“Insider reporting from an unnamed White House official says the Iran deal is ‘95% done.’ The remaining 5% of negotiations are focused on Iran opening the Strait of Hormuz and turning over all nuclear material.” – Conservative pollster Frank Luntz, writing on X.
I, Sisyphus, the legendary King of Corinth, bring encouraging news from the mountain.
After several thousand years of constructive engagement with the boulder and every muscle in my posterior chain, I am pleased to report we are 95 percent of the way up the tenacious little hill here in Tartarus. Honestly, folks, we are so, so close. The summit is largely visible. It is nearly visible. There is a concept of visibility at play here that is impossible to ignore.
And, thank the gods, I am fairly certain the grade has leveled out a bit. Plus, the boulder, while historically uncooperative, has shown encouraging signs of understanding the need for upward movement and overall productive pushing activity.
The remaining 5 percent concerns only the final portion of the hill, the tendency of the boulder to inevitably roll back down to the very beginning, the eternal nature of my punishment, and the fact that Hades has not technically agreed to alter any terms.
Nevertheless, one must not be held captive by pessimism. For too long, observers have focused narrowly on the outcome. Did the boulder reach the top? Did it stay there? Did I immediately watch it thunder past me, flattening several shepherds, again and again? These are fair questions, but they miss the broader architecture of incremental progress. In diplomacy, as in divine mythological torment, is it not the momentum that truly matters?
I am told by several lesser gods that the boulder understands the seriousness of the moment, though I will grant that the stone has not said this to me directly. This giant, tenacious rock has said very little, owing to being solid granite. I get that. But there are ways to read between the striations when it comes to igneous silence. There are ways to interpret the weight of the moment, which is, admittedly, quite immense. There are ways to look at an object that has crushed your hopes every morning since the Bronze Age and say, “This time, things are going to be different.”
Negotiations with the boulder center on a few delicate but totally surmountable issues. It would like to return to the base of the hill for all eternity. I would like the finish line to become something tangible and achievable, especially now that I have done the whole up-and-down whoopsie-daisy thing about a trillion times. The gods, in their infinite wisdom, would like everyone to understand that no formal agreement exists until Mount Olympus announces one, though several nymphs familiar with the matter describe the atmosphere up there as productive.
This is why I reject those who say the process has stalled. A stalled process does not leave a man bent double under three tons of volcanic ambition. A stalled process does not produce this much sweat. A stalled process does not require both hands, the shoulder, firing the glutes, and an insatiable throb somewhere deep within the lower left calf.
No, what we have here is progress. Measurable, 95 percent progress. The kind you can feel in the tendons. The kind that produces a distinct grinding sound beneath the stone and between several failing joints at once. The kind that makes a person say, with total confidence, that the summit is definitely closer than the valley, provided no one asks where the boulder might be five minutes from now.
Some have raised concerns about the word “inevitable.” I consider that unhelpful. Yes, the boulder has always rolled back down. Yes, the hill was designed by the immortal Hades as a punishment. Yes, the entire structure of the arrangement suggests a negative outcome in perpetuity. But inevitability—gah! Sorry, I just felt something pop—what the hell was I saying again?
What matters is that we are engaged. The rock is engaged. My spine is extremely engaged. This steep, merciless hill, in its own slanted way, is certainly participating. And so I continue upward. The summit is right there, or close enough anyway. The boulder trembles under my palms. Somewhere far below, the valley prepares its familiar welcome.
But I will not focus on that. I am 95 percent of the way there. Which means, by any serious measure, I have essentially arrived. I will resume my work. Hands to stone. Shoulder lowered. Hill above, abyss below.
By tomorrow, I expect to be done. About 96 percent done, at the very least, give or take.
