As I ran through the soggy mountains this Juneteenth morning, I thought about my clichés, about our clichés, about our collective desire to cling to them, and the courage it takes to see them as they are: trite and hackneyed expressions and concepts that often overlook the nuance of reality.

Bits of wire poking out of the rubble. Meaningless trash, yet a physical tether to our collective, inspiring past. I left this bit on an obvious rock. Hopefully someone will notice and dig out its past, it's story. And ours.

On May 1, 1999, my teammates and I discovered the remains of George Mallory high on Everest. Here, I reflect on that day twenty years later, once again on Mount Everest.

Everest is hard, but saying goodbye is harder.