The Ladder That Wasn’t There

One morning, everyone woke up and started racing up a ladder.
It was a tall ladder, shiny and squeaky, with numbers on every rung: grades, titles, bonuses.
“Climb!” shouted the mid-lifers. “Climb or be nothing!”

But one person paused and scratched their head.
Behind a dusty bookshelf, they found a curious little door.
Inside was a room full of sparks, and each spark whispered: “What if you made your own ladder… or garden… or law?”

While the other climbers panicked when the rungs wobbled, this person planted seeds.
They built gardens in deserts, scribbled ideas across towns, stacked little victories like firewood.
Some sparks caught and lit up streets; some fizzled—but that was okay.

When others faced mid-life “Oh-no” moments—rushing to buy widgets or reinvent themselves—the person simply smiled at the growing collection of sparks.
They didn’t need applause; the sparks told them they were already winning.

And as the mid-lifers clutched their ladders, the person danced barefoot on the sidewalk’s edge,
where the ladder ended… and the real world began.

Where the Ladder Ends

Some folks climb ladders, shiny and tall,
Counting each rung as the measure of all.
They fear every wobble, they panic, they race,
Chasing the shadows that vanish in place.

But some step aside and plant wild dreams,
Measuring success by the sparks and beams.
They touch lives, stir hearts, and build new ways,
Turning small victories into blazing days.

While others buy stuff to feel alive,
They send ideas like paper boats to survive.
Mid-life crises? They never know,
Their compass is theirs, steady and slow.

The sidewalk ends, the ladder too,
But life jumps forward where the embers flew.
And somewhere between risk and delight,
The world lights up with a mischievous light.