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- Herausgeber: John Wiley & Sons
- Kategorie: Fachliteratur
- Sprache: Englisch
Captivating fable to help you grow, discover yourself, succeed, and lead a more fulfilling life
The Call to Climb is a transformative fable about self-discovery and personal growth that gives readers all of the tools they need to navigate their own challenges, embrace stillness, and rediscover the joy and meaning in their lives.
We step into Riley's journey stranded in a remote Bolivian village in the Andes, a moment before a life-changing journey up a mystical mountain begins. Guided by Santiago, a man of the mountains, Riley embarks on a climb that challenges more than just physical endurance. Every step upward is a step inward, confronting fears, unraveling long-held beliefs, and awakening a connection to a forgotten self.
This book empowers readers to:
- Recognize the signs of misalignment with their inner selves and understand the importance of addressing them
- Foster a Growth Mindset, enabling them to venture outside their comfort zone where their true potential lies
- Implement strategies to minimize distractions and gain clarity to live a more purposeful life
The Call to Climb is a fable for anyone who has ever felt lost or out of alignment with their true path. It's a story of courage, self-discovery, and the transformative power of embracing the journey, no matter how daunting it may seem.
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Seitenzahl: 301
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Table of Contents
Cover
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Warning
Section I: The Summons of the Soul
Chapter 1: Lost
Chapter 2: Into the Night
Chapter 3: The Storm
Chapter 4: The Road to Nowhere
Chapter 5: Cemetery of Souls
Section II: Honor Your Path
Chapter 6: Copy and Paste
Chapter 7: Beneath the Ice
Chapter 8: The Examined Life
Chapter 9: The Gift
Chapter 10: Oh Captain, My Captain
Section III: Here There Be Dragons
Chapter 11: The Avalanche
Chapter 12: The Mosaic
Chapter 13: Into the Lair
Chapter 14: Dragon Slayer
Chapter 15: The Abyss
Chapter 16: The Reflecting Pool
Section IV: The Beautiful State
Chapter 17: Making the Weather
Chapter 18: Your Rope Team
Chapter 19: Whiteout
Chapter 20: The Dungeon Master
Chapter 21: Three Little Birds
Section V: A Mountain to Climb
Chapter 22: The Worthy Pursuit
Chapter 23: One Thousand Steps
Chapter 24: High Camp
Chapter 25: Walker of the Peaks
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Index
End User License Agreement
Guide
Cover
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Warning
Begin Reading
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Index
End User License Agreement
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JAMES ROBBINS
THE CALL TO CLIMB
A STORY TO FIND YOUR PATH, CONQUER YOUR FEARS, AND FULFILL YOUR DESTINY
Copyright © 2025 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc. All rights reserved, including rights for text and data mining and training of artificial technologies or similar technologies.
Published by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey.Published simultaneously in Canada.
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Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data is Available:
ISBN 9781394318421 (Cloth)ISBN 9781394318438 (ePub)ISBN 9781394318445 (ePDF)
Cover Design: WileyCover Images: © enera/stock.adobe.com,© Brandon Laufenberg/Getty ImagesAuthor Photo: © James Robbins 2025
To Amber, Braden, and Sydney
My climbing partners for life
Warning
What you hold in your hands is more than a book—it's an invitation.
A summons from your Soul, calling you to a conversation that might be long overdue.
But only if you're ready.
So, if you feel a pull toward something greater—a desire to live a more authentic and purpose‐filled life—then turn the page.
Just know this: once you do, there's no turning back.
Congratulations.
Let's climb!
For special resources during your climb, visit:
www.iwillclimb.com
Section IThe Summons of the Soul
“Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.”
—Carl Jung
Chapter 1Lost
Bolivia, elevation 11,237 feet
I was lost.
I should have reached the highway two hours ago, but here I was, bouncing down some abandoned road in the Bolivian foothills. The map on my phone was insisting this was the way, but each mile made it clearer I was heading deeper into nowhere. I hadn't seen another car—or a house for that matter—in a couple of hours, and with the sun sinking fast, it would soon be dark.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter. If I couldn't find my way out of here soon, I would miss my flight back home. Worse yet, I was running out of gas and the last thing I wanted to do was spend the night in my rental car, in the absolute middle of nowhere.
