I’ve heard it said that if you know your “why?”, you can tolerate any “how”. Any amount of exhaustion or suffering or pain or heartache or disappointment you experience can be pushed through if you know why you are doing it in the first place.
They also said if you have to ask someone why, you’ll never understand. I guarantee I will never understand the why of a politician, of an accountant, of a time share salesman. Arctic divers and free-climbers, people who swim with sharks and climb Mt. Everest have lost-their-minds.
Right?
I may marvel in a sublime sense of wonderment and awe at their courage or accomplishments, but why on Earth would they even think about doing that thing that they do? They could each give me forty-seven reasons why, and I Wouldn’t Get It.
I have my why. Developed it. Nurtured it. Stuck it in a bubble and pushed that bubble gently into my heart where I can carry it peacefully and find it when I need it. I expect the pain that’s coming. I expect the loneliness. I expect the scariness of the things that go bump in the night. I expect having a meltdown until dawn. I expect to be overwhelmed by WTF-Am-I-Doing. And that’s when I’ll need to dig it that bubble out of my chest so I can feel it in my hands, roll it around in my palms, knead it, find the strength to move me forward again.
Everyone has a why. It creates the narrative of our lives. Something to hang on to when everything goes to the wayside. It’s what creates uniqueness…extraordinary individuals…legends. The Alex Honnolds and the Kelvin Murrays and the Steve Irwins and the Sherpas of the world.
And you.
And me.
You may never make sense of my why, nor I yours.
And that’s A-Ok.