Editors note: I’ve been reviewing the archives, and coming across some amazing gems worth revisiting. My current self cannot remember writing this. The beauty of writing. I heal myself with an older self, and I am so grateful for these bright pages. Originally published March 10th, 2009.
This has infused itself into my brain for a while, and I go back to it all the time when I’m feeling like the goals I set for myself are all too high. They aren’t really. I recently read that the size and weight of your challenges is a test of the strength of your self. Like lifting weights – your muscles work at the best of their strength when they’re met with a weight that is as big as you can handle. So, I look at my challenges like weight lifting. It is also immeasurably true that I will never give up. I do not want to give up this path that I’m on. I’m not going to resign myself to not achieving my dreams or my goals. Never. Ever. I will be the pioneer who keeps going through the snow and the forest because she knows there’s a glowing candle on a wooden table somewhere at the edge of winter.
My mountain was deceptively skirted by grass at the base, and gave way to denser and denser forests, always on an incline. It felt good to walk uphill, feel myself stronger. Soon the forests gave way to clarity, and I rested on the steppes for a while. Now I’m climbing even higher – and I’m quite alone now on this treacherous path. There was only room for one. Sometimes I send for helicopters or sherpas. But they take a while to come. The rocks are very jagged and the fall is immense. But my feet are firmly planted, and I can breathe the fresher air at the top of this mountain, I can rest on the boulders and push some of them off the dirt road. Rest, absorb the view, eat some berries from the side of the path. Soon I’ll get to the top. Why? Why am I climbing? For what reason do I need to get to the top? Because I can see the people I love there. They have toboggans. One has a hot-air balloon. Some skis, suitcases that are gateways to other worlds coloured like pink and golden sunshine. I may be kidding myself. But that is what I see.
The mountain is made of screenplays, pages of novels, novellas, word upon word. Each step is a word, each word is a step. From the top this mountain, it must feel amazing, I think. To stand upon the stacks of soft edged pages that I wrote, to feel under my feet the novels that are bound like the steppes themselves. Words like pebbles I can throw or keep in my pocket. Soon I know I’ll be able to lay on this mountain of work and let my love for it soak right through all the layers as I lay looking at the clouds, able to breathe, calm. Then I’ll jump in a hot air balloon!! And let other people walk along the paths I made up this mountain, to find the pebbles and steppes for themselves. I’m leaving nice things for you all along the way. The soft beds I made and fire circles I left. It will be nice for you. That is my intention. I might even come back and visit in the hot-air balloon with gifts from other mountains. It is all of life, and life is amazing.
“The period of greatest gain in knowledge and experience is the most difficult period in one’s life.”
– Dalai Lama