What a fitting way to cap off what might be the worst day of my career.
I'd been in Bolivia for two weeks, along with our team from work, negotiating a land‐rights deal with a remote Aymaran village. Nestled in the foothills of the Andes Mountains, these people had carved out a simple life for themselves, untouched by the modern world beyond their valley. Our biggest challenge had been the altitude. The entire team suffered from splitting headaches and nausea when we first arrived, but after a week our bodies eventually acclimatized.
Our client—a giant energy conglomerate—had located a large natural gas pocket on the edge of their village, and we were sent to convince the elders to let our client extract the gas. Pressure was always high in these negotiations, with millions of dollars on the line. The hardest part was convincing an untrusting group of elders to accept the deal. We'd sell them on the dream of prosperity, then gloss over the potential damage to their land and culture. It wasn't personal, just business. And if we ran into resistance, there were always bribes. I never actually saw that happen, but some of the team confirmed my suspicion when they told me that Rick, our boss, had done it several times.
I'd only worked for Rick for about a year. He was talented, driven, and arrogant. While he wasn't the most fun to work for, at least he was clear. Do things his way and you get rewarded. Oppose him, or underperform, and your life was going to be hell.
When we did close deals, which was often, there was a nice cash bonus in it for the team. The money was great, but deep down I could feel this job chipping away at my soul. In my quiet moments, I didn't feel proud of what we were doing.
And that's what ultimately led me here, driving alone in this crappy little car, without a clue of where I was.
Earlier today we were in a dimly lit community hall for our final meeting with the village elders. Rick made his closing pitch, reminding them of how good this opportunity would be for the village. That was the part that always turned my stomach. It was a half‐truth at best. The translator passed on Rick’s final words to the elders who were seated at the head table. Then the five of them pulled their chairs together in a small circle to make a final decision.
As I sat, waiting, I felt a pang of guilt in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't the first time, but I'd learned to ignore it. After all, this wasn't my company, I just work there. But today, for some reason, I couldn't shake it. It began to rise into my chest, climbing like a fire up a spindle, searching for a way out of my body. I wanted to say something, but it wasn't my place. We're not telling them the whole truth! I thought to myself. This is wrong!
It was a fact that some of our previous deals had caused great harm to villages just like this one. The team pretended it never happened, but it had. “How can I sit here and be okay with this?” I asked myself. As the elders continued their discussion, time was running out.
I tried to swallow it, to ride out the emotion. “It's not my problem,” I said to myself. But my conscience, now pounding on the door of my heart like an angry ogre, wasn't letting it go. I felt ashamed as it laid bare my cowardice. “Speak!” it cried.
I can't …
Then, without thinking, I blurted out, “There's one thing you need to know before you sign.” The elders turned, surprised by my interruption. “This deal will make you a lot of money, but it can also do your village harm. I'm not saying it isn't the right move, but don't underestimate the impact to your way of life.” I sat back in my chair, my breath shallow.
You could have heard a pin drop as all eyes were locked on me.
The elders then looked at the translator, who was still staring at me in disbelief. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rick, his fist clenched around the tablecloth. It felt like time itself had stopped, and I immediately regretted what I'd done.
The translator turned and passed my message on to the elders. They returned to their huddle, speaking quieter now. Wanting to avoid eye contact with my team, I glanced down at my notebook and noticed my hand was trembling. I'd just detonated the deal, and probably my job along with it.
After what seemed like an eternity, the elders stopped talking. Then one of them stood up, walked over to Rick, and extended his hand with a big smile. “Vamos!” he said.
The team let out an audible sigh. Rick leapt to his feet and shook hands with all the elders. I was shocked but relieved I hadn't ruined everything.
After some paperwork and a group photo, we said goodbye to the elders and then headed outside. Rick's mood visibly changed as he marched past our SUV and to the compact rental car—the one nobody wanted to drive.
“Riley!” he yelled before getting in the passenger side.
I swallowed and walked toward the car. The team watched as I grabbed the door handle, braced myself, and got in.
