Free The Art of Holding On and Letting Go by Kristin Lenz

words silently, then aloud, whispering, trying to make sense of them. “ ‘Not till we are lost, in other words, not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations.’ ”
    The cover released its final hold and fell off. Figures. Thoreau’s words made sense when I read them outside in the woods, but they were meaningless sitting on the floor of a suburban closet.
    I didn’t want to climb in Michigan. Another protest of sorts.
Fine, send me away from the mountains, then I won’t climb. I’ll get rusty and flub my next competition, just like I had the last one, and what will you think about that, Mom and Dad?
    I picked up an old copy of
Climbing Magazine
and flipped to the back where there was a list of climbing gyms around the country. Under Michigan, it said Planet Granite, Pontiac. I didn’t know where Pontiac was. Maybe I didn’t even care. I just wanted to go back to California. I needed to go home.
    The phone rang from the kitchen, and I raced out of my room and down the hall. Grandpa beat me by three seconds and picked it up with a grin.
    â€œIt’s your mother. Would you like to talk first?” he asked.
    I nodded and took the phone.
    â€œMom?”
    â€œHi sweetie.” Static cut through Mom’s voice. She sounded small and far away.
    I took the phone into my room and shut the door. “Where are you?”
    â€œWe’re still in Ecuador,” Mom said. “But we’ve left Mount Chimborazo. Your dad is—”
    Static took over her words.
    â€œYou disappeared for a second,” I said. “Is Dad okay?”
    â€œHe’s fine—Max—taking it very—” Mom’s voice disappeared every few words.
    â€œHe needs to come home,” I said. “I need to go home too.”
    â€œI wish it were that easy.”
    â€œWhat’s so hard about it?”
    â€œYour dad doesn’t think he can handle going back to the cabin now.”
    Mom’s voice came through clearly for a moment, then static drowned her out again. Dad and Uncle Max had restored our cabin in California themselves. It was a run down, abandoned shack when we first found it, and they spent an entire year turning it into a cozy home. But I had helped too. I had pounded nails and grouted tile right alongside them.
    I stepped out of my room, trying to get better reception, but the problem was on Mom’s end of the line. She had given up calling my cell, but now it was just as bad on the landline. It sounded like someone was crinkling wrapping paper in my ear.
    â€œHe feels like he owes Max. If he can’t give Max his life back, he’s going to live his life for him. Something like that, but more complicated. It’s hard to explain.”
    â€œWhat about me? Our cabin is even more special because of Uncle Max. We can’t leave it.”
    â€œI know. I agree. But—Dad’s—ready yet. And we’ve—talk— what’s best for you. —want you to stay—school. —best place—with Grandma and Grandpa.”
    â€œMom!” I shouted. “I can hardly hear you!”
    â€œMax’s dream—K2. —first—head south—Peru, then—”
    The phone was silent.
    â€œMom? Are you there?”
    Silence.
    â€œOh come on!” I smacked the phone against the wall. I dialed Mom’s cell. Busy signal. I waited a few seconds and dialed again. Still busy.
    My parents and I had been arguing about school for years. They kept saying it was time for me to have a real education. They said I couldn’t count on a climbing career; I needed something to fall back on. Like accounting or something. They wanted me to go to college, and their version of homeschooling wasn’t going to cut it. They said I needed a real school with real homework, real tests, and real grades. They said I needed a real life. I