Mountains, personal ones, are among life’s most relative features. What is flat ground to one, something that can be crossed with the ease of a stroll, can be a daunting peak to another. A true 14er. One that takes real inner strength to scale. And when scaled, it is something that should always be looked back on as a real accomplishment, not something to be diminished by comparison with others for whom it constitutes nothing close to a mountain.
Looking back, when we get far enough away from these accomplishments, time tends to flatten the ground that once was. We might reflect and believe we’ve never engaged in a meaningful hike, that we’ve completed so little that was difficult. But this is a symptom of a slow-growing existential illness. Its most recognizable sign is the loss of perspective in relation to your own personal journey.
You become consumed with questions of general identity, while recognizing your own self, your baseline, less and less. Only we can truly map our own terrain.
Hold on to the challenges you’ve summited. Bask in snow-capped reflections, the ones where it may be that only you know where the snow sits, because you’ve been there. It might be just a personal patch of peak, but it was one for which your life offered no bypass and no alternative route.
Look back sometimes. It can be healthy and restorative. But do it mostly in search of signs of demonstrated resilience. Yes, take a moment to appreciate these views, the ones lived before they were truly seen. Yes, take them in, but mostly as the best and most refined kind of fuel.
Spirit diesel.