I like to think my mind isn’t afflicted with Trump Derangement Syndrome, but every week, a perverse headline will evoke a visceral what the actual fuck. It’d be preferable not to have to worry about a potential fuel crisis spiralling into a global recession because a lopsided creamsicle doofus attacked a global energy hub for reasons that remain incoherent. Trying to snag a ticket to see Angine de Poitrine requires dealing with “dynamic pricing,” which is tech-speak for “this transaction will obliterate your savings account.” I spent $7 in delivery fees for a smash burger, and that same $7 could’ve bought me a cold brew from a café with a “make coffee gay again” Pride flag and no prices on their big board menu—probably so they could also do dynamic pricing. God has stopped watching over us. You could try to save money by staying in, but streaming services have stopped password sharing by asking us if we’re travelling: Yes, I am travelling between my parents’ house and my apartment. I’m nostalgic for a time when a beer and a shot were $6, and it came with a slice of pizza. People are trying to get rich on Kalshi by betting on how long Trump will stammer through an insane stream of consciousness because he sounds like his brain is degenerating from Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. The economy is held hostage by a tech race to see who can develop a glorified chatbot that will harness the power of 5,000 leafblowers to help consultants build slide decks 3% faster. Everyone in charge is either a grifter, a clown, an alcoholic, a sociopath, a pedophile, or Chuck Schumer.
The power of the doomscroll is overwhelming, capable of sending even the most well-adjusted into a spiral of anxiety and analysis paralysis. It enables people to rationalize their own sense of learned helplessness through very real systemic inequities that may or may not apply to them. False optimism is useless in the face of this senseless sadism and unnecessary suffering, but fear isn’t the answer either. And this fear doesn’t manifest in sweaty palms that stop us cold in a high-stakes situation; real fear prevents us from putting ourselves in the spotlight in the first place. It’s subtly limiting. It leads us to find solace in chatbot relationships instead of fostering human connections, to take comfort in algorithmic content instead of seeking out new music or films, or to resort to AI creativity instead of taking up a new hobby.
Operating at the edge of your comfort zone expands your comfort zone. I’ve always had a strange and selective fear of heights—flying, or ziplines have never been an issue, but I can watch the ground sink 100 miles if I’m high enough on a ladder. It’s been a weirdly satisfying experience to find emotional regulation through hiking, as there’s something life-affirming about struggling in beautiful areas. Being surrounded by mountain views and massive lakes makes me feel more centered and connected with myself. And on particularly steep or difficult terrain, it forces me to focus on staying in the moment. The mountains are humbling, but summiting one and looking out into an expanse of nature is also empowering. It’s a cliché, but it is a necessary reminder of how dumb our daily problems are by putting our stressful positions into perspective. It also reminds me that success isn’t about knowing more, but acting on imperfect information and adapting to unideal circumstances. I’ve learned more by doing than by reading. You know, theory informs action and action informs theory. Considering a decision requires logic and reason, while acting on those decisions requires emotion.
In the wilderness, there are enough positive distractions to help me forget about anything other than where I am. From the early sunshine backing the green leaves or the sound of a lonely wind on a peak, the forces of nature and the universe converge in magical ways. The outdoors are where I see my version of a higher power. It’s the pure joy of being. It recenters my perspective on life; the smell of coniferous air or the gentle rush of streams is a pleasant reminder of how lucky we are to share this amazing planet. And even the same trails reveal something new as the weather changes. Leaves fall and grow, different animals appear, mushrooms pop up, creeks run dry to reveal new pebbles, dew sparkles on the grass like glitter, summer reveals bright wildflowers, the sun peaks over the horizon and paints the sky with orange and yellow, and winter delivers snow-dusted mountain peaks. There’s just something ineffably peaceful about walking amongst towering trees and listening to the melodic chirping of birds.
The mountains seemed daunting at first, but the beauty is in the struggle. Hiking has taught me to embrace and lean into fear by doing some scary but rewarding shit, and then repeating it. Everything sucks at first, but few things suck forever.
In the era of KPIs and self-optimization, many people view life as a checklist to be completed as efficiently as possible. But once you’re on a mountain or a treacherous trail, the summit is the great equalizer. It reduces Strava stats into self-indulgent metrics; the number of breaks you took is irrelevant, and the struggle to get there becomes an afterthought. It’s a form of magic that can’t be charted and quantified in PowerPoint and presented to your VP of whatever. Life is not linear, and it is certainly not a checklist. It’s a blank sheet, an ellipsis, a cliffhanger, a route to be charted. Death is imminent and inevitable, so stop worrying about the interest of breathing again and chase what leaves you breathless. To wait is to slumber with your eyes open and stay blind to the shimmering stars that illuminate the mystical. To play it safe is to be rattled when a stone’s throw troubles still waters. Doing what scares you is to make one less thing to be afraid of. When I’m at the end of a hike, I’d rather look back and be happy that it’s over than stare at a mountain from a distance and say, “I wish I could do that.”
Amen. And these are absolutely phenomenal pictures, mate
This is some of the best writing you've ever done. The paragraph that starts "In the wilderness, there are enough positive distractions to help me forget about anything other than where I am" is particularly strong, but it keeps going. Great work!