The misty mountain is everything you want. It’s elusive, mysterious. It promises a challenge and a reward. When you imagine its silhouette, your heart flutters. When the mist rolls back and allows you to glimpse the mountain’s majestic peak, tears pool in your eyes.
You want to reach that mountain. There’s nothing else you want as much.
But it isn’t easy.
Early in the morning, the mist blinds you. It blankets the valley separating you from the mountain. It makes you despise leaving your home’s warmth.
You catch glances of the mountain here and there, but your feet are glued to your home’s safety. To go through the mist, you need patience and faith. You need more courage than you’ve ever needed before. You need time, something you think will never run out.
So you wait.
As the day progresses, the mist fades. The mountain becomes clearer, but also the path you need to take. There are obstacles you see, but your teeth chatter when you imagine those still hidden.
Your partner and children wake up to find you at the window, gazing at the mountain. As they hug you, your feet dig deeper into the warm rug you’ve provided for your home. You can’t leave them, but — Am I capable of taking my family with me? Am I strong enough?
Your heart hammers against your chest. What if you fail? What if your partner and children suffer because of your ambition? The mountain isn’t going anywhere.
So you wait.
Midday arrives. The mist has disappeared. Your children are no longer dependent upon you.
The path to the mountain is clear, but your knees wobble, frightened. Gone is the youngster who saw the sunrise and the mist. Gone is the intoxicating mystery that surrounded the mountain. You know exactly what you must do to reach it — but it’s so long, so treacherous. What if there isn’t enough time to reach the mountain before sunset?
So you wait.
It’s too late. It’s too late. It’s too late. The sneaky phrase pounds against your skull as the afternoon flies by. Your chest contracts as you detail the dying sun on the mountain’s foliage.
Your children are out living their lives. You still have a fire in you, but — It’s too late. It’s too late. It’s too late.
So you wait.
Before you know it, night arrives. The mountain is no longer visible, but you can remember it clearly. As you lay in bed, ready to rest your tired body, the mountain flashes before your exhausted eyes.
You wish you’d been brave enough to defy the mist. You wish you’d crossed the valley. You wish you hadn’t waited so long, to the point where waiting is no longer an option.
You wish. You wish. You wish.