Fear Mountain

How I found the path leading away from my comfort zone

Five days before a particularly momentous birthday, I set out to summit a mountain.

Hallett Peak in Rocky Mountain National Park stands at 12,713 feet above sea level. Given my current physical shape and limitations, we chose not the hardest hike or highest peak, but definitely a formidable challenge. In a list of 82 hikes rated by difficulty, the peak is in the top 10 of most difficult hikes in RMNP.

Desperate to spend as much time moving as I typically sat in my office job, I wanted to use this vacation as a springboard to a new and improved lifestyle. It wasn’t going to be easy thanks to the overpronation of my left foot which was choosing right now to become a serious hindrance to my mobility.

Thanks to a steroid injection, sturdy trekking poles, and some determination, off we went. As I later learned, I needed this entire experience more than I ever knew at the time.

At 5:20 a.m., we set out on the trail, guided by our flashlights and a bright full moon. The sun began to light the sky behind the mountains about a mile and a half into our hike before exploding into a mind-boggling array of beauty and color. For what turned out to be four hours and 45 minutes in total, I concentrated on making that annoying left foot of mine keep up with the rest of me.

Thankfully, it was a clear day. Clouds most certainly would have given me pause on this journey. But the universe needed to teach me something on this day and the threat of lightning on a mountain summit would have been too much fear to surmount at this juncture. Since nothing rewarding is easy, a cold late-summer wind would have to be the obstacle of choice.

Not far from the summit, fatigued and wind-beaten and painfully aware that the journey wasn’t even half over, I leaned against the mountain in fear. I looked up at my husband who was leading the way, and was blinded by the sun. I could barely see him or the cairns that marked the path. With the vastness of Mother Earth all around me and the relentless wind pounding my senses, I quickly became very afraid. I couldn’t see where I was going; it was just a climb at this point.

Shortly thereafter, I stepped onto the summit. The glorious, attitude-adjusting summit.

THIS. This was the lesson I needed exactly right now in my life. All the inspirational phrases I had tacked up around my house to motivate me still hadn’t accomplished THIS. All the clichés in the world were just that, until this very moment. I needed to experience this 360-degree view that symbolized the abundant possibilities of taking a risk.

In all, that hike was an eight hour-day. As I lay throbbing that evening, ice packs covering my ailing foot and ankle, I was overwhelmed. Just as the beauty and awe of the mountains and the achievement had done earlier that afternoon, the aches washed over me as if to solidify the message I so sorely needed.

Suddenly, my mind shifted to my reality at home, where a parallel mountain had been looming.

I had been considering making the leap into the unknown and pursuing self-employment as a writer, but paralyzed by uncertainty and indecision, I found myself affixed to the side of a metaphorical mountain. The idea of leaving my job without another one lined up was risky and scary and I still can’t see clearly where I’m stepping, just like that day I searched for the summit in the blinding sun.

That day on the peak, Hallett’s fierce winds screamed at me to pay attention. Back at home, they’re like gentle whispers that speak to me each day. Sometimes we need the universe to teach us things by showing us other things and leaving us to connect the dots. This is one of those times.

I resigned a day after returning from that trip, on my birthday. I had to act, because I’d be disrespecting Hallett Peak, or as I sometimes call her, Fear Mountain, if I didn’t.

This mountain taught me that taking a step into the unknown can be incredibly rewarding if I’m open to the possibilities. Also, discomfort serves a purpose; and adaptions are necessary.

Thank you, Hallett Peak, for getting my attention, spurring me to action and reminding me to focus on using my strengths instead of concentrating on my weaknesses.