There is a story about a boy who was always climbing trees. He would walk the forests and the hills seeking the tallest it could ever be. When he came saw a tall one, he climbed it and checked out the view. But nothing pleased his sight. Nothing was good enough.
One day, while walking in foreign lands he spotted a very tall tree. Its peak disappeared in the clouds and its branches were long and firm. “This is it”, thought the boy, “I’ve found it!”. He ran to find its roots so he could make his way up. He walked and walked towards his dream.
Night fell, a new day came.
He continued with his mission, he didn’t give up. There was nothing else on his mind. He’d been dreaming about that tree his whole life. He needed to climb it, he felt it in his veins. He had to discover what was on its peak.
One morning, a week later, the kid woke up and saw the tree was gone. There was no sight of it, it’d vanished. “Is it the mist?”, he thought, “Have I gone in the wrong direction?”, he wondered. He had more questions than answers.
He sat down and wept.
The kid then felt tired. He was alone and thirsty and hungry. He looked back and around and didn’t recognise anything. He didn’t know where he was.
He then saw himself lost.
The tree was nowhere to be found. To reach its top was his dream, but his journey was led by a blind obsession. Of all the trees along the way, all beautiful rivers and mountains, the kid saw nothing of it.
They were simply forgotten and unseen.
All the possibilities he could have seen. The different sights, the beauty to the eyes. He’d missed it all, he’d lost himself. And now, alongside it all, the only thing he thought would give him pleasure had also disappeared.
His dream was gone.
