I used to think that life was happening *to* me, not through me and because of me.
But then, one day, I went hiking alone…
I had an argument the night before, and I wanted to have some peace and solitude in nature. I didn’t tell anyone I was going.
I was in such a frazzled and discontent state that I didn’t eat a very nourishing breakfast and only packed myself a granola bar and a 25-oz water bottle, because I just wanted to get out of the house as soon as possible.
Something possessed me to try out a trail I had never been on before that day. It was late summer, and there was no shade on the first stretch of the trail.
After a while, I found a shaded place to rest and eat my granola bar.
The reality of the situation set in.
I was up in the mountains. Alone. With no cell service. Nobody knew where I was. I hadn’t eaten much. My sugar felt like it was dropping. I didn’t pack enough food or water to replenish myself. I had nothing to defend myself with. No gear. No supplies. No support.
I nibbled on my one snack as dread and fear crept in.
But right at that moment, a couple passed me, hiking back towards the trailhead.
As they passed me, one of them said, “Oh, what a lovely spot to take a break!”
I said, “Yes, it is! Thank you!”

What I wanted to do and what I should have done was say, “Can I join you for the hike back to the trailhead? I am an idiot who didn’t think this through, and now I don’t feel safe. Can you please help me get back?”
But I didn’t. I waved them goodbye and sat there with sheer terror facing me. I was too ashamed to admit I needed help. And I could have died because of it.
But that’s not where this story ends.
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