The Night Hike to Half Dome: A Lesson in Focus
Started by kyle b rootsaert
10 points
kyle b rootsaert
I’ll never forget the night my two younger adult kids—and I set out to hike Half Dome in Yosemite. It was the middle of the night, pitch black, with nothing but our headlamps lighting the way. Normally, when you tackle a massive hike like that, it’s hard not to feel discouraged. You look up, see the top of the mountain looming over you, and immediately feel the weight of how far you have to go. But hiking in the dark was different—transformative, even.
There’s something powerful about that. When all you can see is the ground beneath your feet, you’re free from the overwhelming discouragement of the 18 mile hike. No worrying about how far you’ve come or how much longer it will take. You become short-sighted in the best way possible.
As the hours passed, the rhythmic pace of our steps, the calm of the night, and the quiet conversations between my kids and I turned the once intimidating trek into something manageable. Step by step, we moved forward, focused not on the peak but on the present. Each small step brought us closer to something we couldn’t yet see but knew was there waiting for us.
Before we knew it, we had reached the top—just in time for the sunrise. And it was breathtaking. The long, arduous journey we had braced ourselves for felt like it had flown by, simply because we weren’t focused on the entirety of it. We stood at the summit, watching the first rays of sun break over the horizon, and I realized the lesson that hike had taught me.
When you’re faced with something overwhelming, whether it’s a mountain or a challenge in life, focusing too much on the end goal can make the journey seem impossible. But if you just focus on what’s right in front of you, on the next step you need to take, the journey becomes easier, lighter. And before you know it, you’re standing at the top, watching the sun rise on something you thought was unreachable.
It was a reminder that sometimes, being short-sighted isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes, it’s the only way to get where you want to go.
10 points
kyle b rootsaert
I’ll never forget the night my two younger adult kids—and I set out to hike Half Dome in Yosemite. It was the middle of the night, pitch black, with nothing but our headlamps lighting the way. Normally, when you tackle a massive hike like that, it’s hard not to feel discouraged. You look up, see the top of the mountain looming over you, and immediately feel the weight of how far you have to go. But hiking in the dark was different—transformative, even.
There’s something powerful about that. When all you can see is the ground beneath your feet, you’re free from the overwhelming discouragement of the 18 mile hike. No worrying about how far you’ve come or how much longer it will take. You become short-sighted in the best way possible.
As the hours passed, the rhythmic pace of our steps, the calm of the night, and the quiet conversations between my kids and I turned the once intimidating trek into something manageable. Step by step, we moved forward, focused not on the peak but on the present. Each small step brought us closer to something we couldn’t yet see but knew was there waiting for us.
Before we knew it, we had reached the top—just in time for the sunrise. And it was breathtaking. The long, arduous journey we had braced ourselves for felt like it had flown by, simply because we weren’t focused on the entirety of it. We stood at the summit, watching the first rays of sun break over the horizon, and I realized the lesson that hike had taught me.
When you’re faced with something overwhelming, whether it’s a mountain or a challenge in life, focusing too much on the end goal can make the journey seem impossible. But if you just focus on what’s right in front of you, on the next step you need to take, the journey becomes easier, lighter. And before you know it, you’re standing at the top, watching the sun rise on something you thought was unreachable.
It was a reminder that sometimes, being short-sighted isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes, it’s the only way to get where you want to go.