Fear and courage on the trail
Image: Sally Anne Carroll
A few days ago, I was standing at the top of a canyon, contemplating climbing higher. I wasn’t sure, and so, I paused. Looked at the lay of the land. Weighed the pros and cons. Told myself it was OK if I decided to stop right where I was.
That spot was already pretty damn high, and I’d worked to get there, climbing switchbacks in 100-degree heat. My hiking companion and I talked it over. We were on the same page. There was no shame in accomplishing what we had already done that morning. None at all.
After all, here we were sitting in the sunshine, high above a beautiful canyon, with healthy lunches in our packs and each other for company. On vacation.
Life was looking pretty good.
And yet. We’d shown up with the goal of going higher. It’s just that the trail looked very steep, required agility and well, there was the reality that one small stumble could drop us 2,000 feet really fast. It wasn't entirely what we expected.
We watched the other hikers make their decisions. Some charged ahead. Some stayed put. Some started and then turned back. Finally, we knew what we’d do: after a short rest, we’d go on. We’d test it out and see how we felt along the way.
If either of us knew we needed to turn back, we would. Otherwise, we’d stick to the plan. This all happened in the span of a short snack break. And it got me thinking about what it asked of us to look at that scary looking trail and say, “yeah, I’m going there.” Because this is what we're asked to do in so many situations, including life and work changes.
We made friends with the unknown and embraced a healthy dose of fear.
The key to making a transition is to accept that the unknown is part of the deal. You’ve signed up for it, and yeah, it can be freaking uncomfortable. A little fear for your safety is expected. Instead of resisting these feelings, we gave them their due and proceeded with both caution and enthusiasm.
In moving from an ordinary but steep trail to climbing along an exposed ridge, I could have fallen to my death. I’m quite good at tripping over things, and well, people actually have fallen off this ridge. But a lot more people have not.
And when you’re on the other side, getting what you came for can feel like a real accomplishment. Sometimes the unknown holds beautiful gifts, like the view from 7,500 feet above a canyon. You don’t know until you try.
