The upcoming days and months (perhaps years) will continue to examine what it means and how it feels to be American. As the election approaches, many people I advise find themselves predicting its impact on their lives, communities, and even the world. At times, I recognize my thoughts trailing and catastrophizing as well. But this tendency to forecast outcomes—often through worst-case scenarios—can lead to unnecessary anxiety and distress. In psychology, we refer to it as fortune telling. Fortune telling is a common automatic thought where we predict negative outcomes, often without evidence, which leads to unnecessary worry and emotional suffering. A compelling way to understand this concept is through the ancient parable of the Chinese farmer.
The parable goes like this:
A farmer in a small village owned a horse. One day, the horse ran away. His neighbors exclaimed, “How unfortunate!” The farmer replied calmly, “Maybe, maybe not.” A few days later, the horse returned, bringing with it a group of wild horses. The neighbors again reacted with excitement, saying, “How wonderful!” Again, the farmer simply responded, “Maybe, maybe not.”
Soon after, the farmer’s son tried to ride one of the wild horses and fell, breaking his leg. The neighbors came once again to express their sympathy: “How terrible!” The farmer replied, as before, “Maybe, maybe not.” A week later, military officials came to the village to draft young men for war but passed over the farmer’s son because of his injury. Once again, the neighbors rejoiced, “How fortunate!” And the farmer, still unperturbed, answered, “Maybe, maybe not.”
This story illustrates the dangers of cognitive fortune telling: jumping to conclusions about future events without considering that we don’t know the whole story. The farmer’s neighbors represent a mindset that evaluates each event as either “good” or “bad” with a sense of finality. They impose their beliefs on an unknowable future, creating stress and emotion tied to predictions that may or may not come true. Meanwhile, the farmer embodies a mindfulness that prevents fortune-telling; he allows events outside of his control to unfold and refrains from assigning them positive or negative outcomes prematurely.
When we predict negative outcomes without evidence, we close ourselves to other possibilities, getting trapped in a narrow view of potential future events. For example, someone might think, “I’ll never get this promotion,” and act based on this assumption, perhaps avoiding the opportunity or self-sabotaging. By assuming the worst, they may unintentionally bring it to pass, or, at the very least, deprive themselves of peace.
The parable of the Chinese farmer challenges this mindset by suggesting the full consequences of any event are often unknowable until much later. What may initially seem like a misfortune could eventually bring unexpected blessings, and vice versa. This doesn’t mean we ignore negative events but approach them with curiosity and self-control rather than a knee-jerk judgment.
To break free from fortune telling, try questioning your negative predictions. Techniques like journaling, talking respectfully with trusted others who hold a different perspective, or practicing meditation to take a “cognitive pause” can help us become more aware of when we are fortune telling. Instead of “I know this will go wrong,” one might ask, “What are the different possible outcomes?” By observing events with patience and avoiding fortune telling, we create mental space for hope, resilience, and openness to whatever life brings. Through the lens of this parable, fortune telling is not just a thought to avoid; it’s a worldview that we can choose to replace with a calm acceptance of life’s mysteries. The meaning we attribute to our thoughts about the future determines how that “certain” future shapes our emotional experience of life.
I invite you to be mindful and exercise self-care this week and in the coming months because we can’t know what will happen, but we know we can navigate it together and focus on what we can control.
