Climbing My Everest

I watched a movie recently about a group of mountain climbers attempting to climb Mt. Everest. They were somewhat successful, but there were casualties along the climb, bodies which had to be left on the mountain, almost like reminders of how difficult the journey had been.

Being me, I looked at the movie as a sort of analogy to my own life. When I first started this journey as a writer/author, I had no clue what was waiting ahead on my climb. There were people who I considered as friends and compatriots who were with me when this climb began. I was cheered and encouraged by them, making the ascent not seem as arduous.

Yet, as I get closer to the zenith of my own personal Everest, I look behind me and I see bodies lying in the snow, corpses of former friends and supporters who lost faith in me and this journey. I didn't sacrifice them to my struggle, I focused on my struggle, never becoming distracted by stuff which others felt was more important. Friendships which had once seemed impenetrable and unbreakable, have fallen to the wayside, abandoned like heavy bags of sorrows.

The crest of the mountain is coming in sight, and I'm surrounded by people who weren't with me in the beginning, but have proven themselves as true friends and believers. I'm focused on completing this climb, bolstered by those who deem me worth their efforts and their time. We'll get there, and the view from the top will be worth the struggle.