You might wonder what’s higher up the mountain, but until your body climbs, until your breath shortens and your legs burn with ascent, you can’t truly know. The mind speculates, imagines grand vistas but what you see remains hemmed in by ridges, trees, and the curve of the land. Perspective always limited by position. Though no view reveals everything, there is an undeniable clarity in standing where the air thins and the landscape unfolds beneath, wider, more coherent, stitched together in ways invisible from below.

You can study theory, listen to recordings, imagine how it ought to feel. But until until your hands search the keys or strings, until the silence breaks under your improvisation, you don’t know what it truly means. The structure of music shifts as you climb: simple patterns yield deeper architecture, and dissonance, once jarring, becomes just another peak casting a shadow. Understanding comes through motion, not maps.