The river he wouldn't cross

Xiang Yu was beaten at Gaixia. Eight hundred riders broke out with him, and by the time he reached the Wu River only twenty-eight were left, and he was wounded in several places.

The local commander of Wujiang had a boat moored and was waiting. He said: the east of the river is still yours. There are a hundred thousand families there. Get in, and the Han army can't follow.

Xiang Yu said: when I crossed this river with eight thousand sons of Chu, and not one returned, how can I face the elders of Chu. Even if they pitied me, I couldn't bear it.

Then he gave the boat's commander his prized horse, turned with the twenty-eight, and fought until he was killed. The last thing he did was recognise an old friend in the enemy ranks, and offer him his head for a reward.

The story is famous and almost everybody uses it to talk about honour.

What's in it for a person today is smaller and stranger: it's the difficulty of being forgiven.

He wasn't short of men. He'd been offered the safe exit with the boat already in the water. What he couldn't do was accept a life where he'd lost eight thousand people and come back without them. The state of mind was the problem, and it was the one thing the boat couldn't carry.

Most people who can't take the exit aren't proud. They're afraid of what will be said about them, or of accepting something they don't think they deserve.

If someone puts the boat in the water for you, get in. Then do something with the rest of the crossing.

MOJOWAY's clients sometimes need this more than any plan. The file shows them how far they've come, which is usually further than the scoreboard they're carrying.