Ladder-Climbers
At a very young age, I learned how to climb ladders. Not the kind you find leaning against a barn or tucked away in a garage—but the invisible kind. The ladders we’re told will take us somewhere important. Ladders that, in truth, were never mine to begin with.
They were handed to me—passed down like heirlooms from well-meaning parents, scoutmasters, Sunday school teachers, each pointing skyward and saying, “This is the way.” And so I climbed. We all did.
With each new season of life came another ladder: professors, advisors, mentors, therapists—all offering their own version of “success” or “healing” or “meaning.” And I got good at it. Really good. Drop me into any room, any institution, and I could spot the ladder. I knew how to climb—how to meet expectations, hit the marks, collect the badges.
Sometimes the ladder looked like pleasing a boss. Other times it meant collecting credentials, working late nights, neglecting time with those I loved. Sometimes it was about productivity—serving on the right committees, presenting at the right conferences. Other times it meant aligning with an institution’s mission, showing up to the events, playing the part. The ladders changed shape, but the climb never stopped.
Until one day, I started asking a question no one had ever asked me: Are these ladders leaning against the right buildings?
That question unraveled something in me.
And then, like whispers from some deeper place, the real questions began to surface. The secret ones I had tucked away for decades:
What really motivates me?
Do my words and my actions reflect the deeper wisdom I sense just beneath the surface?
Am I the person I pretend to be in public?
What parts of myself am I ashamed of, and why?
What do I truly believe—and am I willing to say it aloud?
And maybe the hardest one:
What would it mean to stop climbing altogether?
What if I simply stood still, both feet on the ground?
What if I didn’t flinch when asked, Who do you want to be with the time you have left?
Just writing these words feels like a release. A kind of healing.
Because the truth is, I’ve carried more than a few chains—unspoken expectations, self-imposed pressures, old beliefs about who I need to be in order to be loved, accepted, successful. But what if those chains could finally be unlocked?
What if, on the other side of all that striving, there is a place of radical belonging? A place without barriers or fences. A place where the truth of our shared humanity dismantles every “us vs. them.” A place where strangers are welcomed as kin, where all voices are honored—not just the Christian ones—and where creativity, compassion, and curiosity flourish.
This world is aching for that kind of presence.
It doesn’t need more ladder-climbers. It needs grounded, authentic people. People who’ve made peace with their shadows, who know how to listen, who dare to live from their center.
It’s time. Time to climb down.
Time to write the book.
Paint the painting.
Show up with your whole heart.
Expand your circle.
Sit in silence.
Love without conditions.
And treat each moment—and each person—as if they are the most important in your life.
Because maybe, just maybe—they are.
And when we live like that… who knows what could happen?
