When I was six, I dreamt of mountains so high God himself would have been awestruck. They towered over me, waiting to be discovered. The hidden chasms behind each rock face held secrets in stone and stories untold of how the land before it came to be as we knew it. Somewhere, out in the distance in those stone pinnacles and steeples, you could find your true calling.
When I was fifteen I saw infinities up above. The clouds held mysteries filled with unfathomable energy. The night sky grew before my eyes while I sat feeling small, squinting in its deep corners, searching for another dim star, something to make me feel as if I was spotting a secret. Our galaxy overwhelmed me, while I sat and believed infinity was a reachable star.
When I was twenty one I discovered life as the world around me knows it. The responsibilities that flowed in, begging to be felt in our modern day culture overtook me with ambition. The pure freedom I felt to go anywhere blinded me, making me see only one thing and one place at a time; a prison in itself. I set goals and reached some and shelved others and told myself it was “all in my life’s plan” and “some things aren’t meant to be” and felt myself let go of things out of pure disbelief that they were possibilities.
Some mountains can’t be climbed and few men ever walk on the moon but if we continued to set our goals at eye level, how would you ever know that infinities can exist in a single heart-stopping moment and sometimes, peaking a mountain isn’t what is worth it, it’s the climb you took to get there that you’ll have said you survived.