The Far Side of the Mountain

You see. I'm standing at the bottom of this mountain. I have to climb it. There's no summit though, not from what I can see. It's endless. The clouds are thick up there, and I don't know how far up it goes, and what it looks like towards the top. I don't even see a trail, where to put my first steps. I've tried walking in a couple of different directions, and always end up right back at the bottom of the mountain. Some days it'll feel like I'm making progress, but soon I find myself going in circles, or hitting a big massive slap-in-the-face kind of dead end, and once again am returned to the bottom of the mountain. What I would really like to do is stay here. Find myself an open meadow with a fresh creek running through and build myself a nice little cabin, where I can hold on to familiarity and the comfort of what I already know. Of what I can see in front of me, of a sure thing, even if it means missing out on the views and experiences and triumphs that come with making it to the top and on to the other side. I know I can't linger though. The option isn't even there. I've climbed similar mountains before, though none this big, none this treacherous or demanding of will, none with the promise of such a different landscape on the other side, more beautiful and free than anything I've ever experienced. At least that's what I believe, and I have to, because it's that belief and that hope that keeps me searching, that doesn't allow me to sit and be stagnant on this side. I'll make it to the top, first because of that promise for the future, but also because I have to, no matter how much I'd like to believe otherwise, there's nothing left for me here on this side. Nothing. If I could only fully believe that, I'd be on my way so much quicker.

Mt. Aspiring, my favorite mountain in New Zealand