3-minute read

Hey friend!

In July 2020, I got to live out a dream I’d had since I was a kid. To disappear into the American wilderness and get completely off-grid. To be in the wilds of nature with no more than the animals for company.

To a young boy with a wild imagination, growing up in a small village in the middle of England and brought up on The Last of the Mohicans and White Fang, the grandeur of the mountains of North America was hypnotizing.

With Covid-19 at its peak, that summer felt like the perfect opportunity. So, on July 26th 2020, we rented a yurt high up in the mountains of Idaho, and set off on a little adventure.

High up in the Pioneer Mountains of south-central Idaho, it’d take us a good 4-hours to make our way through the meadows, along the river, across the ridges and up, up, up, up the trails before reaching the most breathtaking sight.

Nestled in at 9,000ft with a further 3,000ft of panoramic peaked mountains towering above, “Pioneer Yurt” was worth every bead of sweat it took to get to it. (Which, due to overpacking food and water and massively underestimating how long the hike would actually take, was a lot of sweat!)

Buoyed by the energy of the place, we spent the rest of the day hiking further and exploring as much of our stunning new surroundings as we could.

A few hours later, heading back to the yurt, dusk had arrived.

As the evening drew in - the light softened and the moon came out - I noticed my energy shift. While the light of the day had been turned down, the sounds of the night had got turned up.

Way up!

While the yurt was sturdy and well made, it was no Fort Knox.

The gaps between the wood panels let every last one of the locals’ howls, screeches, hoots and cries through, not to mention the thundering hooves of what I assume were elk or moose, running mere feet away.

Side note, those same gaps also let in a very sweet little mouse at about one in the morning, determined to get his paws on our trail mix.

It was two hours later, at about 3am, that I started to freak out.

Something, by the sounds of it, maybe three or four feet tall, was scratching at the front door of the yurt. Not a light little tickle, either. It, whatever it was, was really going for it. Hell for leather, determined to get in.

It wasn’t making the traditional low huffing grunt of a bear, and there was only one of them, so I was confident it wasn’t a wolf.

But I’d seen mountain lions in the flesh in Idaho before, and there were signs about Wolverine sightings in the actual yurt itself, so the mind was racing.

There was a ferocity to it that I’d never experienced before. Full on berserker mode. Snarling, growling, and the intensity of its claws scratching at the wooden door.

Sounds that will stay with me forever.

Long story short, after about half an hour, it clearly concluded this was far too much faff, and moved on. Needless to say, we didn’t catch a wink all night.

The next day, reflecting on the night before, I pondered. Not about our visitor, but about the utility of the main emotion I’d felt at the time.

Fear.

We’ve been taught to fear fear. To move away from it, or at best, to confront it head on, which proliferates the idea that fear is something to be battled, to war against.

This perspective needs re-considering, and is quite honestly the catalyst to achieving pretty much any major goal you set in life.

Fear is not to be battled, avoided or overcome.

Fear is to be followed.

Our fears are the guideposts to our greatest growth. They are that which calls us up into our highest form, the knight stepping out to slay the dragon.

On that night in the yurt, fear prepared me.

Practically, it got me out of bed securing the door, checking for any other structural vulnerabilities, arming myself with a frying pan. A bit OTT, maybe, but I wasn’t going to risk it.

Physically, it pumped adrenaline around my system, hardened my muscles and heated my joints despite the freezing nighttime mountain temperatures, and zeroed my vision on the door.

Fear directs you at the primary point of focus.

It guides the way.

Five, fifty, five hundred-thousand years ago, if fear hadn’t existed, or if it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as it does, we wouldn’t exist. Lions, tigers and wolves would run the planet.

Unless we’re indulging in worst case scenario catastrophising (in which case, give yourself a reality check), our fears are not to be avoided, they are to be followed.

Last week, we learned that feelings are very often fraudulent.

That, while in need of validation, they seek to maintain our personal status quo, to keep us safe, comfortable and stagnant.

With growth comes risk, with risk comes discomfort, with discomfort comes fear. The strongest psychological and emotional step you can take is to take a deep breath, take out a pen and a notebook and look into your fears and ask them one question;

“What can you help me become?”

In love and health,

Alex