Feed on

In the summer of ’08 I read every book about mountain climbing I could get my mitts on.  Even the boring ones.  How you could make Everest boring, what with all the crevasses and the Sherpas and whatnot, I do not know.  I read so fast that two books about the same event made each dreadful, lung-sucking step my first time. So fast the tragic surprises came down like rain–

Oh no!   He got through all that and he still managed to die .  .  . ?

No one bothers to look up.  Kate, I’m pretty sure he died in that other book.  The one with the gray cover?

They all had gray covers, for the love of God.  Those people are serious.

I waded through whole lifetimes of frozen hands that sounded like blocks of wood; disgruntled team members; severed ropes; flattened tents filled with snow so sharp it cut the skin and that thing where your brain says, shall we lie down and have a quick nap?  We can finish this little hike tomorrow. And now and then some crappy prose.

What does this have to do with animals and animal communication?  Not a freaking thing.  What it does have to do with is that there’s energy in everything and that energy provides information.

In this case, what does it mean when you’re obsessed with a topic for which you have no context?

I dwell on things and take myself too seriously.  This is what I came up with:  I was working on a problem of a significant magnitude (climbing Everest) I thought was impossible to solve (see climbing+Everest+death.)

Did I solve my problem?  Nope.  It’s sitting here next to me like the long-winded friend who won’t go home.  I didn’t solve it so much as I ran out of books.  In the meantime Everest and K2 and the Eiger are littered with people who were working on a problem that was, in fact, impossible for them to solve.

The question remains, if I keep reading about climbing and I keep working on my problem, will I finally make it to the top?



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