It’s kind of like a sickness, I think. An addiction maybe. I get to the top of a ridge so I can see over the other side. But as soon as I make it, I’m pulled to the next ridge, the next horizon.
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just kept going, how far I would make it. It’s kind of like the feeling you get standing at the edge of a cliff, like maybe I can fly. It’s a little scary, but exhilarating. Something is pulling you, telling you to take the next step.
I wonder if I just keep going, to the next ridge, the next mountain, maybe I’d never stop? Like time would cease and my body would merge with the infinite. It’s like that, kind of scary, kind of exhilarating, the unknown, the possibilities, pulling you into their embrace. But like jumping off the cliff, somehow self preservation is always whispering in your ear, a reminder, and I know I’d just end up dead. Spent and exhausted, exposed and cold somewhere in the wilderness completely unprepared for how deep I’d gotten myself. I wouldn’t make it back for work, darkness would descend and the feeling of magic and boundless possibility would be replaced with one of foolish dread. Stupid and scared.
I know this, but somehow I still don’t completely believe it. So I look away, or back at where I’ve come, or where I’m going. Anywhere but into the unknown, because it’s pulling me to0 hard.
Someday I’ll just keep walking, over every ridge and every horizon I can see. I’ll never stop and walk into a whole new world. Someday, but not today.