3.19.25 // Peaks and Valleys

How do I remember the peaks when the valleys feel so dark?
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The peaks linger so high above me, their snow-covered ridges basking in the sun, glittering with satisfaction. The climb to reach them feels ominous, defeating, frightening... endless.
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Each step up the mountain sends sweat cascading down my spine, blood pumping through my heart, and occasionally, tears forming in the corners of my eyes before staining my cheeks with thick lines of salt. Once the journey toward the peak has begun, my head hangs, eyes down, locking in, pushing harder, convincing myself that I am my own limitation.
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But the steep, treacherous climb offers respite: views for miles, streams with fresh water, places to rest. Yet I grind forward, fixated only on the summit.
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Because I’ve convinced myself that if I can plant my feet on the shimmering snow, letting the sun caress my calloused skin, I’ll no longer know suffering. Once I finally pull myself from the dark, rooted, complicated valleys, I’ll see the world, myself, and my path more clearly. I’ll trust my footing. And before I reach the summit, I’ll swear up and down that I’ll look around.
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But, only once I’m at the top.
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But it’s the lie I tell myself: that the peak will end my suffering if I just push harder. That if I keep going and deny myself joy along the way, the joy will be waiting for me at the end. I rob myself of contentment, of giddy excitement, because I need to push. Because joy is reserved for those who earn it.
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Lies.
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Joy is reserved for those who want it—those willing to let it into their hearts, who are eager to see it all around them. That doesn’t mean suffering disappears. It means they allow the sweet nectar of happiness to soak into their soul despite the odds, despite the sweat, despite the tears.
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I don’t think it’s about finding silver linings. It’s about living in dichotomy. It’s standing on the glittering peaks. It’s basking in the darkness of the valleys. It’s climbing up. It’s slipping down. It’s remembering the summits in the valleys and the valleys on the peaks.
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It’s acceptance. It’s celebration. It’s the unshaken promise to look up.