All the Things

I’ve been sick for what seems like – has been – weeks, so 2024 came sneaking through the door while I was asleep.

I find if I nap and rest and sleep good night sleeps, I can still hike, can still chase The Grid to its at-last conclusion.

On the first day of the year, I hit 509/576 with Carrigain, a glorious peek into what forever might look like: blue blue sky, cold clear air, clouds above and clouds below.

But I feel myself slowing down.

I look in the mirror and see my mother’s face, gone now 10 long years.

I know, I know, there could be many years left ahead for me. On the cusp of 2024, I welcome every one and all the things that each might bring.

The summits up ahead, though they look far off, are closer perhaps than they appear. I’m thankful there is a now.

Thankful for the faces of my children and grandchildren, and all the wild silly that lives within them.

So much ahead for them.

I wish to be a part of it for as long as I can.

I’m thankful, too, for the gift of tears, for the juxtapositional tug of sadness and joy. I read somewhere recently that a dead world does not suffer; much like love, we must take the possibility of its ache if we ever hope to glean all of its delight.

It feels sometimes that I will never finish The Grid. It pulls me along, one peak at a time, giving me just enough hope for the next one and the next. Sometimes it constrains me, and I wish I could just go where I wanted. I suppose that I could, but I’ve spent a lifetime in competition – against others, against myself, against the forces that seek to derail and destroy – so not-finishing was never an option.

Best to just believe the good report. To embrace the shifting seasons and live like I know I should, like I know that I can, because of the promise that we will never die forever.