When the Path Ends, How Do You Begin Again?

Why the end of one journey is often the beginning of something even greater.

“You’re going to have to find another way up the mountain.”

‘No.’

‘That can’t be.’

‘There has to be another way.’

“Well, there isn’t.”

As much as I hated to admit it to myself, it was the truth.

I had spent years of my life on a path that was destined to run out 2/3’s the way up a mountain.

My goals and dreams came screeching to a halt and all of the time, energy and effort I poured into them felt like they evaporated in an instant.

Oh and the self-criticism.

As soon as I realized I couldn’t go on any further, the floodgates of judgement opened up like a dam releasing water and I just drowned in it.

I could have sworn to you along the way that my plan was going to take me exactly where I wanted to go.

But I was wrong. I just didn’t know it.

So, I did what anyone would naturally do in that situation — I panicked.

I scrambled for answers. I tried to find a way through. I reexamined my plans and where I might have overlooked some minor detail which would unlock the way forward.

I negotiated and compromised with myself.

Hell, I even tried to talk myself out of the idea of being stuck in the first place.

I tried everything and came up with nothing.

None of it made a dent in what I knew to be true.

And then there was…

Denial.
Stubbornness.
Refusal.
Anxiety.
Depression.
Exhaustion.

Things got dark.

I was stuck — between who I was and who I wanted to be.

Constantly replaying the events of the path that had taken me to this place. Haunted by memories, decisions, mistakes and everything else in between.

This was not a place I wanted to be.

But it’s a place I would stay for quite some time.

Wandering aimlessly in the dark.

::whispers::

The same messages came to me over and over again — trust and let go.

I heard them. It’s impossible not to when things are so quiet.

Little flashes of light.

Sparks of possibility.

But in the end I chose not to listen.

And that’s when I learned a really important lesson — there’s always something you can do to make life worse.

Not listening to the most simple and yet profound advice coming from the deepest, wisest version of who you are certainly makes things a whole lot worse.

Because on top of feeling completely stuck, you now feel guilty for not listening to your intuition.

So I continued to do what I had always done, all the while knowing within my heart that there was something else for me on the other side of it all.

When you’re in that space, there’s an indescribable feeling of pressure building.

It doesn’t crush you from the outside. Instead, it feels like you’re going to burst at the seams.

That’s exactly what happened.

I cracked wide open.

Exposed.
Humbled.
Raw.
Fragile.
Vulnerable.

I just sat there and listened.

“You need to let go. You need to trust.”

The same answers I had heard echoing within a thousand times before. Nothing different. The same through it all. That’s how you know it’s the truth.

“Just let go.”

There was nothing left other than to accept the sobering reality that I had to do something I really, really didn’t want to do.

Climb all the way back down the mountain, so I could give myself a chance to climb back up again.

Being asked to let go of who you are in order to become who you are meant to be is not easy work.

It’s heavy.

It’s really scary. Fear grips every part of you and seeps into every area of your life.

Yet, there’s the promise on the other side of it all of unfolding into a version of yourself that is so much more than who you currently are.

But the fear just doesn’t go away when you really start listening to your gut. It’s an ongoing ping-pong match back and forth and you have to contend with it constantly.

Some days you win. Some days you lose.

But maybe the goal isn’t to be fearless in the end. Maybe the goal is to feel your fear, acknowledge it, to understand it, and choose differently in the face of its snarling teeth.

And to me, that’s what courage is.

Choosing the light, even if the darkness feels all consuming.

My mentor the other day asked me why I wake up in the morning.

I honestly didn’t have an answer for her.

But eventually, as the session continued, it became clear to me as I was staring at the Gandalf Lego mini-figure I have on my nightstand.

Hope.

That what gets me up in the morning.

The unwavering belief that with courage and faith in your heart, you can get through anything and become so much more.

How could I not believe that after everything I’ve been through?

After all of the moments that I thought I wasn’t going to make it. After finding answers to questions no one could help me uncover.

How could it be anything but hope?

Hmm.

“So, what’s the truth then?”

Truth is, there’s no guarantees in life.

You might pick a path and pour your absolute heart into it and it might not work out.

I understand just how disappointing it is when that happens. You can have the greatest intentions in the world and do absolutely everything right, and you still might lose.

But you can’t believe the lie that it was all for nothing.

That’s where you have to draw the line.

Because the growth wasn’t in ending up at the top of the mountain in the first place. It’s in who you become during the climb.

The experience matters — no matter how painful those lessons might be.

Because having the courage to set your heart to something in the first place says more about who are than anything else. It takes…

Faith.
Courage.
Resilience.
Love.
Possibility.
Grit.

How could you not be all of those things when you’re bold enough to take a risk in this life?

Yet, you’re so much more than that.

You only grow by walking the path, because the path teaches you things that nothing else will.

There are lessons you can only learn by heading straight into something you’re terrified to do and finding your way through it no matter what.

While your attempts might crumble to dust around you, if you keep your heart set on what you know you need to do, you’ll find your way in the end.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel. You are the light.

And so that’s where I’ve been.

Coming to terms with myself 2/3’s the way up a mountain.

Working through it. Sure, screaming at the heavens at times, but working through it nonetheless.

Because as bad as it hurt, it’s a gift to know what you have to do to get to where you want to be. It’s also a gift to know which route not to take to get there.

So…

There’s only one thing left to do.

Climb down the mountain, and climb back up again.

You’re not starting over.

You’re starting again.

But you’re different now.

And that’s what will make all the difference.

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—Evan