This past weekend, I threw myself into something uncertain and it gave me everything I didn’t even know I was looking for.

No, I didn’t cry on the trail. I didn’t have a breakdown or a dramatic wilderness epiphany. What I did have was a bold, beautiful adventure with new friends, spontaneous laughter, breath-stealing views, and a renewed sense of me. And honestly? That’s the kind of transformation I live for.

The Power of Saying Yes

I didn’t know exactly what to expect from Onion Valley. That was the point. I said yes to an experience that was unscripted. I met up with people I’d never hiked with before. We loaded up our packs, hit the trail, and let the mountains lead the way.

There’s something electric about stepping into the unknown—not with fear, but with trust. I didn’t need a plan. I needed presence. And from the moment my boots hit the trail, I felt it: that click of alignment when you’re right where you’re supposed to be.

Saying yes is a muscle we build. It’s not always about being prepared or confident in advance. Sometimes, it’s about showing up before you’re ready, trusting that your future self will thank you for it.

And she did. I did.

Adventure Is a Mirror

The elevation challenged me. The terrain asked me to be fully in my body. We camped at 10,500 feet, which meant the nights were cold, the air was thin, and every climb asked me to slow down, breathe deeper, and tune in.

But what surprised me most wasn’t the challenge. It was the joy.

I became more playful, more open, more attuned to my senses. The scent of pine. The crunch of granite underfoot. The sparkle of alpine lakes in the late afternoon light. The echo of our laughter across the cliffs. The softness of moss beneath my sleeping bag.

Adventure is a mirror. It shows you who you are when the usual noise falls away. When there are no emails, no mirrors, no expectations—just you, the trail, and whatever rises to the surface.

What I saw reflected back wasn’t someone trying to achieve or prove or perform. It was a woman fully alive, connected, grounded, and capable of holding joy, effort, stillness, and belonging all at once.

Connection, Courage, and the Wild Unknown

There’s something powerful about choosing to adventure with people you don’t know well yet. Our group was a mix of men and women—all ages, all backgrounds, all saying yes to the same invitation: to hike into the mountains, unplug, and show up fully.

And show up we did.

The connections formed quickly. Maybe it was the shared effort of the climb, or the simplicity of gathering around Jetboil stoves, or the kind of unfiltered conversations that only seem to happen at altitude. Maybe it was the land itself, holding us in its quiet power.

We laughed. We moved slowly. We told stories under the stars. We shared snacks, fears, philosophies. We looked out for one another without hovering. And yet, we each had our own internal journey unfolding, too.

That balance—between independence and connection—felt like something I hadn’t realized I missed.

The Wilderness Within

There were no grand revelations, but there were dozens of small, sacred moments that stitched themselves into something profound:

Laying on a warm granite rock, completely at ease in my body, letting the sun and silence hold me.
Waking in the early morning, the first light slipping through my tent, the smell of pine, and the chill of mountain air filling my lungs.
Watching the moon rise one night, and stargazing the next under a sky so clear I could trace every line of the Big Dipper.
Seeing deer wander close to camp, their quiet presence reminding me that we are visitors here.
Journaling about what it means to be alone, not in loneliness, but in sovereignty.

Nature doesn’t need to prove anything. It just is. And being surrounded by that kind of presence reminded me that I, too, don’t need to do or be more. I get to just be.

Grief, Growth, and Gentle Release

Someone I cared deeply for came to mind on the trip. I missed them. Not with pain, but with tenderness. We used to talk about trips like this. They would have loved the silence, the stars, the feeling of being unplugged.

And yet, this trip was mine. A moment I claimed for myself. There was grief, yes—but it came hand-in-hand with pride, strength, and a sense of expansion. I’m not waiting anymore. I’m not pausing my joy or depth for someone else to catch up.

I felt myself coming back to myself.

Your Permission Slip to Go

If you’ve been craving something—a shift, a spark, a breath of wild air—let this be your sign. You don’t need to be fully ready. You just need to say yes.

You don’t need to summit Everest. You don’t need new gear or perfect timing or a clear itinerary. Sometimes all it takes is a weekend. A trail. A group of kind-hearted humans who become part of your story.

Let yourself be surprised. Let yourself trust the unknown. Let yourself go.

Because life has a way of meeting you in the wild—not with perfection, but with presence. With laughter. With reflection. With that quiet confidence that says: you’re more than ready.

And if you need a sign? This is it.

Go.