I’m going live right now because I’m, well, about sixteen hundred feet up the side of El Capitan. I currently have no ropes or harnesses on me. Just a chalk bag on my waist belt and a mike pinned to my shirt.

This is my third time doing a free-solo pass at El Capitan. And some of you asked if I’d record my thoughts as I hang by my fingertips over my impending death. I thought, Why not?

And there they go . . . So I just lost my sunglasses. Wait for it . . . I always love that. Anything you lose up here takes ten to twelve seconds to hit the ground. Anyway, I’m rambling on this live stream so I can give people some explanation for why we do this. Maybe even inspire someone to live a better life.

But first, in order to get my next foothold, I’m going to have to rely solely on fingerholds as I swing my foot over to a crevice. I’ve got a half-crimp hold with my left hand, and a mono with my right index finger. Aaand I got my toe in the crevice. O.K. Let’s find the next one.

That was perfect, actually. Just now, every part of my body and brain was focussed on the task at hand. Otherwise, I’m dead. So it’s very relaxing.

You have living, and you have dying. And zero time on life’s drama, spam calls, bills . . . Thankfully, debt collectors don’t tend to climb El Capitan, last I checked. And if they start to, all of us rock-jocks are in trouble! One second, I don’t like this sloper. I’m gonna need to get a better grip. Gonna push off my right leg and see if I can find a pocket up above me. Got one. Feels solid enough . . .

It’s the forced unplug for me. Like all of you, my inbox is filled with stressful e-mails, but those will have to wait. Like, “You took all our money blah blah your climbing school is a Ponzi scheme blah blah why did we have to get more students in order to pay the same thing we paid last year?”

O.K., this is a part of the wall I’ve never done. And I think that’s very sick. Or, as some of my friends would call it, very dumb. Especially because some of the rocks are flaking off. Like that one. Damn it.

So all I’m focussed on is: How do I navigate a new path around this chossy area? Goes without saying that right now I’m not worried about some Karens complaining, “Oh, you never taught our kids anything. You were smoking outside while they climbed up a little fifteen-foot-wall thing.” Or, “My son fell off your plastic wall and fractured his tailbone. I’ve informed the police.” Well, which is it? Is my climbing wall too small, or are kids fracturing tailbones when they fall from its great heights? Can’t be both.

And I hate to be that guy, but there’s also no girlfriend when you’re on El Cap. Trust me, I love Maya, but I think we both benefit from little breaks. Frankly, anyone would be open to taking a break from someone who lately just screams, “I hate youuuu . . . I’ve got evidence of what you did! I’ve got video evidence.”

O.K., I’m navigating out of the looser rocks and over to the Dawn Wall, which I’ve done before. It’s steeper, but there’s better footing.

Again, present moment taking priority over outside noise. Like the girl I cheated on Maya with one time, mind you, texting me, “I deserve half of that climbing-school money because you used all my pillow-talk ideas. Don’t make me destroy you online.” I’m, like, Destroy me how? Ya too late.

And, in some ways, the most stressful text of my morning: “Bro, you know why I’m reaching out. You cheated on my little sister and I don’t need to remind you I’m a Triple O.G. in my set of the Crips. I’ll see you later today when you do your little rock-climb thing.” Top ten suckiest text I’ve ever gotten probably.

So, yeah, in some ways I’d rather be dangling by three fingers than dealing with life’s day-to-day headaches.

Thankfully, Crips don’t tend to climb El Capitan, last I checked. They tend to park at the top and play loud music. Next to the police, apparently. Funny to see those two getting along. Do I get a Nobel Prize for that? Kidding. I’m thinking more about toeholds than whether I’m going to get a Nobel. That’s why I free-solo El Capitan. To not worry about whether I’ll win a Nobel Prize. ♦