I spent all that money, took all the time off, trained for months. Early thirties, right? Supposed to be achieving things. Milestones. Family back home asking when I'm coming to my senses, settling down. But climbing that thing, getting to the very top before the sun came up, watching the light hit the clouds... nothing. Just dead air. No rush, no sense of accomplishment. Not even relief. Just the absence of effort, which isn't the same. It was beautiful, objectively. I could recognize that. But it didn't *move* me. Is that... normal? To spend so much time pursuing something everyone agrees is a significant achievement, only to feel... flat? Like a dull affect, almost. I keep thinking maybe I’m experiencing some kind of anhedonia. Or emotional blunting. I’ve felt this way before, about other things. Promotions, for instance. Or even when someone close to me got married and everyone was effusive. I felt happy for them, cognitively. But the feeling itself, the visceral reaction, just wasn’t there. I don’t understand it. Everyone expects a certain reaction, a certain joy, a certain pride. My parents especially — it's always about what you've done, what you've proven. And I do it. I get to the top. I see the sunrise over the clouds. And then... I just want to go back down. No photo op, no 'I did it' moment. Just cold, tired, and an internal emptiness that feels almost pathological.