We all have a built-in alarm system—an ancient, primal reflex that fills the empty spaces in our minds with fear. When there’s silence, we imagine screams. When there’s darkness, we sense danger. Our minds rarely default to safety or peace in the unknown. Instead, they rush to worst-case scenarios: What if I fail? What if I fall? What if I’m not enough? What if…
This response is not weakness. It’s wiring.
Our brains and our bodies are built for survival, not serenity. That creeping sense of dread, that inability to sleep the night before something big—that’s not dysfunction. That’s biology. It’s the same mechanism that kept our ancestors alive when every rustle in the dark could mean a predator. But today, it shows up in the quiet moments before a difficult conversation, before a major life change, or before a climb.
I feel it most clearly, and most often, on the night before a summit push.
At high camp, nestled inside your sleeping bag, you are as safe as you’re going to be. The stars are out, the wind presses at the tent walls, and yet your heart pounds as if you’re already on the ridge. Sleep is impossible. Your brain spins through a reel of imagined dangers: altitude sickness, falls, weather, gear failure, fatigue. You’re warm, but the cold creeps in—not physically, but mentally. The fear of what lies ahead outside that zipper feels heavier than the pack waiting at your feet.
But here’s the truth: fear is not the enemy. Fear is what we fear. But in fact, fear is focus.
Fear is the voice that says, this matters. It sharpens you. It humbles you. It reminds you that you’re standing on the edge of something meaningful, something that could change you. And when channeled—not avoided—fear can become a compass.
The magic happens not in the comfort of camp, but in that first step into the cold. The moment you unzip the tent and commit to the dark, early morning start. It’s a deliberate act of courage. Not reckless, not fearless, but rooted in the understanding that fear will walk beside you, not in front of you.
You climb not because the fear disappeared, but because you chose to carry it up the mountain with you.
That’s what makes us strong. Not the absence of fear, but the decision to move forward anyway.
So whether you’re facing a summit, a loss, a change, or a challenge—remember this: your mind may fill the unknown with shadows. Let it. Just don’t let it stop you. Use that fear. Let it focus your steps. Then take the next one. And the next.
The view from the top isn’t fear’s absence—it’s the reward for walking through it.
Photo by Paxson Woelber
