Charlie Magdaleno: Blog

  "Don't worry.  You can do it," my cousin exclaimed reassuringly.  I wanted to believe him as my knees started to shake and my muscles tensed.  I turned to stone, telling my body to reach across at the improvised ledge to the left in exchange for my sure footing.  While I wasn't in any position to look behind me, I was well aware of the several hundreds of feet of jagged and unforgiving rock below.  While I tried to put it out of my mind, I couldn't honestly say I trusted God's grace to keep me alive more than I distrusted my soaking shoes against damp earth to do the same.  Unfortunately, it would have been difficult to make a move forward or back, and I had come so far already, so I clenched my teeth and swung my body across the gapped slope.  I kept my eyes on my hands and feet as they took turns in uneasy but purposeful motion up the mountain.  Eventually, I made it to the top and my cousin and brother made sure I safely cleared the edge of the formation.  I got to my feet and looked upon the final destination, a freshwater pool tucked away in the arms of a giant, and fed by a mammoth waterfall in the clouds.

  However, the true spoils of the journey came once I turned and faced the grandness behind me.  Miles and miles, both vertical and horizontal, of trees, rock, and unadulterated beauty surrounded the world below us.  My cousin remarked, "Pretty cool huh?" with the easygoing tranquility of a veteran of any existence.  However, my brother and I couldn't muster the words to convey what we were seeing, and what we had experienced and accomplished.  For the record, I don't think the words exist.  It's near impossible to express the dichotomous nature of the life-affirming pride and mind-altering humility that encompassed us both in that moment.  After all, we had done something completely out of the realm of our being and succeeded.  At the same time, it was something that better men and women than I had been doing, and have done on greater scales, for centuries.  Still, considering that people have been killed and maimed trying to do what we had done, the adventure only increased my respect for the power and magnitude of our planet, and the potential costs of just trying to live while you're alive.

  It wasn't until I made it back to the bottom that I realized just how far we had gone.  And quite honestly, the incredible trek we took was hardly "part of the plan."  Both my brother and I, and I assume my cousin, had began on the trail with the intention and belief that our morning and afternoon would literally be a walk in the park.  However, by venturing off the preset path to get a better look at a stream, of all things, the phrase "Let's just go a little farther" led us up to the edge of our courage and fortitude.  

  And really, the only thing we had guiding us was a general direction (up) and the range set by the available ledges, ridges, and flatrock.  However, by taking things one deliberate step at a time, I, and my companions, reached heights, again literally, we had no idea we could.

  I truly believe that what we experienced in the literal sense applies figuratively to any great endeavor one might undertake.  

Perhaps the door to your old office just closed behind you for the last time.

Perhaps the indistinguishable, but unmistakable, chant of your name by thousands of strangers shakes your stomach as much as it shakes the rafters.

Perhaps she, in the pouring rain with you on the ground before her with nothing but a stone not worth using for floor tile and a petrified expression on your face, said yes.

  Whatever the case may be, even though you might not know where you're going, or how you're going to get there, if you can just make the best effort and attempt to move forward with the information and resources you have available to you, all things are possible.  You won't always have all the answers, and won't always make the right choice, but you will have made progress.  You will have grown.  

  It's not always easy, or safe, and even in the eye of the storm it can be utterly terrifying; but with the right approach you WILL get to where you want to be, and if you're lucky, where you need to be.

  So, for those climbing your own mountains, both literal and figurative, I hope you consider asking yourself the question I asked myself on every step of my climb- especially when I was terrified, exhausted, in pain, and when truly considering turning back:

  Are you going to quit here?  Are you going to let the fatigue you feel right now defeat you?  Are you going to succumb to the same fears you always have?  Are you going to keep on being the same person you've always been?  Or are you going to be something more?

Well, are you?