Rick was six‐foot‐five, and inside the tiny car he seemed like a giant—an angry one. His face was hot, and a vein on his forehead pulsed with rage.
“What the hell was that?” he spat. “Millions of dollars on the line and you almost blew it with your moral bullshit!”
Rick clenched both his fists and for a moment I was afraid he might hit me. “You almost screwed over the whole team!” he fumed. “Was that your plan?”
“No,” I said, my voice barely audible.
“If you're so goddamn concerned about the plight of the villagers, then maybe you should work for a charity. We just did them a favor Riley … a favor!” Rick yelled.
He looked away and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “I don't even want to talk to you for the rest of the trip, and when we get home, we're going to sit down and have a chat. You better believe it.”
I didn't say a word. There was nothing I could say.
“Until then,” Rick continued, “you can drive this junker back to the airport by yourself. The rest of the team will ride with me. It'll give you some time to think about what you really want to do with your life.”
Rick got out and slammed the door behind him. The rest of the team followed as they clambered like puppies into the SUV. A moment later, they sped off, leaving me in a cloud of reddish dust.
That was six hours earlier. Now I was here, lost in the Bolivian wilderness. My phone was telling me to keep going, but the weird thing was I no longer had service. I couldn't even text the team. And I couldn't shake the feeling that I was heading farther from civilization rather than back to it. I bit my lip and scanned the horizon. Mile after mile of sand, rocks, and sagebrush reminded me I was a long way from home. Jagged, unforgiving hills rose on either side, and it looked like this place hadn't seen rain in months. My car was coated in dust—inside and out. It clung to everything, like regret, refusing to be shaken off.
I took a deep breath and focused my eyes on the road, but my thoughts kept returning to the meeting in the hall. As I replayed what happened, I heard a voice inside me. “What are you doing with your life, Riley?”
But I shook it away. Not now.
The sun finally disappeared behind the hills, taking with it the last rays of comfort. As darkness descended, the temperature plummeted fast, so I turned on the heater. At least something works, I thought. The road had now deteriorated so much that I had to slow the car to a crawl. Even then, the potholes and rocks that littered the road were unavoidable.
I didn’t want to admit it, but I was scared. Scared of a lot of things. My job, my future, the team hating me, and the obvious: what might be waiting for me out there in the dark. Even the headlights of my car seem powerless to fend off the night.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a violent crack sounded from underneath, as the nose of the car slammed into the earth. The impact made me bite my tongue.
“No, no, no …”
It felt like I’d just driven into a large hole, with the car’s nose now pointed down on an angle. Confused, I stepped out into the night. The frigid air attacked my face as I walked to the front of the car. The flashlight beam danced across the dirt as I lowered myself to my knees. There was only a six‐inch gap between the bumper and the road, but it was enough to have a look. Pressing one cheek onto the frozen dirt, I peered under the car, and when I saw it my stomach dropped. The axle had snapped in two, leaving both wheels splayed out uselessly into the dirt. Any hope of making it back to the city tonight was now gone.
I felt the panic rise in my throat. I'm stranded. This day can't get any worse. I calmed myself down with a couple of long, slow breaths to help me think clearly. I remembered a documentary I saw a few years ago on survival situations. They said it's always safer to stay in your vehicle and wait for rescue. But what if the next village is just around the corner? I should at least check. But … I hesitated. I don't know if that's a good idea. I returned to the car to warm up and think.
The map!
I opened my phone again to discover my battery was now at three percent. I had let Jenny borrow my charger earlier today and she took it with her when they left. Not much time. I needed to hurry. I checked the map again, surprised to see the tiny blue dot still pulsing on the screen, marking my location. I collapsed it with two fingers, causing the map to zoom out. But there was nothing. I did it again, zooming out farther. Still nothing. Once more, I zoomed out, and at the very top right of the screen it looked like a couple of straight lines, like streets of a village. I tried to zoom out again.…
Suddenly, the screen went black.
“Damn it!” I yelled in frustration.
At the same time, there was a flicker of hope. I only saw it for a second, but I’m sure it was a village, and it couldn’t have been more than five miles away.
