The Leader Mindset #25

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A Personal Story and the Leadership Lessons I Learned at 10,000 Feet

If you have read any of my newsletter articles, you know that I usually write about work experiences and how to become a better leader.

This week I want to share something a bit different - a personal experience outside of work. I promise to weave it leadership in at the end.

This past week, I had the opportunity to learn an incredible life lesson — in the mountains of southwestern Wyoming, of all places.

The adventure I didn’t really think would happen…

It started a year ago when my three best friends and I turned 50. We decided to mark the milestone with a “big adventure” — a three-day, two-night backpacking trip (none of us had done this type of hiking before).

There was just one small problem: we live in Nebraska. Quite possibly the flattest state in the country.

Sure, I enjoy hiking. But my version is more “drive to Colorado, stay in a nice cabin, carry a bottle of water and a snack, and be home by noon for a nap.”

We were talking something very different in scale and scope.

We were talking full-on backpacking: tents, sleeping bags, food, a jet boil (if you know, you know), extra layers, first-aid kits, and, yes, bear spray. All of it strapped to our backs for 25 miles.

I’ll be honest — when we put the trip on the calendar, I assumed it would quietly disappear. Someone would have to cancel. Life would get in the way. We’d all agree it was “probably for the best.”

In fact, in the days leading up to it, I was sort of hoping it would get called off. A cool house. A soft bed. Food that didn’t require boiling water in a pouch. That sounded much better.

Unfortunately for my comfort-loving self, nothing got in the way. The trip was on.

Day 1: The Comfortable Start… and the Crash

Day one began well enough. The trail was fairly flat, the weather was perfect, and the scenery was unreal. We found a nice rhythm.
I started thinking, Hey, maybe this won’t be so bad.

That optimism lasted until I remembered we were starting around 9,000 feet. Flat-lander syndrome soon hit me like a brick wall.
About halfway through and every breath felt like I’d been running wind sprints. My legs ached. My shoulders screamed under the weight of my pack.
We still had miles to go.

The questions started creeping in:
Did we make a mistake? Is it going to be like this the whole time? Should we turn back now?

We didn’t. Mostly because turning back would have been just as miserable.

When we finally staggered into camp, the “night of rest” we’d been banking on didn’t exactly materialize for me. Sleeping on the ground is… well, sleeping on the ground.

Day 2: The Climb I’ll Never Forget

We knew day two was going to be the toughest. We had to climb over the Continental Divide. It wasn’t the longest day in terms of mileage, but the elevation gain was brutal.

The trail pointed uphill and never stopped. Within minutes of heading up the trail over the pass, my lungs were burning. My calves felt like they’d been replaced with concrete.
There were points I thought, I can’t do this.

But here’s the thing — I didn’t have a choice. Going back was harder than going forward.
So I bargained with myself: Just 20 steps. Then you can stop. Then another 20.

It sounds ridiculous, but breaking the climb into those tiny, manageable chunks — plus a lot of encouragement from my friends — is the only thing that got me to the top.

When we finally crested the pass, the view was worth every miserable step. But more than that, there was a strange pride in knowing I hadn’t given up.

Day 3: The Curveball

By the third morning, I was running on fumes — sore, sunburned, and dreaming of Doritos 😅. But I was also optimistic.
Nine miles left, mostly downhill. Easy, right?

That was before we found the boulder field.
Half a mile of climbing up, over, and around massive rocks — with a full pack. While parts of it were oddly fun, it was also exhausting. And it was just the start of the day.

The miles after that blurred together. We moved faster as the trail headed downhill, but every step still hurt. By the time we saw the parking lot, we were filthy, starving, and completely spent.

What the Mountains Taught Me About Life and Leadership

Here’s what surprised me: the best part of the trip was the scenery and the camaraderie, but none of this would have happened without saying “yes”. It was saying “yes” to something I didn’t want to do because it was uncomfortable.
That trip stretched me in ways a normal week never would have.

Looking back, a few lessons stand out:

• You need a plan.
  This trip wasn’t for the faint of heart. We had to plan distances, gear, food, and safety. In leadership, it’s no different. Significant challenges require forethought, preparation, and a realistic understanding of what you’re walking into.

• When you think you can’t go on, you can.
  Sometimes progress means taking 20 steps, resting, then taking 20 more. In leadership, when you hit a wall on a project, you don’t have to conquer the whole thing at once. You just need to move forward a little at a time. Then, the momentum builds, just like hiking down a mountain.

• You need people you trust.
  The only reason this trip worked was because I was with my three closest friends — people I’ve known since grade school. There was unquestioned trust. No second-guessing, no judgment, only support. I’d do anything for them, and they’d do anything for me. In leadership, the same is true: your “trail team” matters. Surround yourself with people you trust enough to struggle with, celebrate with, and lean on when things get tough.

• Stay in the moment
  There were moments I barely noticed the mountains because I was so focused on getting to camp. Leaders can fall into the same trap — chasing the next goal without appreciating the present. Slow down. Notice what’s working, and learn from what is happening today.

Why this matters for leaders

I didn’t come down from the mountains with a life-changing mantra or a sudden urge to plaster motivational quotes all over social media. But I did come back with a more profound respect for what happens when you put yourself in situations that push you.

As a leader, you can’t grow without discomfort.
Sometimes that discomfort comes from taking a stretch assignment, stepping into a role you’re not 100% ready for, or leading a team through unfamiliar territory.

It’s tempting to hope the challenge “goes away” — just like I hoped the trip would. But when you say yes, prepare well, surround yourself with people you trust, and keep moving even when it’s hard, you find out what you’re really capable of.

Here’s the unexpected bonus: people notice. Your team sees you wrestling with the challenge and pushing forward. They see that you’re human but also determined. That combination builds trust.

So maybe you don’t need to climb over the Continental Divide to grow as a leader. But you do need your own version of a high-altitude backpacking trip — something that scares you just enough to make you question if you can do it… until you do.

If you ask me, that’s a lesson worth carrying, even if it weighs as much as a tent, a jet boil, and three days’ worth of freeze-dried meals.

Andy Noon, PhD

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Thanks for reading and look forward to seeing you again next week.

Andy