Everyone said I couldn’t do it. They said it was too hard and I should stay on the ground. They wanted me to work in the fields as they did. They wanted me to toil for someone else’s spoils.

I declined. I wanted to live my life. I wanted to climb to the peak of the mountain.

There were days I went without eating. There were days I went without sleep.

Yet I persisted, pushing myself beyond my limits. I worked day after day. Sometimes I made lots of progress. Other times I made none. I met many other climbers along the way. Many had given up and climbed down to join the others in the fields, saying they were right all along. Others had stopped climbing and made their home on the side of the mountain, happy with where they were.

I wasn’t happy yet. I needed to reach the peak.

I stood atop the mountain with tears and a shout of joy. I looked down at the fields below, and they looked up at me. They couldn’t see my progress. They couldn’t see where I was going. Many of them thought I had perished or given up. But I didn’t.

Now I had reached the top. Now they see me.

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