The question was, do I stay here, or do I go for it?
“It's pitch black out and freezing cold, and you have no idea where you're going,” said a voice inside my head. “It's too risky. Just stay.”
But this car felt like a coffin, and I didn’t have enough gas to run the heater much longer. Then I felt something stir inside my chest—a voice, quiet yet urgent: Move Riley. You've got to move!
I sat a moment longer, my breath now fogging up the windshield. “Five miles?” I asked myself. “What the hell. Let's do it.”
I reached into the back seat to grab my jacket. There was a village out there somewhere, I just knew it, and I was going to find it.
Chapter 2Into the Night
Elevation 11,301 feet
Walking alone through the wilderness in a foreign country at night was terrifying. The overcast sky swallowed any hint of starlight, leaving me in near‐total darkness. The icy air bit at my exposed skin, forcing me to switch the pocket flashlight between hands—one hand clutching it tightly, the other retreating into the shallow warmth of my pocket, desperate for relief.
But the most unnerving part wasn't the frigid cold or the darkness—it was the silence. The high‐altitude desert doesn't come alive at night with a chorus of insects like back home. The only sounds were my labored breathing and the crunch of my shoes on the dirt. It felt haunting.
Every few minutes, I stopped to hold my breath while my ears strained the darkness for even the slightest sound. But there was nothing; not even a breeze to distract me from my thoughts. I don't think I've ever felt more alone. As I walked, I reflected back on the meeting earlier today. I definitely let my team down. I thought I was doing the right thing but I almost cost us the deal, which would have wiped out everyone's bonus. I felt so conflicted.
Thirty minutes into my journey, I started to have second thoughts. Was that really a village I saw on my phone? Every mile I walked down this road was one mile farther from the safety of the car. I'm going to end up like one of those people in the documentary who leave their vehicle and wind up dead, I thought. Don't they have wild dogs out here?
“Just keep walking, Riley,” I told myself.
After about an hour, I began to shiver. The pain in my hand as I held the flashlight was unbearable, so I turned it off and put it back in my pocket. With nothing to light my way, I had to stop. It was pitch black. A growing panic welled up in my chest as I seriously questioned if I should turn back. In my pocket, my hand gripped the smooth stone I'd been carrying every day for over three years. My thumb ran across the numbers that were engraved onto its surface. It calmed me while I considered my options.
Slowly, my eyes adjusted and the faint outline of foothills off to my right faded into view. Apart from that, there was nothing but a dark, vast, empty space.
“What have you done, Riley?” I said out loud to no one.
And then, in the distance, I saw it—a light. It was barely perceptible, a tiny pinprick in the emptiness. Had my flashlight been on, I would have missed it.
My heart jumped. “I knew it.” For the first time today, I felt a flicker of hope. With renewed energy, I picked up the pace and headed toward the light.
As I got closer, a second light appeared, and then a third. They were scattered across the ground like stars that had fallen to earth. A village!
I wasn't alone after all.
Then, a flash of lightning danced across the horizon, above the clouds, briefly lighting up the desert. It was followed by a low rumble of thunder off in the distance. I didn't think you could have lightning when it's this cold, but if there's a storm coming, I don't want to be stuck out here.
Thirty minutes later, the village began to take shape, as dark outlines of rooftops appeared on the horizon. A dog started barking, aware of my approach, and was quickly joined by another. This led to at least one more light coming on.
As I walked to the edge of the village, the light I'd first seen from a mile away now came into full view. It was a single bulb attached to a wooden pole with a small solar panel. As I got closer, I could see two men—one wearing a blue vest and leaning against the light pole, the other sitting on a chair next to the wall, wrapped up in a blanket.
I was relieved, but also cautious. I stopped, observing the men from a distance. Out here in the dark, I was invisible, and I wanted to know if they were safe to approach. Over my short time in Bolivia, I had passed through several small villages, and all of them had been friendly. But I'd never been alone, and never in the middle of the night.
The cold soon reminded me that I couldn't stay out here much longer. I had no choice but to go. Not wanting to startle them, I called out while still several yards away. “Hola,” I said.
