Driving home, I thought about the most recent mountain top, and how, to my dismay, it turned out to be nothing but another false summit.

Another, ooh, so close. Perhaps even on the right track, but not yet, buddy.

Have you ever been in a spot where you keep thinking you're almost there?

A few minutes, hours, maybe days away, just to get pulled back into purgatory, into that valley

of despair, and you begin to wonder, was the progress all for not? Or was it not even progress?

In those moments, God, it's so easy to point out at the world and project. You're climbing, right?

Up and up and up and you're fighting your mind and body to get there.

Traversing the seemingly endless spaces, battling the relentless elements.

The whole time there's one thing pulling you through.

That mountaintop in the distance.

That single peak, you can see it piercing the sky and calling your name.

It's where you look when you're in doubt or pain or dealing with turbulence.

That'll be me one day, you tell yourself.

And then you get there. Like you actually arrive. And the first thing that you realize

that comes to your attention is that this peak isn't the end, not even close, false summit.

Right? Surprise. There's more to go. More pain to endure, more obstacles to navigate.

When will this end? When will enough be enough? Which may have even been the literal words.

I muttered to myself as I drove home. Tired. Just tired. Tired of almost getting there. Tired of almost feeling like enough.

Tired of, you know, feeling like I'm a few feet away, only a few feet, but somehow forever a few feet

away. To acquire and nurture a pain tolerance is a gift.

I believe that.

But any rational mind will at some point look around and realize there are parallel life tracks out there, parallel options,

...