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It's July, 2019. I'm hiking at the most iconic hill in Edinburgh - Arthur Seat. It's filled with people, and they have taken up different routes to get to the top: to each his own. One thing I've realised about hikes is that you never know what's waiting at the top [unless, you've googled it]. More often than not, I find myself taking a leap of faith when it comes to hikes: a journey into the unknown, if I may – not knowing what’s coming, not seeing the point of it, yet keep going. Similar thoughts ran my mind at Arthur Seat as well. It’s my one thing to-do for my birthday. I’m doing the hike with two other solo-travellers I met at my hostel, and they’ve decided to take up the shortest but the steepest route. This, combined with my exhaustion, frustration, and heavy panting, made me want to give up. “Who really cares if I don’t make it to the top, right?” I think to myself. “Nobody is ever going to know if I come back down halfway, and it’s not like I’m going to get a certificate for this, so what’s even the point?” my brain tries to rationalise quitting. For me, this feeling is a lot like my real life. As a survivor of high-functioning depression, generalized anxiety disorder, and symptoms of PTSD for over 15 years now, thanks to my traumatic childhood, it sometimes seems like the easier option to just give up. There have been times when life just gets too much, and doing even easy, everyday chores becomes a hassle. Over these 15 years, I’ve spent many months just being in bed, not wanting to get up, not wanting to eat or drink, not leaving the house, not being able to see what stands at the end of such episodes, and just an overall lack of motivation or inspiration. It’s in these precise moments that giving up seems like the most logical thing to do, because well, who cares, right? This particular hike had me thinking these same thoughts. I couldn’t see the top of the hill or what awaited me at the end. In fact, every time I thought I was close to the top, I was presented with yet another, seemingly endless slope. “Ugh, it’s never going to end,” I think to myself. Nevertheless, I kept going, just like life. It was in this moment that I realised that a person’s life is in fact a lot like hikes. You don’t see the point of it, you want to give up, you’re physically and more importantly, mentally exhausted, and you are presented with one hurdle after another. Just when you think you’ve conquered a challenge in your life, you are faced with another one. But I kept at it, just like I do every-day in my life. I tried not to think about the end-result and gave it my all. Despite every instinct in my aching body telling me to quit, I didn’t. And when I did reach the top of it, I felt an incredible sense of pride of accomplishment, and I witnessed a gorgeous view – my end result. I feel this way every time after my depressive episodes as well. I know I’ll eventually get there, it’s just the effort and discipline it takes to reach there, is only visible to me. And every time I look back at my episodes [and all the hills I’ve conquered], I know I can do it. For both my life and hikes, I realised in this moment, it might take me more efforts than others, I might move slowly, I might even take more breaks to catch my breath and rest my body [or soul], but I’ll get there. There’s no one-rule-fits-all approach, neither for hikes, nor life. To each his own, right? I guess one could say this hike has been an incredible life lesson, something that will stay with me forever.