They turned, startled by the voice coming out of the dark. I slowly stepped into the light, raising my hands slightly to show that I was not a threat.
“Hola, hablas inglés?” I asked.
They both shook their heads. That's not good, I thought. I don't speak Spanish, so this is going to be interesting.
“My car‐o is no bueno.”
I cringed, my face apologetic for butchering their language. I fumbled for the words, but when they didn't come, I resorted to acting out what had happened with the car. It was history's most awkward game of midnight charades.
But they nodded their heads, which I interpreted as a good sign. Then they began talking excitedly to each other in Spanish before the man wrapped in the blanket said to me, “¿Está aquí para ver al Caminante de la Cumbre?”
I just stared at them blankly.
“I have no idea what you just said.” I answered. Then it hit me that they had no idea I'd just told them I had no idea.
I searched my memory for the simple phrases I'd learned in high school. “No comprendo,” I blurted out with a smile, proud of myself for remembering.
The man in the blue vest narrowed his eyes. “Okay, vamos,” he said, and motioned for me to follow.
Keeping up with the two strangers wasn't easy. The streets were dark and uneven. Just when I thought I'd reached the safety of the village, I feared I was in danger once again. I had no idea where these guys were taking me. A few minutes later, they turned to the right and led me down a winding path, which cut between a row of houses. In here it was so dark I couldn't even see my feet. I hesitated for a moment, thinking maybe I should turn and run, but where? I was out of options.
We continued a few more feet and then stopped in front of a small house. Light flickered in a tiny window beside the door, allowing me to see some of my surroundings. The man in the blue vest went to knock on the door but pulled back his hand at the last moment, as if having second thoughts. I wondered if something was wrong, but more importantly, who lived behind the door?
The sky once more illuminated with lightning. The man in the blue vest looked at me and said, “El Caminante,” then returned to the door. He took a deep breath, stood up straight, then carefully reached out his hand.
Knock, knock, knock.
Chapter 3The Storm
Elevation 11,389 feet
The door of the small house creaked open, spilling light into the street. Because I was standing to the side, I couldn't see who stood in the doorway. The man in the blue vest began to speak. Respect has a distinct signature, and whoever he was talking to was someone held in high regard. I waited, feeling guilty for the late‐night intrusion. Then the man in the house leaned out into the street, holding up a lantern in my direction.
He looked to be in his late fifties. His hair fell from his head in long, dark wavy locks interrupted by streaks of silver. His face was weathered, and the deep lines around his eyes suggested a lifetime of smiling. He looked at me, his eyes kind, and in his gaze, there was something else—recognition.
“Slightly off course, are we?” he said, his voice rich with a slight accent but in perfect English. “Welcome to our village, friend. You must be freezing. Come in, come in.”
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. “Thank you,” I said.
I entered the house, then turned back to my two guides still at the door. “Muchas gracias,” I said.
They both chuckled and nodded, then disappeared into the night. The man closed the door behind me and said, “A storm is coming. You can smell it. You arrived just in time.”
“I saw lightning on my way here,” I said.
He set the lantern down on a small wooden table. “I'm Santiago. It sounds like you've had quite the day.”
“You could say that again,” I replied, unzipping my jacket, which was stiff from the cold. “I'm Riley,” I added, extending my hand.
Santiago shook it firmly. His grip was warm and solid.
“Come. Have a seat by the fire and I'll make us some tea. You're obviously staying here tonight, unless you booked ahead at the Hilton down the road. They fill up fast.”
“There's a Hilton hotel here?” I asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“No,” he laughed. “But everyone always falls for that one. It never gets old.”
He disappeared into the kitchen, still amused with himself. I'd only just met him, but I could sense there was a whimsical charm about him, an energy that immediately put me at ease. In any other circumstance, I'd have been on guard—alone, in a stranger's house, in a foreign country—but something about him made me relax.
I sank into one of the leather armchairs in front of the fire, its plump cushions hugging my cold and aching body. The smell of wood smoke mixed with a hint of kerosene brought back memories of visits to my grandfather's house when I was a child.
“Jorge and Carlos are on their way to retrieve your car,” Santiago called from the kitchen. “They're the two who brought you here tonight.”
