The Strawberry on the Cliff
by Edmund J. Janas, II
I woke up today, 8 days after my 54th birthday thinking about the words of my 11th grade psychology teacher. He was always encouraging me…sticking up for me in class, and imparting wisdom to me. When I was ready to go abroad to study art, he told me: “Don’t let anyone try to convince you that it’s impossible to make money with your art!” When a racist girl in class put down a person of color he defended that person. I can’t say I remember his name. I will have to look through my class yearbook to find it, I’ll update this essay/reflection soon. I will always hold that teacher in high regard, for seeing me and believing in me.
One day, he told us the story of a man who fell and dangled on a cliff. This is my attempt to modernize that story for film.
There’s a moment in every long journey when you realize the path isn’t about reaching someone else’s destination, but savoring the unexpected sweetness of your own. I’ve been climbing this mountain for decades-not racing, not competing, just moving forward with the quiet determination of someone who understands that life isn’t about proving anything to anyone. Each step has been mine, each breath a testament to survival, not success as others might define it.
People see me differently now. The landscape of perception shifts like mountain shadows-mostly you’re invisible, sometimes despised, sometimes you’re a beacon. I’ve learned that these changing views say more about the observers than the observed. I’m the same person I’ve always been: resilient, curious, committed to my own quiet revolution.
My only goal now is simple: to enjoy whatever time I have left on this planet. To breathe. To create. To experience. To be fully, unapologetically present in my own life. I make no promises. Not to dreamers, not to doubters, not even to myself beyond this: I will taste my own moments of joy.
The world is full of people doing their best, navigating their own impossible terrains. Some will misunderstand. Some will reach out with open hands, others with closed fists. I see them all with the same gentle acknowledgment-we’re all just trying to find our way. My hands are raw, fingers clutching an icy cliff face.
How I got here, I can’t quite remember-the journey blurs into a landscape of survival, of endless climbing. The wind bites. Snow swirls.
And then, impossibly, improbably-a branch. A strawberry. Ripe. Red, and very likely the sweetest little thing. Absurdly perfect against the stark white of the cliff. I look at it.
Images rendered with the help meta.ai and bing ai. Below is a more accurate version of my journey. 🙂
