POINT TO PONDER
When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world. I found it was difficult to change the world, so I tried to change my nation. When I found I couldn't change the nation, I began to focus on my town. I couldn't change the town and as an older man, I tried to change my family. Now, as an old man, I realize the only thing I can change is myself, and suddenly I realize that if long ago I had changed myself, I could have made an impact on my family. My family and I could have made an impact on our town. Their impact could have changed the nation and I could indeed have changed the world. - Author Unknown
STORYLINE by Rajiv Shah
The Man stood in front of the mountain. Above, it's apex crested above the clouds. He took a deep breath, he needed it, as he had trekked from his home to this foreign land. By plane, by train, mule, and eventually by blistered feet he had arrived.
The place was different than the image he had in his mind. He had heard of the beauty of this place - of majestic mountain tops, goats that peacefully wandered the terrain, and air often perfumed with jasmine that grew nearby - but he found none of that now. The mountain was more daunting than majestic, there were no goats to be seen except for the carcass of a dead lamb ravaged, and the air was not filled with jasmine but rather sharp, crisp and burnt in his lungs.
He wanted to cry, he missed the wife and son he had left back at home. They supported him more than any other, encouraged his journey, and believed that he could scale the mountain that so many others failed to summit.
His wife had given him one of his son's wind-up toys, a little green frog that croaked, stuck out its tongue, and hopped around when wound up. She could be silly and it brought a smile to his face as he pulled it out of his rucksack and wound it up. He placed it onto the craggy face of the mountain and watched it struggle to hop on the uneven surface, straining, sliding, and eventually falling to it's side as the croaks diminished into silence. The frog was done, lying on its side, its little red tongue grotesquely cascading from it's mouth.
He picked up the frog and wondered if he should turn back. He now regretted leaving them at home without him, his wife imagining that he was doing great things. He thought he would find it here, in the solitude of this place. He put the frog into his breast pocket and took the first step. Then another. And another. And another...
After five days of climbing - battling violent night winds, diminishing air, and hypothermia – he ascended. A Boy awaited at the top, sitting quietly. He stared at the clouds surrounding them. The Boy was young, too young to be up there alone, and had a countenance that belied any pain or malice.
The Man couldn't believe that someone else, that this Boy had gotten there before him. He wanted to scream but didn't have the energy. Instead, he wiped the frost and discharge from around his eyes. He couldn't be sure if he was seeing things or not. He knew he had slowed the higher he climbed and each step was now a monumental effort.
“Hello,” the man whispered.
The Boy did not look.
“I'm... Are you real?”
“Are you,” the Boy asked.
He laughed painfully, “ I think so.”
Finally, the boy looked up at him, at the Man's emaciated frame and the frost bite on his lips.
“Why have you come here?”
“No one has ever climbed this mountain. I wanted to be the first to do it.”
“Okay... Now you have.”
“But, I'm not really, you were up here before me.”
The Boy smiled and shook his head.
“You are the first. And what difference does it make if you got here first or I did? No one knows I'm here, nor will anyone believe you if you tell them about me. So congratulations, you are the first. Now what?”
The Man had never thought about this, about what would happen should he make it.
“I don't know, I thought that maybe it would make sense all of a sudden. That I could make a difference, leave my mark on the world. Now, all I can think of is my wife and son.”
The Boy thought for a second, “you have a wife and child?”
“Yes.”
“Well where are they?”
“Back at home, where I'm from.”
The Boy started to laugh.
“Why are you laughing?”
“You left your wife and child to climb this mountain?”
The Man was angry, after all the hardship he endured, he didn't deserve this type of ridicule.
“Why is that funny?”
“Because, you people come here, die even to scale this mountain, for what? To have your name in a book? To have strangers praise you? All that at the expense of your family?”
The Boy stopped and reconsidered his words.
“If you want to do something great go home and be the best father you can be to your child and the best husband you can be to your wife. That will have a far greater impact on this world than somebody reading your name in a book long after you have passed.”
The Man looked down at the path he had traveled, at the long road back. He turned to the boy but he was gone. The Man shook his head and laughed. The boy was a hallucination - a culmination of diminished oxygen - and nothing more, he thought. He took in the seclusion of the mountains and clouds surrounding him, finally satisfied that he was indeed the first.
Originally Published January 13, 2011. Reader's feedback from the original post are included in the comments section.
