Climbing Stairs

All of life is climbing stairs: climbing, climbing, climbing. Stairs only go up. Not down. Never down. They do not go sideways. They do not vary in length. They are not the kind of stairs that go spiral, so you can easily look down at how far you’ve climbed, because if you did, you’d start to feel tired and angry at not having arrived.

Of course, you know somewhere inside you cannot arrive. Ever. Further, you don’t want to arrive. Not even at all.

But what if there’s no arrival? This thought will only hit you if you stop trying to arrive, and start thinking about the stairs itself. But as long as there’s one stair ahead of the other, you are hardwired to keep putting one foot over the other one, and keep going.

Yesterday, I met a man on a flight of stairs I have long since passed. He was sitting on a chair smoking his pipe. I asked him if he didn’t want to climb the stairs. Was he taking a break?

I’ve reached the top, he said.

Clearly, you’ve not, I said, look here, there’s more steps out there.

But he had his back to the stairs, and stared only at the wall in front of him.

I’ve reached the top, he said, I see no more stairs. Even if I did, I’m content there are no more. I’ve reached the top.

Have you arrived? I asked.

He turned to me with vacant eyes, and said, no one will ever arrive.

I nodded.

He looked so profound, I couldn’t help but scoff, and keep going.