Happiness Is Only Real When Shared

This Forms The Nub Of A Dilemna That Every Everest Climber Eventually Comes Up Against: In Order To Succeed You Must Be Exceedingly Driven, But If You're Too Driven You're Likely To Die.

I Never Studied Writing, But I'd Always Been A Reader And Had A Secret Fantasy About Being A Writer.

Early On A Difficult Climb, Especially A Solo Climb, You’re Hyper-aware Of The Abyss Pulling At Your Back, Constantly Feeling Its Call, Its Immense Hunger. To Resist Takes Tremendous Conscious Effort, You Don’t Dare Let Your Guard Down For An Instant. The Void Puts You On Edge, Makes Your Movements Tentative And Clumsy. But As The Climb Continues, You Grow Accustomed To The Exposure, You Get Used To Rubbing Shoulders With Doom, You Come To Believe In The Reliability Of Your Hands And Feet And Head. You Learn To Trust Your Self-control.

Some People Feel Like They Don't Deserve Love. They Walk Away Quietly Into Empty Spaces, Trying To Close The Gaps Of The Past.

At Long Last He Was Unencumbered, Emancipated From The Stifling World Of His Parents And Peers, A World Of Abstraction And Security And Material Excess, A World In Which He Felt Grievously Cut Off From The Raw Throb Of Existence.