Have you not had enough?

Marginal thoughts on being satisfied without being finished

There’s a difference between striving because you believe there can be more and striving because you believe what you have is never enough.

I was reminded of this while working on my latest essay as I stumbled into the memory of the first time I went hiking. I remember it because 15 minutes into the mountain, I discovered that it was indeed NOT a hike but a rock scramble.

After it set in that I’d been lied to, climbing over boulders and hitting real-life mountain climbers, I wanted nothing more than just to hit this peak so I could go home and never talk to these people again.

It was brutal, and I was uninitiated to this level of work.

When we finally got a chance to stop, I cried tears of exhaustion that turned into joy as I stared out at the most beautiful view. So imagine my surprise when, as we finished our conversation and started packing away our sandwiches and trail mix, I saw people pick up their bags, turn their backs on the scene we’d worked so hard to reach, and continue climbing.

All I could think to myself was, “What in the actual fuck! Have you people not had enough?”

“It’s not safe to go backward,” a woman called out as she saw me start to walk back down to the car. “But trust me… girl, that final peak? So worth it.”

I could have kept walking back and let gravity do its thing, but instead of busting my behind, with very little choice in the matter, I kept climbing.

The second peak came, and it unlocked an even better angle of the first view. The third peak came with a nice breeze that bounced off a cute little waterfall. When we got to the final peak just as sunset began, as promised, it was one of the most beautiful views of the day.

Beyond a good photo moment, at the top of that mountain I felt so free. I felt so accomplished. And despite standing 10,000 feet above the ground, I felt a sense of safety and assuredness that everything was okay.

This is probably one of the corniest ways to put it, but that day I didn’t just fall in love with hiking; I embodied one of life’s greatest metaphors, and it permanently shifted the way I framed success and accomplishment.

In today’s culture, there’s such a heavy emphasis on being in a constant state of improvement. We’re always in the mindset that we need to keep glowing up. We don’t sit in a milestone long enough before we’re striving for the next goal. The checklist is never completed because we keep adding new tasks and sub-items. That used to really put me off because it always painted a picture in my mind that I’d forever be running full speed towards a finish line that would never come. A race that could never be “won.”

I no longer think that’s the point of life. To win.

The only prize that comes with crossing the finish line in the race of life is getting to rest peacefully in a cool, satin-laced box.

So while I wrestle with the reality of the feeling of undone-ness that comes with an ever-moving goalpost, I also feel a sense of gratitude that, somewhere, someone sees fit to continue increasing my capacity. That, like that damn mountain, as I reach new heights, new goals appear.

They appear not because I want more; wanting more is merely moving from one place of lack and insufficiency to another. They appear because, at this new angle, I can see more and imagine more. I can visualize more than what was conceivable before this moment. But that’s what an accomplishment should do. It should change what you can see for yourself now compared to where you were standing. It should give you a new vantage point.

Striving for more was never about there not being enough, but about what you do once you have the ability to see beyond the threshold and can trust your capacity to hold it.

Success should widen your aperture, not tunnel your vision.

And so, as my draft stares back at me screaming to be completed, I’m enjoying the view from this newly reached peak. I can sit here and eat my trail mix while crying over this view, feeling proud of how far I’ve come, with excitement in my heart that there are still so many more peaks to go.