But Now That I Was Finally Here,

Achieving The Summit Of A Mountain Was Tangible, Immutable, Concrete. The Incumbent Hazards Lent The Activity A Seriousness Of Purpose That Was Sorely Missing From The Rest Of My Life. I Thrilled In The Fresh Perspective That Came From The Tipping The Ordinary Plane Of Existence On End.

And If I Remain In The Dark About Our Purpose Here, And The Meaning Of Eternity, I Have Nevertheless Arrived At An Understanding Of A Few More Modest Truths: Most Of Us Fear Death. Most Of Us Yearn To Comprehend How We Got Here, And Why-- Which Is To Say, Most Of Us Ache To Know The Love Of Our Creator. And We Will No Doubt Feel That Ache, Most Of Us, For As Long As We Happen To Be Alive.

Heaven, For Me, Is One Focused Project - It's Like A Weird Form Of Autism.

The Sad End He Met In Afghanistan Was More Accurately A Function Of His Stubborn Idealism - His Insistence On Trying To Do The Right Thing. In Which Case It Wasn't A Tragic Flaw That Brought Tillman Down, But A Tragic Virtue.

The Endless, Agonizing Recycling Of What Might Have Been, Soon Followed By A Litany Of Rationalizations And Self-deceptions As You Struggle To Reconcile The Void Between The Person You Want To Be And The Person You Fear You Are.