"Everyone wants to live on the mountain, but all the happiness and growth occurs while you climb it." ~ Andy Rooney
Three months ago I had a great opportunity – a free weekend trip to Snowdonia, Wales.
After I had chronic illnesses in the last six years of my life, I had hibernated.
My days were a black and white routine: waking up, drinking a smoothie mix, going to work, meditating, coming home, lying down, eating, sleeping. Still, my mind was always so busy with endless tasks, big dreams and a growing feeling of pressure that I longed for more than what I had.
When this opportunity arose. I was immediately scared. What if I couldn't handle the trip? What if I don't get enough sleep? What if I couldn't find food that I could tolerate?
Another part of me glittered with gold.
An adventure. A story. A long lost, forgotten part of me.
So I called a friend.
The next morning we made our way to Wales.
The seven-hour journey flew by in an ultimate flow feeling.
We came to a quaint, quiet hostel high up on the hills. Sheep scattered their white wool; tiny snowdrops on a vast, barren land. A gray sky painted watercolor clouds, and deep green trees sang and swayed as they made room for the wind.
We sat quietly and watched. High ceilings and red carpets kept the room quiet. The wind outside howled and stormed, brewed and roared and boiled a frenzied feast for the night.
We fell asleep in our new world. A no man's land that strangely felt like home.
We got up the next morning without a clear plan, just to wake up and see where the wind would take us. Our eyelashes fluttered as we looked outside to see what surprises the storm had dispersed and sown for us.
We decided to drive around the winding hills of wanderlust, with each corner revealing another crystal blue lagoon littered with gray slate and white layers of snow.
We parked the car on the left side of the street and looked up appreciatively. Our eyes sparkled at the sight of green fields, rusty iron gates, and trickling rivers gently surrounded by bracken and boulders. A tiny, snow-capped peak that is delicate, precarious, and nicely painted and just waiting to be explored.
And so we went.
We went and we went and saw a lonely red hat, left and long forgotten. My boots shaped the muddy mud that was crushed with freshly fallen snow. We marched on.
I was determined to reach the top.
An hour after our ascent, I squealed for joy: "Look, we're almost there!"
"No," he said. "That's just the beginning."
And he was right.
When we achieved what I thought was our summit, another higher, rockier, snowier mountain suddenly appeared before our eyes.
"Oh," I said.
And so we kept climbing for hours.
To my great surprise, each climax we reached showed another one. Each with its own intricate beauties – blue laced lagoons; pretty white blankets of pure, untouched snow; higher altitudes with a dazzling white shimmer.
Three hours later I finally realized that my urge to reach every new summit limited my limitless joy.
The joy of climbing, the joy of falling. The joy of dancing, the joy of being.
The joy of appreciating the here, the now, the moment.
I stopped and turned around.
"I think that's enough," I said.
Once in my life. I didn't want to get upstairs. I didn't want to master the next big challenge. I wanted to stop. I wanted to breathe. I wanted to play.
And so we breathed.
We filled our pale pink lungs with cold, clear air as we slid and slid on ice sheets. We looked up and laughed. We didn't have to get upstairs. What did we have to prove?
We were all right here.
And so we made our descent.
Slowly, lovingly and longingly.
Estimate each shift as if it were the last.
But this time we didn't just run and run and run. We climbed, we ran, we hopped, we danced. We rolled, we sank, we kicked and we laughed.
The blue laced lagoons became mere slate drops. The pretty white blankets turned to muddy snow. The dazzling white glow dissolved in a country of green bracken grass.
And everything was just perfect.
We rolled down our last descent and laughed when we found that in a country of 1000 acres we had found the very lonely red hat that had greeted us at the beginning.
We crawled through the creaking iron gate and sat on a piece of solid, set stone.
And for the first time I knew.
That the next big thing, the next best thing, the next mountain peak would always be in front of us. And I realized how much of my life I had wasted. Want, wait, strive. If everything that ever existed was really here.
And right here, right now, everything was fine.
No matter what the view is.
There was always something to celebrate.
Every layer of our life is worth living.
When I returned home from this trip, I thought about my drive, my ambition and my constant search for success. And I realized that this search was actually fueling unsustainable health. In these huge countries, I had felt energized, free, and fluid from everything and nothing than in six long years. I felt alive for the first time.
And so I hope this story inspires you to just quit. Because this pattern has spoiled so much of my beautiful life here on earth. The stopping of striving and the endless search for the soul leave room for our inner peace, our inner flow, our inner glow.
The mountains will always call us. Higher heights will always tempt us. Newer sights will always blind us. However, we have a choice. The decision to sacrifice our present for a future that will never come. Or lovingly embracing our present, as if it is the only one we know for sure that we have – because it is so.
About Jadine Lydia
Jadine Lydia is an intuitive life counselor L.C.H. Dip. Manifestation Maker and Universal Lover & Co-Creator. Her blog shares her happy, holistic approach to love, laughter and life. inspire others to deepen their connection to the divine. It offers 1: 1 workshops for coaching and self-development and enables customers to intuitively take measures to manifest their deepest dreams and desires.
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