KATIE

The trail was steep — the kind that makes you pause at the base and look up for a second longer than usual.

Before we started, we joked about it. She grew up in Southeast Michigan, seasoned early in the outdoors — camping at three months old, backpacking by three years old. The mountains weren’t new to her. Challenge wasn’t foreign. When I gave her the option between a simpler hike or one that demanded more, she chose the climb without hesitation.

We stood at the base and looked up.

“Oh boy, here we go.”

And then we went.

She moved steady. Calm. Collected. Almost unfazed by the grade. Nothing intimidated her. If anything, she leaned into it. We took short breaks and looked out over the valley below us, the incline sharp and quick beneath our feet. The wind met us near the top — stronger than either of us expected — pushing sideways, threatening balance. We joked that it might blow us off the mountain.

It didn’t.

What stood out most wasn’t just her strength on the climb — it was her awareness. I noticed her picking up trash along the trail before we ever spoke about Leave No Trace. Later, she mentioned she had earned certification in it. It wasn’t performative. It was instinct. She was attentive not just to the horizon — but to the ground beneath her feet.

That same awareness shows up in the way she moves through life. Since moving to Utah in 2021, the mountains have shifted from occasional adventure to steady rhythm. Slow hikes and camping bring her peace — a break from noise, screens, and obligation. Mountain biking, which she picked up just a few years ago, has brought something else entirely: adrenaline, bravery, and the willingness to do things that scare her.

She told me she’s always considered herself a little bit of a scaredy cat.

And yet she rides.

She hikes solo now. Takes annual solo National Park trips. Says yes to new opportunities. Puts herself out there more. Growth, for her, isn’t loud — it’s intentional.

Somewhere along the climb she pulled out a small disposable digital camera — a quiet reminder that not everything has to be instant or curated.

There’s something about timelessness she understands. About slowing down for a tree. A flower. A view. Sometimes even giving it a thumbs up and saying, “Nice job, tree.”

There was no awkwardness on this trail. Just conversation, laughter, wind, and forward motion.

She respects the outdoors. She respects people. And she respects the process of becoming.

She chose the climb.

This is Spirit of the Moment.