Mid-December in Wales is not for the faint-hearted. Rain pours as if the sky itself is grieving, and the wind cuts sideways, impatient and relentless. It is the perfect weather, I tell myself, for a short pilgrimage. Ahead of me lies a narrow footpath, dissolving into grey fog, allegedly leading to the summit of Mount Snowdon—just over a thousand meters above sea level, invisible and abstract in these conditions.

As I step onto the path, I reflect on the why of this journey. What is my quest today?

Then my phone vibrates.

A message from my son. He writes that he is shocked and deeply saddened by the sudden death of a dear friend, Tom—only 31 years old. The words hit me harder than the wind. In an instant, my original purpose for this walk collapses. I had come here to work through painful childhood memories that had resurfaced recently. Important, yes—but suddenly they feel small, almost self-indulgent, in the face of such raw loss.

Tom’s death opens a wider field of reflection. I think of young people dying far too early, all over the world—Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan—caught in wars, mass shootings, senseless violence. Innocent lives extinguished. We call them victims, and we are right to do so. And we point to perpetrators—those we hate, fear, and despise.

But when I slow down and look more deeply, an uncomfortable thought arises: most perpetrators likely feel like victims themselves, blaming someone else, somewhere else, for their suffering. Victim and perpetrator chasing each other in an endless, tragic loop.

As the rain soaks through my jacket, I turn the question inward. How often do I feel like a victim? How often do I feel mistreated, abused, misunderstood?

I realize that I frequently feel victimized by the news itself—by the constant stream of violence, outrage, and despair. The cycle of victims creating perpetrators creating new victims feels unstoppable. That helplessness makes me sad. And angry. I blame big media. Big tech. The resurgence of dictatorships. There is no shortage of forces to blame.

But then a quieter, more demanding question emerges: What about me?
What about my agency? My freedom? My larger quest in life?

I make a decision. I dedicate this walk to breaking the cycle of victimhood—starting with myself.

With each step uphill, I practice letting go of my sense of being a victim. With each next step, I choose agency: full acceptance and responsibility for what is. Not denial. Not indifference. But a refusal to outsource my inner freedom.

I begin to notice a rhythm in the walking. One step releases pain; the next accepts reality. One step lets go of complaining and blaming; the next opens to possibility and hope. One step belongs to the past; the next gestures toward the future. One step touches death; the next affirms life.

The walk is long and painful. The wind pushes me backward, as if testing my resolve. Rain penetrates everything. The fog erases any grand perspective—no sweeping views, no reassuring horizon. And yet, paradoxically, I feel empowered. There is something profoundly grounding about the simplicity of walking. I am not giving up. I am committed to taking the next step, however small, however slippery.

When I finally reach the top, there is—nothing. No view. Just fog, wind, and wet rock. I laugh out loud. Why are we here?

Ah yes. This is a pilgrimage. For Tom. And for all the innocent people who die too young.

I realize something else, too: I do not want to die too young—not just physically, but inwardly. Not numbed. Not resigned. Not trapped in victimhood. So I begin the descent, gladly, back toward the valley and life.

At the bottom, I stumble upon a pub, glowing with warmth. Inside, there is an open fire, crackling and alive, and a welcoming host. I dry my clothes, feel my body again, and come back to my senses.

I may have conquered Mount Snowdon in the rain. But the real journey—the one into agency, responsibility, and life itself—is not finished. It continues with every step I choose to take, from here on.

And this is also the journey ahead of us, collectively, as a society facing many challenges and threats – by not giving in to the cycle of despair, anger and victimhood. We can all choose to take a step forward, with an open mind and heart.