Fear Isn’t the Enemy—Your Need to Control Is

The Mountain Is Never the Enemy

I used to think hiking a 14er—a Colorado peak over 14,000 feet—was about conquering the mountain. The altitude that sears your lungs. The endless switchbacks that taunt your legs. The thin air that makes your brain wonder if this was, in fact, a very dumb hobby to pick up.

But I’ve learned... it’s not the mountain I’m conquering. It’s me.

Every step is less about fighting gravity and more about wrestling with my own fear. Fear of slipping. Fear of failure. Fear of letting go of control. And yet the mountain doesn’t give a flying marmot if I’m in control. The weather will flip-flop, the trail will rise, and my stubborn brain will still insist it knows best. The only thing I ever actually have a chance of conquering is the story inside my own head.

Fear as Misplaced Desire for Control

Fear is a performance artist. It pretends to help. It whispers: Plan harder. Worry more. Grip tighter. Do all the things. Then nothing bad will happen.

This is a lie. A full-bodied, backpack-crushing, switchback-snarling lie. The more we cling to the what-ifs, the heavier we get.

Life—like the mountain—was never meant to be micromanaged into certainty.

The Relief of Letting Go

The paradox is the very moment I stop gripping for control, the weight lifts. On the trail, that’s when I notice the sun spilling over the ridgelines, the rhythm of my breath finding its own pace. My legs carry me higher than I thought I could go, and in that moment, I feel…light.

Letting go of control doesn’t mean giving up. It means loosening my grip enough to finally hold what’s real. It’s not resignation—it’s relief. Presence. Peace.

Awe as the Antidote

This lesson doesn’t live only on the mountains. It shows up in the everyday.

Fear tricks us into micromanaging the dinner plans, rehearsing conversations before they happen, spiraling into “what-ifs” when life goes sideways. But awe interrupts that cycle. Awe says: Look. Right here. Right now.

It’s in the way silence comes after chaos. In the laughter that bubbles up when you realize—you’ve survived what you thought you couldn’t.

The gift was never in trying to control the moment. The gift is in being awake for it.

Surrender as Strength

I don’t climb mountains to prove anything to anyone, except myself. I learn to let go of control and let go of fear. I climb to prove to myself that strength is not in control—it’s in surrender and I am left with peace. And yes, somehow, this revelation comes with an uncontrollable urge to do it all over again next weekend...

What ways do you let go of control/fear?