothing. It loaded the missing parts and began to roll. Now it had become a perfect circle, rolling very fast, too fast to notice the flowers, too fast to talk to the bugs. When it realized how different the world had become because it was rolling so fast, it stopped, left the pieces it had found by the side of the road, and rolled slowly away.

The lesson of the story, I think, is that in some strange sense we are more whole when we are missing something. The man who has everything is in some ways a poor man. He will never know what it is to yearn, what it is to hope, what it is to nourish his soul with dreams of good things. He will never know the experience of having someone who loves him give him something he has always wanted or never had.