Impassible

The guides say that the mountains are impassible, no way through, over, or under. The only way is around, and that path is long and treacherous and could take decades to traverse, with no guarantee of success. The thing to do, they say, is to give up, give in, go back home.

I reject their guidance.

There must be a way, there is always a way. Blazing a trail is never easy, I understand that. There will be dead ends and setbacks. Dangers aplenty. Avalanches, bottomless pits. Balrogs and Shelob. The likelihood of failure is high, and I'll no doubt have to return home from time to time to resupply and lick my wounds.

But if I didn't at least try, then how could I live? The mountains are a challenge, not to be defeated - you don't defeat something that majestic - but to be negotiated, navigated.

If I went home without even making an attempt, how could I look myself in the mirror?

So I'm going to keep throwing myself against those mountains until I find the way through. Or until you tell me to stop. It'll be work, yes. But the good things, the best things? They don't ever just fall into your lap.

And you are the best thing.

So when I reach the other side of those mountains, limping, broken, battered, and bruised, if I see you there waiting it will have been worth it.

Will you be there?