There is a phrase we hear occasionally about the second mountain. Essentially, it refers to reaching the top of what we assumed was a life goal, only to see another mountain behind it, or, as actual mountaineers refer to it, a false summit. This is a gift, as it may bring us to realize that the journey is where the value is, not the momentary reaching of a summit. The journey only stops when we say so. To achieve something, be it parenthood, or some professional mark, is a meaningful milestone, the danger of which is to say to ourselves: ok, now it is done. That particular goal may have been checked off, but it is but one stop on that train line.
There is a certain mythology that surrounds the concept of never giving up on your goals. This seems a bit naive; if we ourselves change, maybe our ambitions should change. Holding fast to our intentions may make a nice story, but may not lead us to where we need to go.
I’m watching the Olympics this week, and call me mesmerized: the drama is in the cold math of hundredths of a second which separate getting on the platform from not; the struggle is in years to get there. Being a competitor at that level is extraordinary, a journey of endless hours of very low drama practice: showing up, doing the work, enduring the struggle. There are many, many more of us who sensibly understood we were not the anointed ones, the ones whose physiology gifted them to consider being at that level. We shift, we take appraisal of what may be possible.
I know that having started ski racing at age 63, and competing in my age group against people who have been training for over 50 years, the only way I will win is to outlive the others. No amount of training, coaching, and study will make up for my very average athleticism and my ridiculously late start. I don’t enjoy those facts, but that does not stop me from focusing on being the best I can be. In this case, it is reducing the time between me and the winner. I can live with becoming the best version of me. Which is what I see in the competitors who miss a medal by a tiny amount when competing against the very best in the world: sure, it hurts, but to be the best version of yourself is tremendous — something that few people will ever know.
The journey is struggle; it is not easy. If it was, it would not be a worthy use of time. At our age, we are often told that perhaps the best we can do is give advice to others. Yes, we can do that, but we can also look for our own personal next mountains, and take joy in our ability to struggle, whatever that may look like to us. To not wrestle, to not strive, is fine, but perhaps less motivating and life fulfilling than aiming high. Aim, move forward, give it a try, struggle, and see where it takes us. Gold of the Olympic variety may not be there, but gold of another kind may.
Onward and upward,
David
