The mountain and the mind

Quieting the voice that says you can't

In 2023, I was hell-bent on hiking Half Dome in Yosemite.

For those unfamiliar, it’s an 18-mile round-trip trek in Yosemite Valley to the summit of its most iconic feature—a massive granite dome with a final ascent so steep and slick, hikers use metal cables to climb it. It’s not for the faint of heart.

I had etched it onto my list of goals as if I was carving into stone and had plastered it on my yearly vision board. My stubborn nature wouldn’t let me forget about it, even when I failed to secure a permit through the preseason lottery. Still, I kept applying through the daily lottery, which—if you’re lucky—grants you a permit with about 36 hours' notice of your summit. The Universe, responding to my persistence, finally came through near the end of the season. It was go time.

I packed my bag on a Tuesday night and drove to Yosemite Valley. I got a few hours of restless sleep in a tent, then started my journey at 3:00 a.m., headlamp strapped on, boots crunching into the darkness.

Even now, I remember the peace I felt hiking through that early morning hush. It was just me, my thoughts, the sound of running water, and the outline of trees barely visible in the dark.

Now, this might be a hot take, but I’ve always been more of a sunrise person than a sunset one. And I’ll never forget how the sun crept up behind me at just the right moment, casting light on the trail and revealing the vast, sleeping valley below. The granite sparkled. It felt like magic.

The first 9 miles passed quickly. Then I found myself at the base of the cables, looking up at the nearly vertical climb. Fear hit me like a wave. My legs wobbled. My hands shook as I tore open a granola bar and sat down, dizzy.

Was I really going to do this??
What was I thinking?!?

I could feel fear hijacking my body, my breath, my sense of reason. I started imagining what I’d tell everyone who knew about my summit attempt if I gave up now. There was only one person I knew who’d truly understand what I was feeling in that moment—someone who’d know exactly what to say. But even if I had service, I knew I couldn’t call them. This was my mountain to climb.

So I sat there. I closed my eyes. I breathed. I meditated. I gave myself the pep talk I needed. And when I finally stood up, fear still humming in the background, I took my first step.

I think about this now because yesterday, I felt like I was right back on that mountain. As you all know, I’m about to set off on my new journey (T-minus 13 days!), and although I’ve been preparing and building excitement, suddenly I felt terrified. The thoughts started swirling:

Am I really going to do this?
What if this is all for nothing?
What if I am nothing?
What if I fall flat on my face?

But here’s what I know now: fear cannot live in a steady breath.

Sometimes, you just have to take that first step—legs shaking, heart racing, unsure and unready. Your mind wants to keep you safe, but it doesn’t always know that the most beautiful parts of life lie just on the other side of that fear.

So, I’m stepping forward, again. Nervous about the journey, but excited to take in the views from the top.

walk boldly,

Caroline