You can't see the view until you go

Welcome back to another issue. This week I hugged trees, fought spider webs, and remembered what my body is capable of.

✦ LIFE — The hike that started with seven U-turns

Nine months after a gym injury, I found myself standing at the entrance of the Niagara Glen trail, hiking shoes laced up tight — the kind that are supposed to protect your ankles — and absolutely terrified.

It wasn’t dramatic. Nobody could tell. But my brain was doing its thing.

The trail starts steep. Stone stairs carved into the rock, sharp turns where you can’t see what’s coming next, a terrain that is rough and uneven and very much not a treadmill. Every step in the first 1.5 kilometres I was negotiating with myself. What if I twist my ankle? What if it gets harder? What if I’ve completely overestimated what my body can do right now?

I stopped. A lot. Turned back, then forward, then back again — embarrassingly, about five to seven times. Not because my legs gave out, but because I couldn’t see around the next turn and my brain decided that was a good enough reason to quit. There were moments I just stood there, frozen between the path behind me and the path ahead, neither moving forward nor actually leaving.

But I really, really wanted to see the river.

So I kept talking to myself. Out loud. Shamelessly. It’s okay. You got this. Just a little further and see what happens. You can always turn back. And somehow, one rocky step at a time, I kept going.

Then I saw my first view. And just like that, I forgot how hard the start was.

What followed was me walking alongside the river for what felt like forever, the water a shade of turquoise I genuinely wasn’t prepared for, the colour so still and so vivid it instilled something quiet in my chest. I was smiling and taking pictures and the view kept getting better the further I walked. When I finally reached the main cliff edge, I sat down and didn’t move for two hours.

I was so overwhelmed by the whole thing that I just pulled out my journal and started dumping. First my feelings, then the hike, and then slowly it became about my senses — the birds chirping, the river flowing, the sun hitting the water, the rustling of the leaves, the sound of my own pen scribbling. It turned into the best journaling session of my life. I genuinely wished I could nap there.

I also hugged a few trees — which I do on every hike, releasing the worries of modern life back into the earth where they belong — fought some spider webs in the process, icked myself out, and then hugged another one anyway.

The trail was 2.6 kilometres. I took four hours. I came home proud, happy, and absolutely nature high.

✦ GROWTH — The blind corner

Most of the time we don’t stop because something is too hard. We stop because we can’t see what’s coming next. The trail felt impossible at the start not because of my ankle, but because every turn was blind. I had no idea if it got harder, easier, or where it even led.

The only way to find out was to keep going.

That applies to a lot more than hiking. The unknown turn is usually the reason we stall — not the actual difficulty of the thing. And most of the time, the first view is right around the corner.

✦ ACTION — Face the fear

Think of one thing you’ve been putting off because you can’t see where it leads. Not because it’s too hard — but because the path isn’t fully visible yet. Take one step toward it this week, even a small one.

Hit reply and tell me what it is.