It Was Never About the Summit
I am back. Four weeks away, and this trip has cracked me open in ways I didn’t expect.
I thought climbing Mount Kilimanjaro would be about reaching the top, standing at the summit with my arms outstretched like in the movies. That’s what we trained for. Six months of early mornings,afternoon hills, sore muscles, packing and repacking gear. But as life often does, the mountain had other plans for me.
This trip, this adventure, has reminded me that life is never about the destination. It’s about everything in between.
The Mountain
Kilimanjaro is breathtaking. The kind of beauty that humbles you. Golden sunrises spilling across endless skies, lunar like landscapes that make you feel small but so alive, and a crew of porters and guides who made every step feel like we were part of something bigger.
For the first seven days, I felt strong. Sure, there were moments where the altitude whispered warnings, light headedness, slower breaths, but we pushed on. My husband battled altitude sickness early, but with Diamox and grit, he came good.
Then summit day arrived.
At 12am, under a sky scattered with stars, Freezing Cold that I have never experienced. I took my first step. I had a head cold that had been crept in that morning, and my chest well something just was not right, But I pushed it down. This is summit day, I told myself. You’ve trained for this. You’ve got this.
Seven and a half hours later, I was still climbing. The cold was biting, my energy was tanking, and my mind was starting to play tricks on me. My legs kept moving, but it was like I was on autopilot. Then the dizziness hit.
I was 350 meters from the top when the guides put an oxygen mask on my face and told me it was time to go down. My vision had gone blurry; my body wasn’t coping with the altitude. I don’t even remember some of the descent.
I didn’t summit.
The Ego and the Lesson
For a few hours, I was gutted. I felt like I’d failed. I blamed the trekker in our group who’d brought a bug into the mess tent. I blamed myself for not being stronger. And worst of all, I let my ego scream at me about being so close and not making it.
But somewhere between disappointment and gratitude, I found perspective.
I didn’t stand at the very top of Kilimanjaro, but I experienced her in all her beauty. I walked her trails, breathed her thin air, laughed with our team, and let her teach me a bigger lesson than any summit could.
Sometimes, the goal isn’t the goal. Sometimes, it’s about letting go. Letting go of expectations. Letting go of control. Letting go of the need to prove something to yourself or anyone else.
When my husband chose to come down with me instead of summiting alone, I realised what really matters. Connection. Health. Life. The journey.
The Safari
After the trek, we spent five days on safari, and that’s where the magic really landed for me. Watching a lioness nuzzle her cubs, elephants moving gracefully across the plains, the simplicity of life in the Serengeti, it shifted something deep inside me.
The people we met in Tanzania, their humility and joy despite having so little, taught me more about wealth and gratitude than any book ever could.
The Habits Shift
And that’s what my 52 habits journey has been about too. One habit at a time, I’ve been stripping away the noise, learning to breathe deeper, complain less, judge less, move more, nourish better. And now, sitting here post Kilimanjaro, it all makes sense.
This wasn’t about standing at a summit and ticking off another achievement. It was about presence. About appreciating every step, even the hard ones. About shedding the heavy stories and letting go of what no longer serves me.
The mountain didn’t give me what I thought I wanted. It gave me what I needed.
