Somehow this mountain has appeared in my swamp. The swamp isn’t enough to deal with – there’s a mountain now and I have to get over it or I will die. Really. It’s big and it’s scary and it’s insurmountable.
I look at it and I say I don’t know how it got there, but I do. I know that I built the mountain, stone by stone. And every time I threw a new stone up on the pile I looked at it and said that I’m not going to let that mountain get any higher. In fact, I really should start pulling the rocks off. And I do. I walk a little way and I half-heartedly pick up a rock or two and toss them back toward the swamp. And it just looks so big but I tell myself it’s not that bad. I say that I’m too tired today, I’m too sore. And I walk back down to where I started and stare at the mountain and I say I don’t know how it got so big but I’m not going to let it get any bigger and one day I will climb the damn thing.
Then I turn my back on it and sit down, tossing rocks over my shoulder making the mountain just a little bigger again.
I’ve been thinking about this metaphorical mountain a lot these past few days.
I sent this postcard I made into PostSecret a year or so ago. It actually got published. Some people even related. There’s a thread in the PostSecret community – I couldn’t respond because, well, people who live in a swamp sometimes have a hard time reaching out. Odd, isn’t it, that I cared enough to look it up and yet I couldn’t get involved myself. Too late now.
Anyway, I was feeling stuck. Still am, only now I’ve created this damn mountain.
I’m feeling sad tonight. But tomorrow I will get up and look at the mountain and walk as far as I can. I may get scared or tired or make excuses. I may sit down and rest. Hell I may walk back to where I am now. But then I will get up again. And I will turn around and walk as far as I can. Because that’s what I have to do.