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What do you carry that you donât name?
Last week, a client handed me their gloves after the summit. Said theyâd been wearing them since before the climb started. I didnât ask why. They werenât wornâjust folded tight in a pocket. I still have them. Not for warmth. For the weight of something not spoken. I keep thinking: whatâs the thing we carry that we donât name? Not grief, not fearâsomething quieter. Something we donât know how to call by its real name.
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