In 1996, on a bright January day, a group of seasoned mountaineers set out to conquer Everest, guided by a renowned Sherpa—a member of Nepal’s mountain-dwelling minority, whose expertise has led countless climbers to the peaks. Every climber knew the cardinal rule: Begin descending before 2:00 p.m. No matter how far you have come, you must turn back. Push forward beyond this hour, and the consequences could be fatal.

Yet they pressed on, step by step, until nearly 4:00 p.m. Night fell, temperatures plummeted, and the mountain claimed most of their lives. How could a group of such experienced adventurers make this deadly miscalculation?

Experts suggest the answer lies in focus: they kept their eyes on the summit—the final prize—forgetting that the peak was nothing more than an external object, not part of their essence. Perhaps they had, even unconsciously, fused who they were with what they did or could achieve, equating themselves with being “elite climbers” or “top guides.” In that fragile mix of identity and ambition, tragedy took hold.

This is only a theory, yet it carries a certain truth. Every person has dreams; every soul has a summit to aspire to. Yet how many can reach it safely, within the bounds of time and circumstance? For many, simply embarking on the climb is a triumph. Reaching the peak, planting the flag, declaring “I was here”—yes, that is impressive. But if you fall just short, should you not also celebrate the journey itself, the company of fellow travelers, the steps taken in courage? How sad it is to lose oneself in the pursuit of proving what one is.

Between two and four o’clock, what seems like progress toward the summit can, in fact, be a march toward death.

Perhaps our summit is not Everest, and our journey carries no mortal risk. Yet if we cannot disentangle our worth from our accomplishments, success and failure can weigh unbearably heavy. This is not a call to abandon goals or ideals—it is a reminder to consider the attitude we bring to the climb.

I admire the Apostle Paul’s perspective in the Bible: “We are ignored, even though we are well known. We live close to death, but we are still alive. We have been beaten, but we have not been killed. Our hearts ache, but we always have joy. We are poor, but we give spiritual riches to others. We own nothing, and yet we have everything.”*

Let me add this: though it may seem we have not reached the summit, our hearts are already on the peak.

If one day you too climb Everest, will you turn back at two o’clock sharp—whether you have planted your flag atop the summit—or linger somewhere along the mountainside?

*2 Corinthians 6:9–10, NLT

Carmen Tsui is Challenger’s editor-in-chief. She is also a coach and coach trainer.