The Climb

Nightfall Near Olana - Frederic Edwin Church

There was a moment recently in the depths of my despair when my eyes glazed over, my stance dizzied, my heart raced, and my nerves pulsated. A surrender began to descend upon me as I realized I could not turn back the hands of time or change the outcome. I could only accept what was and move forward from this space of sorrow and confusion into a greater unknown abyss.

The forward momentum had been stripped away, years of progress seemingly yanked from under my feet. The steadiness in my glide had slipped through my toes, and I'd been swaying with far less swagger in my steps in recent days.

I had always assumed life would work itself out. While there'd be mountains to climb and molehills to tackle, at the end of all the rough terrain, I'd arrive at some peak with the sun gleaming on my cheeks, arms stretched to the skies, shouting "Yes!" with great elation. As if the climb was somehow done and won and finished for good. As if you'd get to the summit, celebrate the victory of coming so far, and that was it. But no. Life was only getting started with me, and those huge mountainous terrains of my past now seem like little bunny hills in hindsight.

Instead, I find myself at the bottom of a mountain resembling what I imagine K2, Annapurna, Nanga Parbat or Gasherbrum I to be—one of those highest, seemingly insurmountable peaks. This is how life has begun to feel.

I'm not a climber, more of a sports documentary enthusiast. I know, I know—I've taken comfort in the thrill of it from my cushy couch and fuzzy blanket. Some of these extreme sports aren't as exciting to watch as the adrenaline of the climb itself I’d imagine, but they've brought me entertainment. I've wasted money on unused subscriptions, but I've certainly taken full advantage of Netflix. I thought I'd be grandfathered in since I'd been with the movie-binging service since its earliest days, but no such luck. I pay to play, and that's okay. There's something spectacular about watching someone push their brain and body to the limits—part of why I know these peaks. Nims Purja is like the world's coolest man after breaking the record in that incredible documentary "14 Peaks: Nothing Is Impossible"

But I digress.

Back to the bottom of the high peak that stands before me. I wonder if I'll make it to the halfway point. Now that I realize those steep climbs of yesteryear were more like little hikes, this new mountain feels striking.

The climb seems daunting now, even futile. For the first time in my life, I feel like throwing in the towel, turning my back on this big mean mountain before me. Cozying back up under my weighted blanket, hoping the clouds will lift and I'll feel all the fuzzy things in life again—one day seeing life as an epic adventure rather than a hard teacher barreling lesson after lesson for me to perform and pass.

Life feels altogether different now. It's beginning to feel less like mystery and magic and more like a ball of tension full of burdens and sadness.

But I'm hoping, like the clouds, this will pass and lift, and the sky will soften into a light and bright baby blue.