I’ve failed. I’ve failed a lot. My parents taught me to reach for the stars. What is that platitude? “Reach for the stars and you’ll end up in the trees. Reach for the trees and you’ll end up in the mud.”
Yeah, they forgot to mention that falling into a tree HURTS way more than falling in mud. There are times when I’m done with pulling twigs and leaves out of my hair and clothes, and I just sit in the mud: Cool, wet, soft, squishy mud.
And yet at my heart, I’m a dreamer. I may be in that mud, but there are stars in my eyes. I just don’t know how to get there. Or more accurately, I don’t know how someone like me could get there. I don’t know how someone with my limitations and challenges could make it happen. If there was a ladder to the moon, I am sure that the space between the rungs would be too wide for me to climb. The moon and the stars are places for other people, not for me. The cosmic dissonance of not being who I want to be, rips at me.
The Mountain
Then the mud dries up. All comfort it afforded is gone. I do not seek comfort from the trees. In my wanderings, I find a mountain path. I see the steady incline until it goes around a bend. It’s higher than a tree! I could do that. If I start now, by nightfall I will be above any of the trees that I fell in before. It takes me longer than I planned. And mountains are not as soft as trees – certainly not as soft as mud. But oh, the view! The valley is breathtaking. The sky is stunning.
When I pull myself out of this stunned breathless state, I remember the bend in the trail. As I set my sights higher, I am filled with joy. Tonight I will rest, drinking in the milky way. Tomorrow, I will continue the path.
As I draw closer to the heavens, they seem to draw closer to me. The interval of cosmic dissonance resolves, not by leaps but by steps. I realize, I wasn’t meant for the trees or for the mud. I was made for the mountain.
Happy Sunday!
