Wisdom is blind to age, wealth, location, upbringing, and social class. Not everyone can be wise, but profound insight can come from anyone. He would walk around the steppe with his small, weathered hands locked behind his back, and look off into the distance with a furrowed brow and an expression that made apparent that heavy matters were on his mind. Maybe he wondered where the flock was at that moment. Or how to quell his sister’s incessant sobbing. Whatever it was, it was clear this boy didn’t inherit his older brothers’ love for soccer. This young sage adopted his father’s hardened stoicism, and it seemed like he was burdened with something that was not his, anxieties that no child should have to bare. Then again, Mongolia is a different place. Maybe the life on an isolated steppe carries a weight that a foreigner like me can’t understand; what it’s like to live day to day knowing that complete self-reliance is the difference between failure and survival and knowing very coldly not to look for compassion in nature.  He would crack a smile every once in a while revealing a crooked grin and a rotten tooth, but his face didn’t light up as often or to the same degree as his siblings. Maybe behind every smile was his family, both immediate and distant, people who endure that unforgiving terrain together. Maybe he already knew that the only thing that matters in this life are the people in it. Smart kid. He walked, he observed, he absorbed, and he thought. He was beyond his small amount of years. He was otherworldly.