The second mountain

There are two mountains we can climb in life.

But how do we know if we’re on the right one?

The goals on the first mountain are the typical aspirations our culture promotes: achieving success, gaining love and respect, finding personal happiness.

It’s all the usual things: climbing the ranks at work, moving into a bigger home, taking more vacations, making our lives more Instagram-worthy.

The second mountain is different. It’s about finding a deeper purpose and pursuing a life of meaning and fulfilment.

It’s about shifting from self-centered to other-centered goals.

Or, as author David Brooks describes in his book ‘The Second Mountain’:

“If the first mountain is about building up the ego and defining the self, the second mountain is about shedding the ego and losing the self.”

I’ve been reflecting on this distinction a lot over the past two years, perhaps as a result of turning forty and grappling with mid-life questions about what truly matters.

Especially in recent months, after a close family member came perilously close to death, this feeling has grown even more pressing and intense.

Following my diagnosis with autism in my early twenties, the next two decades of my life were all about seeking safety and comfort in what I thought was a ‘normal’ life.

I wanted to belong, like everyone else.

Coming from modest upbringings, I used to look up at tall business buildings, thinking that everyone high up there had their life together.

Having wrestled with loneliness throughout my teenage years, I thought that being in a relationship would be an escape ticket to happiness.

This all seems very silly now.

I ended up working in one of those tall buildings. And for a while, I found love. But I was pursuing a phantom image of what life should look like. I was chasing surface-level dreams. Nothing really added up to something meaningful outside of myself.

I was on the first mountain.

The last two years of my life have been somewhat of a spiritual reawakening for me. Coming out as autistic felt scary at first. But becoming a neurodiversity advocate has also opened my eyes to the importance of having a purpose that transcends ourselves.

I want the next decade of my life to be about giving back to the autistic community, making whatever tiny contribution I can to giving future generations a more inclusive, supportive, and understanding world where they can thrive like anyone else.

In the words of David Brooks: “Fulfillment and joy are on the far side of service. Only then are we really able to love. Only then are we able to begin the second journey.”

I think he’s right, as I am still learning right now.

There’s a second mountain waiting for us in life – one that rises from the valley of our pain and suffering to a more purposeful existence focused on serving others.

It may be a long and sometimes lonely hike. But it’s one that’s worth pursuing.