There is this moment, climbing the hill, when you feel such a tiredness, such a bone-tired weariness that you can’t go any further. You are exhausted, wrung out, dead beat.
Suddenly, the idea of another, easier way flashes through the mind, giving up becomes an option, the all-encompassing necessity of getting to the end of it suddenly isn’t the only possibility anymore.
From being an idea in your head it becomes a sensation, you picture the feeling of being shaded, resting, slumped down in a seat while someone drives you the rest of the way.
This is when resolve kicks in, when you start arguing with yourself, to conjure and expose what you would feel and look like if you gave up.
And by the time you’re full right in the middle of these considerations, you realize that you have climbed most of the hill already.
So you decide to go at least until the top of it and then see what’s next.
What’s next is a road going all the way down, so you might as well get that done.
You feel exhilarated and reinvigorated by the speed, the landscapes rushing past, and you wonder how you could have ever even envisaged giving up. You sing along to the tune, you shout out your aliveness, the wind blowing in your face.
And then you are back at the bottom. But you feel confident. You can do it, the first stretch sloping upwards is easy, you’re still carrying the movement from before.
Maybe something has changed, in the nature of the hill or deep within you.
And even as it gets a little harder you tell yourself that it can’t be as bad as what you’ve just managed to climb.
And then you feel it all being slowly drained again, the enthusiasm, the joy, the willingness, the physical strength.
And then you get to that moment climbing the hill, when you feel such a tiredness, such a bone-tired weariness that you can’t go any further…
Song of the day: Helter Skelter – Beatles