I close my eyes and suddenly I’m time-traveling back to my backpacking days in New Zealand. I’m standing on the edge of a glacial lake — the air crisp, the oxygen traveling deep into my lungs, and the view, oh so mesmerizing. The water sparkles like crystals, a shimmering tapestry that looks like a polished mirror reflecting the sky.
A bird flies past at its own velocity. Would a bird flying by the same lake have a similar experience? We share the same water and the same magic, but the same lake is shaped by multiple variables, weaving two very different perspectives. From my side, I see a perfect, flat brilliance; but from the bird’s view directly above, the shades of blue are uncountable — shifting and deepening based on the rocks, the sand, and the hidden depth of every pocket below.
I am looking at my upcoming climb with these eyes, but my mind is stuck in a cycle of lists — all the business tasks that need to be wrapped up before I lose the WiFi signal and cellular coverage for good. I’m still occupied by the mundane, mentally juggling things that haven’t even happened yet. But a dull ache in my legs won’t let me stay still; I need to stretch. I walk to the very back of the plane — the galley, a late-night refuge for the talkative and a quiet rendezvous for the restless.
Baskets of French cookies, caramel candies, and crackers are laid out like a peace offering, but the Indian in me spots the mini Nescafé sachets first. I just wanted a cup of coffee with a familiar smell — a momentary break from the mental to-do list. But in this small, humming corner of the sky, I start talking to a twenty-five-year-old sailor.
As I share the details of my journey, his expression shifts. His eyebrows defy gravity and his smile grows wide. Suddenly, he is looking at me with pure, unfiltered awe. He is a boy, really — newly and freshly stepped into the real world, still hunting for the extraordinary. Despite his eight months at sea, he hasn’t been hardened yet; he still has that raw wonder for heroes. In the span of a single cup of coffee, I have become one of them.
He is captivated, demanding that I post everything so he can live the experience vicariously through me. It hits me then, with a sharp prick of realization: Shouldn’t I be more self-obsessed and filled with pride? I am the same person doing this climb, but while my mind is occupied by a never-ending list of stupid, mundane tasks, I’ve instantly become a hero in his eyes. What if I looked at myself with his vision? What if I decided to finally be the hero in my own eyes?
I owe it to myself to stop letting the ordinary hold me back. It’s time to chuck the list and start imagining the oxygen that’s about to go deep. I need to give this journey the depth it deserves — to shift my perspective and finally look at myself with the same awe as that twenty-five-year-old sailor.
After all, I own being a bit ‘extra,’ and it’s time I started acting like it.
The list is gone. The mountain is waiting. My perspective has shifted.
ROOHISM 