“That’s nice of them, but the axle is broken. So unless they have a tow truck, I don't think they'll have much luck.”
Santiago returned carrying a tray with two small mugs of steaming tea. “Don't be too sure about that. They're quite resourceful. Besides, it looks like we're in for a long night, and they want to get it off the road. We don't get a lot of rain here, but when we do, it's like heaven itself empties out. It can be quite dangerous.”
As if on cue, a rumble of thunder rolled overhead, much louder now.
Santiago handed me my tea. I wrapped both hands around the mug, hoping to get some heat into my fingers, which were still thawing. I took a sip. The fragrance was strong as the warm liquid slid down my throat. I hadn't realized how cold I was until now, sitting by the warmth of the fire.
“How did you learn English?” I asked.
“Oh, you know, a little here and there. I'm not as young as I look,” he grinned. “And of course, all the visitors who stumble into Boca give me a chance to practice since I'm the only one in the village who can speak it.”
“Boca?” I asked.
“Sorry, Boca de las Cumbres. That's the name of the village. It means ‘Mouth of the Summits,’ but people here just call it Boca. When you wake up in the morning, you'll see why. The village is at the base of some of the most beautiful peaks in the world. Everyone who visits Boca leaves changed—everyone.”
“I'm actually supposed to be on a flight right now back home, but you wouldn't believe my day.”
I proceeded to tell Santiago everything that had happened, from our trip to Bolivia, Rick's meltdown after the meeting, and finally my frightening journey across the desert in the dark.
He listened intently and then said, “It never ceases to amaze me how people end up at my door.”
“Others have come here?” I asked.
“Yes, of course,” he answered. “The roads are not well marked, and when people try to use their phones for a map, well …” He looked at me slyly. “Let's just say that a lot of problems are avoided when you have the right map, Riley.”
“Lesson learned,” I chuckled.
“Your story reminds me of a man, not too long ago, who ended up here in the village. He was a talented executive, but he too had lost his way.”
“Let me guess, phone map,” I joked.
“Yes, but he was slightly off course in life as well. He'd devoted so many years to climbing the corporate ranks, only to realize one day that something was amiss. He couldn't understand it, because he was doing everything he thought he was supposed to do. But somewhere along the way, despite being handsomely rewarded, he'd lost his passion and felt a growing emptiness. It doesn't matter how much money you make, Riley—if you're out of alignment, it's not living at all.”
“I can relate to part of that,” I said. “I don't really like my job, especially after a day like today. It's weird—sometimes I feel like I'm in the wrong place, like there's something more for me to do. It's not a good feeling. But something's gotta pay the bills, right? So what happened to that guy?” I asked.
“He made a discovery that changed everything. He was able to finally bring his life into alignment with his soul.”
“Wow, sounds like it was a great experience. Do you think there's such a thing as the soul, though?” I asked.
“Oh yes, Riley,” he replied adamantly. “In fact, let me tell you something.” He sat up in his chair and leaned forward. “Your soul has been with you since the day you were born. It's the deepest, most authentic part of you—your true self, the part that knows the real reason why you're here.”
“That's the million‐dollar question, isn't it?” I asked. “Why are we here?”
I hadn't told anyone, but this was the question I had been wrestling with for quite some time. My life had so many disappointments from things I'd tried and failed. Each one started with excitement, as if I'd stumbled on my purpose in life, only to have it go down in a ball of flames. I was beginning to think there was no such thing as purpose. Only survival.
“Your soul knows why you're here,” he said. “But the problem, Riley, is that life can be a difficult journey for the soul. Its path is often filled with obstacles and detours. There are also powerful forces that oppose it—most of which come from within you.”
“Hmm,” I grunted. “Forces within us that oppose our soul? Why would we do that?” I asked.
“Because your soul's intent is to walk its own path, and this turns out to be risky business.”
“How so?”
“Because not everybody is going to approve of what your soul desires to do. In fact, living in service to your soul is often at odds with living in service to the herd. As was said long ago, ‘No one can serve two masters.’ But your soul is not concerned with the opinions of the herd. Unfortunately, other parts of you are.”
