The Daunting Cliff

My life is a mountain range filled with hills and valleys, ridges, slopes and cliffs. A lot of cliffs.

I’m always trying to get to the summit, to stand above everything, and to claim the world as my own.

But there are so many boulders to climb over, so many crags to trek around. And so many cliffs to fall off of.

I don’t bring climbing gear. Or if I do, I ditch it early on because it’s too heavy to carry the burden of.

I never want to prepare for the journey, all I want is to reach my destination. I want the end result without putting forth any work. I’m a small child winning “are we there yet?” to an empty chasm.

Every trail I hike, every rock face I scale, every crest I walk along tires me further. And every mudslide that knocks me down disscourages me from trying again.

But I continue on, because they say my destiny is at the top.

Though just as I’m about to reach the peak, to accomplish my dreams, to finish the task that haunted me for so long, I’m torn down. My big moment, my glory taken away. Looted, stolen from a scandal called anxiety.

The treasure I had longed for was once again out of my grasp because I was ripped down below sea level.

And they tell me to get back up and do it again.

So I pick myself up, and take a step forward.

Because that is what I’m supposed to do.