The Afterglow of Achievement: Waiting at the Top of the World

When I was young, my older siblings and I would hike up a mountain, our eyes searching the barbed sticker bushes and loose rocks for collectible bottle caps or Rattlesnakes. We were adventurers, oblivious to the risks, loving the journey, captured in the moment.

Once on top, we would catch our breaths, survey the valley below, and bask in our triumph. I can still feel the hot wind on my back and the burn of swirling dirt in my eyes. I remember the view from that peak was amazing. I loved it. I owned it.

Lately, I don’t love it, and I rarely own whatever I do. I’ve forgotten that feeling of basking —that pause, that exquisite exhilaration after getting to the destination.

As a child, the whole experience from beginning to end and back again was pleasurable. But now? Now, I think in terms of the journey and then the very next one. I never stop to see what I’ve done. I’m only eager to get on with what’s next.

Since last September, I’ve been on a quest to turn my screenplay into a novel. For five months, my world revolved around layering the plot, bolstering characters, weaving hints, and adding touches of humanity — everything I’ve ever learned about storytelling. Then, I was done.

But I didn’t take a breath. I plunged forward.