The Hills to Die On

Everyone has a hill (or hills) they are willing to die on. At least we should. Because having a hill worth dying on adds to a purpose-driven existence by bringing commitment into your life. These hills offer a plateau with unobstructed exposure so we can cast out a beacon of wisdom to shine for those in the shadows.

Some hills are universal and meant to be shared. These hills have an expansive surface allowing many to gather. Here the focus is on a unifying idea. Some hills are personal and meant to be kept private, providing us with a setting for quiet introspection. Then we can lead by example, motivating others to seek out their own hills.

Some hills battle a herd mentality. These hills of solitude are important to occupy when the mentality’s goal is keeping the herd in line as it is being unknowingly led to slaughter. These hills are difficult to occupy due to the constant barrage of pummeling, gale-force winds fueled by “public opinion” and “common sense.” Both doctrines serve important roles in society but need frequent reviewing so as not to become entrenched in senseless dogma or permanent obsolescence.

The hill I’m willing to die on has two peaks. One involves striving to live a better life today than I did yesterday. The other is to give more than I take.

What terrifies me are the hills not worth dying on. I try with all my might to avoid these hills. But no matter where the compass of life directs me, they remain a pervasive component of the landscape. I ignore them as they disappear over the horizon behind me. Then, like the decorative panels on the hub of a carousel, they reappear in my periphery. These are the hills known as Should of, Could of, Would of.

It’s easy for me to get misdirected onto the primrose path leading to these hills. That’s the danger. Even though they’re familiar, I’m still susceptible to their siren’s song. They welcome me without any blatant alarms to grab my attention or an imposing gate to arrest my momentum. A red “ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK” placard is absent. This ensures an unimpeded beginning. My diversion of hiking to the summit, although not something I want to do, seems manageable. Why not? The destination looks promising.

After a while, the terrain becomes uneven. It’s still navigable, just annoying. My shoelace loosens. Then my left sock bunched up around my toes. No problem. I stop long enough to resolve both issues. Again, more an inconvenience than a premonition. I accept that the path now has treacherous stretches. I proceed, convincing myself I’ll be okay.

I follow the trail as it ascends through the woods. Whereas I used to take in the lush foliage and scenery, I’m now constantly glancing at the ground to avoid tripping over the large stones in my way. Being forced to look downward, my eye catches sight of the missed opportunities strewn about the forest floor, cast aside during previous excursions, like snapped branches from past storms. They’re omnipresent. Some are fresh while others have already become detritus.

The hike now takes on a different vibe. Although concerned about why others failed attempting this trek, I continue taking measured steps. I won’t succumb to the pitfalls they couldn’t see or didn’t avoid. I’ll be fine. It’ll be different for me. I march on, albeit at a slower pace. Nearing the crest as the sky comes into view, it’s apparent I’ve made a mistake. Then I face the harsh realization that it’s too late to do anything about it.

Those venturing here before me didn’t reassess their plans and turn around at the first sign something’s wrong. They didn't take an alternate route when this one veered off in a different direction. Or not taken this route at all. They didn’t stop and cut their losses. They didn’t do any of these. And neither did I. So, I’m now standing in their presence, sharing a fellowship of failure.

I thought this summit would offer a panoramic view with awe-inspiring sights destined to be showcased on travel websites. Instead, I’m teetering on a lonely, foreboding precipice. I was conscientiously responsible for each stride I took to reach this perilous drop-off. Yet I still ask myself, “How did I get here?”

How did I get here? Well, by traversing a solid foundation of denial which rose to dizzying heights of regret. Now I’m inhaling uncertainty over the best way to leave this perch. I must bushwhack to find a different, possibly more perilous, route back to the trailhead. I have delayed reaching a goal by offering excuses for my missteps instead of learning from them. By not dealing with reality, my forced behavior resulted in a dead end. I have wasted time and resources all the while squandering the progress I was making. Moving forward has been sidetracked.

These are the hills I fear dying on.