I may pass out, but I'll get to the top!

A couple of years ago we went to Savannah, GA on vacation and we drove out to one of the islands to tour a light house. Do you have ANY idea how many steps there are to the top of a lighthouse? There’s at least a million. I couldn’t count past that because I think I passed out for a while.

The stairwell is designed with leprechauns or Gwyneth Paltrow in mind because for the average adult it’s like trying to squeeze into a tube of toothpaste. There was a long line of people going to the lookout at the top. I was the leader of my family and an older gentleman was in front of me. About a fourth of the way up I thought this isn’t too bad. We can do this. A little further up and I’m getting a bit winded but I don’t want to appear weak so I keep plugging along. The man in front of me is moving at a pretty fast pace.

Half way up and I’m pulling myself along by the handrail. If I let go I’ll tumble all the way to the bottom. I smile (grimace) back at my family, because we’re having fun. Right? RIGHT?!

Three fourths of the way up. Is this damn lighthouse ever going to end? Whose dumb idea was it to climb a lighthouse anyway?! The stupid SOB in front of me is skipping! Geriatric Freak! I’m sucking on my inhaler and I honestly believe I’m going to die, but I can’t stop. My heart is pounding at an alarming rate, and my lungs have already collapsed.

The 70 year old cyborg in front of me is jogging. I think he must have taken Viagra or something. I’m going to die. Wheeze… My vision is going black. There’s no air! I can’t breath. These stairs will NEVER end. Wheeze…

Finally. We reach the top and there’s a tiny door that opens onto the lookout. I’m close to death but relieved to be finished with the stairs. I squeeze through the door and hope there’s enough oxygen this high up so that a couple of my brain cells will continue to live. At least there’ll be something left to hook up to a ventilator.

I look back for my family thinking they’ll want to enjoy the beautiful freaking view and guess what? My husband won’t come out on the deck. Suddenly, my 6’1” hero is afraid of heights.

Seriously!!!????!!! I climb the Mt. Everest of Lighthouses and he won’t come out on the deck! So I have to admire the view with the old geezer. Stupid robot.

Wheeze…

How does this tie into writing? And what’s the moral of the story. I don’t know. Maybe it’s that we shouldn’t compare ourselves to others. For all I know that old guy climbed those stairs everyday.

As writers and people we have to remember that each person has their own journey, and it’s not going to be down the same roads as someone else. Maybe it runs along side someone’s road for a while but there will be different obstacles for each of us.

Or maybe the moral is: Take Viagra and climb to the top!