White.
Everywhere.
A howling, endless void that swallowed the world whole.
The summit was so close—too close.
On 23 May 2014, three climbers stood frozen 400 meters below the top of Mt. McKinley, trapped in a whiteout so blinding it felt like the mountain wanted them gone.
The wind screamed louder than their voices.
Breathing was a fight.
The cold wasn’t just cold—it was alive, clawing past layers, biting into flesh and bone, at a brutal -27 below zero.
Gloved fingers burned, gripping tight to the pick axe.
Feet in crampons were as heavy as anchors, dragging with each step.
Turning back felt like giving up.
Going forward was a death wish.
The summit fever whispered: You’ve come this far. You can’t turn back now.
Then, slicing through the chaos, a voice shouted, “Fuck it, we have to turn back!”
But hesitation hung in the air, thick and heavy.
The summit was right there.
But so was death, grinning behind the white curtain.
At that razor-thin line between ego and survival, climbers realized how fragile it all was.
They were alone.
Tired.
Scared shitless.
I know, because I was one of them…
We made it back, but not the same.
On the way down, the inevitable happened.
We slipped.
The icy slope became a chute to oblivion, pulling us toward the void.
For a moment, time stopped, and death laughed in my face.
Somehow, we stopped the fall.
Somehow, we scrambled back from the edge.
14 hours later, when we reached the camp, we all agreed on one thing.
We died over there and everything that comes after is extra. We live on borrowed time.
That truth follows me everywhere.
Not always in the rush of life, but in the quiet.
When I hear the wind howl.
When I look at the black-and-white photo from my Yashica—the last picture I took before it all.
And it hits me.
I had a rendezvous with death.
I flirted with her, stood toe-to-toe with the abyss, and somehow walked away.
We all have our close calls.
A step you didn’t take.
A car you just missed.
A decision that, without knowing it, saved you.
Every day is borrowed time.
Take nothing for granted.
Every moment is a gift, not a guarantee.
Breathe it in.
Live the extra.
Here’s to making every second count in 2025.
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