I Used To Be a Mountain
- Sterling Lambert
- 5 days ago
- 4 min read

Everyone has something to say. And if you don’t think you do, well, silence is still saying something. But having a voice doesn’t mean others will listen. No one owes us their attention. Which makes me wonder: is the world listening? Is Nature listening? Maybe the deeper question isn’t whether we are heard, but whether we are listening — to the fleeting rhythm of our own lives, to the truth that nothing stays the same.
I’ve started to believe that everything we need to live a meaningful life is right in front of us. The tools are there—some easy to reach, others harder, some used well, others misused. We chase self-help books, lectures, and courses as if there’s a secret answer waiting to be unlocked. Yet maybe the answer is more straightforward than we want to accept: to pause and actually listen. Listen to our bodies, feel our emotions, notice the flow of thoughts, and give ourselves even brief moments of quiet and stillness to pay attention. Only then can we decide how to move forward and accept what comes.
Because life isn’t a puzzle with one solution, it’s a paradox. No training levels us up once and for all. No future moment when things perfectly click into place. It’s more like Tetris pieces falling. Sometimes they fit, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes the pieces fall so quickly we can’t decide, or we get distracted, but regardless, another always follows. If we get stuck, we miss the chance to try again. From our limited perspective, the entire arrangement may appear messy or imperfect. But maybe, when we finally pause and step back, we’ll see a kind of masterpiece. Perhaps the cracks and awkward fits are the very essence of it all: the reminder that beauty doesn’t come from perfection, but from change itself. Perhaps the point is to let go of what we think life should look like.
Life is always happening now, as each moment and experience comes together and falls apart. We see this truth in our very beings: the rise and fall of breath, the rhythm of our heartbeats, even the turnover of our cells. And we see it across eons: oceans turn to rain, sunlight becomes sugar, stars collapse into dust. Nothing is meant to last. Nothing looks as it once did, nothing remains. Nothing is more perfect than this moment, precisely because it is changing. Life = change. So why do we expect to predict or control the journey?
I was reminded of this the other day by a photo of a stone among tiles, which is now the background on my phone. On its surface were the words: I used to be a mountain. That stone carries a whole history in its presence. Once towering, now worn down, one day dust again. In the same way, I was once stardust. Then an idea (shoutout to my parents). Then born. And one day, I’ll become something else. The stone and I are not so different. Both of us are part of a universe that insists on change. Mountains into pebbles. Breath into air. Being into becoming. The journey from one point to the other is filled with infinite possibilities. Yet at some point, it’ll come back around. Big into small into big — we are always part of the whole, even as the pieces change. Welcome to the cosmic dance, if you will.
We are small, yes. A blip. But insignificance doesn’t erase meaning. You matter if you choose to. You matter because you are made of the same mystery as mountains and stars and rivers — all flowing through space and time at their own pace yet still sharing the same beat. You are part of this life, whether you choose it or not; the choice is only how you meet it. Impermanence doesn’t diminish us; it makes this moment more precious. And the good news is none of this is new to you. These aren’t revelations so much as reminders. Ones whispered to us in our breath and heartbeat, in still ponds and shifting winds, in heartbreak and laughter, in friendship and aloneness, in everything that makes up the universe. If only we pause long enough to listen.
Ultimately, you don’t have to believe it. I do. I believe in you.
So I’ll leave you with this reminder:
One night when you were just a star,
someone hung every hope, every wish, every dream,
they ever had from your limbs,
so if you ever feel inferior,
ever start to doubt your beauty or brilliance just rem
ember:
you have constellations lining the cathedral walls of your chest,
a moon for a heart
and the sunlight pouring through your skin,
you are a symphony of stardust
and you were born to shine.
- unknown
About the Author: Sterling Lambert

Sterling Lambert earned his B.A. in Psychology from Duke University and is currently pursuing a Master’s in Clinical Mental Health Counseling at Johns Hopkins University. He serves as a graduate clinician at the Chesapeake Mental Health Collaborative (CMHC), specializing in Nature-Informed Therapy, and is also a research intern at the Center for Psychedelic and Consciousness Research.
As a certified Nature-based meditation instructor, Sterling is dedicated to exploring the mind and the many paths to healing. He believes lasting change arises from compassion, collaboration, and attention to the whole person—mind, body, and spirit. With humor, play, and presence, he brings curiosity and care to every therapeutic relationship.
His clinical approach integrates Nature-based practices, meditation, movement (Qi Gong and sports), music, Somatic Experiencing, Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), and Internal Family Systems (IFS). Most importantly, Sterling meets clients where they are, honoring the uniqueness of each journey.
Sterling offers counseling through CMHC’s Affordable Counseling Program, which provides low-cost sessions for those who are uninsured, underinsured, or managing high deductibles. To request an appointment, please fill out CMHC’s Therapy Request Form.
or email intakes@cmhcweb.com.
Learn more about Sterling at sterlinghlambert.com.