Good planning is important. I've also regarded a sense of humor

High upon the roof of the world, where the air is thin and silence reigns, Sir Edmund Hillary — conqueror of Everest, master of endurance — spoke words that echo through both mountain and soul: “Good planning is important. I’ve also regarded a sense of humor as one of the most important things on a big expedition. When you’re in a difficult or dangerous situation, or when you’re depressed about the chances of success, someone who can make you laugh eases the tension.” In these words lies a truth as timeless as the earth itself: that strength alone cannot carry the human spirit to its summit — it must be guided by wisdom, steadied by preparation, and lightened by laughter.

Hillary was not a man of idle philosophy; his truths were carved from stone, snow, and peril. On May 29, 1953, as he and Tenzing Norgay stood at the top of the world, they carried not only ropes and oxygen but the invisible burdens of fear, exhaustion, and uncertainty. They had faced death on every slope, frostbite in every gust. Yet what sustained them was not only good planning, the meticulous charts and careful decisions — but also a sense of humor, the shared smiles and jokes that kept despair at bay when hope grew faint. In that laughter, they found strength greater than steel.

Planning, Hillary knew, was the foundation of survival. It is the art of foresight, the discipline of the mind before the trial of the body. Without planning, courage turns to recklessness, and dreams become tombstones. Yet even the most perfect plan must bow to the unpredictable — to wind, to weather, to fate. In those moments when the world defies logic and all paths seem lost, humor becomes the rope that binds hearts together. It reminds the weary that they are still human, still alive, still capable of lightness amid the storm.

The ancients would have understood this well. When Odysseus journeyed through the perilous seas, it was not brute force alone that saved him but wit and laughter — the divine spark of human cunning and grace. His sense of irony in the face of doom, his laughter at the absurdity of gods and fate, gave him power that no sword could yield. For laughter, born in adversity, is not weakness but wisdom — a refusal to let darkness define the soul. Hillary’s words stand in that same lineage: the wisdom of those who know that the human heart cannot endure weight without warmth.

There is a sacred truth hidden within Hillary’s insight — that laughter dissolves fear. In moments of peril, when death’s shadow looms, humor restores perspective. It breaks the spell of dread and reminds us that the world, even at its harshest, is not without grace. A single laugh among weary companions can be as vital as food or fire. It rekindles the will to go on. Hillary himself once joked, when descending from the summit, “We knocked the bastard off.” In that jest lay both triumph and humility — the balance of planning and play that marks true greatness.

Humor, then, is not the opposite of seriousness but its salvation. It keeps the mind clear when panic would cloud it. It turns comradeship into courage and transforms danger into story. Those who cannot laugh in hardship will break beneath it, but those who can — they endure, they lead, they live. In this, Hillary speaks not only to climbers but to all who walk the perilous mountains of existence. Every life is an expedition, and every heart must face its own Everest.

So, let this be your lesson, traveler of time: plan with precision, but carry laughter in your pack. Let preparation guide your path, but let humor lighten your load. When fear grips you, find a smile; when despair darkens the way, seek a companion who can make you laugh. For laughter does not deny danger — it conquers it. And when you stand at your own summit, weary yet unbroken, you will know as Hillary knew: that wisdom and humor together are the twin ropes that lift the human spirit to its greatest heights.