When I was young, my uncle and aunt lived in Florida. On a couple of occasions, we would take a family vacation to the Sunshine State, leaving the flat cornfields of central Indiana behind. During the time before completed interstates, we would wind down back roads through Kentucky and Tennessee on the way to our beach destination. The highways would be peppered with road signs for local businesses — billboards, houses, barns, mailboxes, little hand-made posters stapled to a stick.
If you have traveled around in some 19 states, you have no doubt seen anything that could be painted along the way beckoning you — appealing to you — pleading for you to come “See Rock City.” My dad was an adventurer. One year he decided to obey the signs. We were going to See Rock City. All I remember about the drive is that it seemed to take as long to go up the road to Rock City as it did to get from Indianapolis to Chattanooga.
I am not sure exactly what I expected as an 8 year old, but it wasn’t what I thought it would be. I had seen maps. I thought there would be bold lines showing the state boundaries. Though I am sure I knew better, I would have been tickled if the states had actually been different colors. Expecting grandeur and excitement, I saw nothing but boring and mundane from the top of the mountain.
There are lots of mountains in life that we climb only to find that isn’t exactly what we expected. We take the raise and the promotion only to find more headaches and challenges. We divorce the spouse because we’ve found someone else that kindles our flame, only to find similar, if not worse, irritations. Sometimes we even abandon principles and truths that we’ve held dear for years, hoping against hope to find an easier, more appealing way. In the end, the new paths offer nothing better — often worse.