Majestic Mountains (& Fear)

I feel very comfortable and confident hiking in the desert. It's where I grew up. It's where I've taken all of my solo trips. It's the landscape I know.

I love the mountains too. They are breathtaking in an entirely different way, but I don't feel as at home there. The animals are bigger. The trees are bigger. The forest closes in around you, making it difficult to see very far ahead or know what might be approaching. The unknown feels much closer.

Today, my son and I hiked a mountain in south-central Utah. We chose a loop neither of us had done before—about eight miles that climbed to the base of towering cliffs near the summit. We never saw another person.

As the wind rushed through the pines, the forest seemed alive. Trees groaned as they rubbed against one another, and every creak sent an alert through my spine. In the thick forest, your view is limited. Every shadow seems to hold a possibility. We clapped as we hiked, hoping to scare away any wildlife before we surprised it.

Instead, we startled an elk.

Our dog immediately took off after it, disappearing into the trees. My heart sank. For a few long moments, I was certain we weren't going home with her.

As we climbed higher, the trail became faint and overgrown. My son asked several times if we should turn around. I hadn't brought bear spray, and the farther we climbed, the more aware I became of how vulnerable we really were.

I kept trying to be brave for him.

Finally, I looked at him and said, "You know what? I'm scared too."

Something changed the moment I admitted it.

His fear softened. Mine did too.

Sharing our fear somehow made it smaller. It reminded me that courage isn't pretending you're fearless. Courage is acknowledging the fear and choosing to keep moving anyway.

When we rounded the final bend, the forest suddenly opened into a meadow. A small creek wandered lazily through the grasses. Wildflowers danced in the breeze beneath towering pines, with sheer cliffs rising behind them. It was one of those places that makes you instantly exhale.

The fear we'd carried for the last several miles quietly melted away.

The rest of the hike was still long, but it felt different. The trail widened, became more well worn, and the descent seemed lighter. Maybe it was because we had already faced the hardest part. Maybe it was the beauty we'd been rewarded with. Or maybe it was simply the confidence that comes from discovering you can do something that scared you.

As we made our way back to the car, I kept thinking about something I'd heard recently:

Get comfortable being uncomfortable. That's where confidence is built.

I think confidence often gets mistaken for fearlessness. But the older I get, the more I believe confidence is simply collecting evidence that you can do hard things—even while your heart is pounding.

Fear doesn't have to disappear before we move forward.

Sometimes it simply walks beside us until we realize we're stronger than we thought.