Climb the Mountain
Climb mountains not so the world can see you, but so you can see the world.
“Climb mountains not so the world can see you, but so you can see the world.”
Attributed to writer David McCullough Jr.
There’s a mountain waiting for you.
Maybe it’s literal—a peak you’ve dreamed of summiting, a trail you’ve bookmarked for “someday.” Or maybe it’s metaphorical—that business you want to start, that career pivot you keep postponing, that relationship conversation you’ve been avoiding, that creative project gathering dust in your mind.
Whatever form it takes, your mountain is there. Waiting. Patient. Indifferent to your excuses.
But here’s what I learned from Brianna Wiest’s powerful book The Mountain is You: the mountain isn’t just in front of you. The mountain IS you.
Your mountain is the collision point between who you are and who you’re becoming. It’s formed where your conscious dreams crash against your subconscious fears. As Wiest writes, “Just as a mountain is formed when two sections of the ground are forced against one another, your mountain will arise out of coexisting but conflicting needs.”
That business idea you haven’t launched? That’s not just procrastination. That’s the mountain where your desire for success collides with your fear of failure.
That relationship conversation you keep avoiding? That’s the mountain where your need for connection battles your fear of rejection.
That creative work you’ve shelved? That’s the mountain where your calling to create meets your terror of being seen.
The mountain is self-sabotage. And the only way past it is through it.
The View From the Valley
Here’s what most people never realize: the valley is comfortable. The valley is safe. From the valley, you can see other people climbing their mountains, and you can watch from a distance. You can critique their technique. You can predict their failures. You can rationalize why you’re better off staying put.
The valley offers you every reason not to climb.
It’s too hard. It’s too risky. You’re not ready. You don’t have the right equipment, the right experience, the right timing. What if you fail? What if people laugh? What if you get halfway up and realize you’re in over your head?
These whispers are seductive. They sound like wisdom. They feel like prudence.
But Wiest taught me to recognize these for what they are: invasive thoughts, not intuitive ones. Intuitive thoughts come from your best self and solve problems. Invasive thoughts come from your most fearful, small self and create problems.
That voice telling you to wait? That’s not wisdom. That’s fear wearing wisdom’s mask.
And here’s the kicker: while you’re in the valley worrying about what others will think if you climb, I learned something powerful from Mel Robbins’ Let Them Theory: they’re not thinking about you as much as you think they are.
Let them doubt you. Let them question your choices. Let them think you’re crazy, reckless, or unprepared.
Because while you’re exhausting yourself trying to manage everyone else’s opinions, you’re giving away the one thing you actually control: your choice to climb.
Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained
Here’s the truth that changes everything: you don’t climb mountains to be seen. You climb them to see.
Every mountain you ascend—every risk you take, every venture you launch, every uncomfortable conversation you initiate, every creative work you put into the world—expands your vision. It doesn’t make you more visible to others. It makes the world more visible to you.
From the valley, you see walls. From the summit, you see horizons.
From the valley, you see obstacles. From the summit, you see possibilities.
From the valley, you see reasons why not. From the summit, you see ways how.
The climb isn’t about proving yourself to anyone. It’s about discovering what you’re capable of becoming. It’s about earning a perspective that no amount of research, planning, or “one day” dreaming can provide.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained isn’t just a saying. It’s the fundamental equation of growth. Zero risk means zero reward. Zero discomfort means zero transformation. Zero climb means zero view.
The Summit Exists in the Climbing
Here’s what they don’t tell you: the magic isn’t at the top.
Yes, the view from the summit is breathtaking. Yes, planting your flag matters. Yes, achieving the goal feels incredible.
But the real transformation happens in the middle miles. In the moments when your lungs burn and your legs shake and you question everything. In the unexpected storms you weather. In the fellow climbers who become companions. In the sunrise you witness halfway up that you would have missed entirely from the comfort of your bed.
The mountain changes you long before you reach its peak.
That startup that terrifies you? The transformation begins the moment you register the domain, not when you secure funding.
That creative project you’ve shelved? The growth happens when you open the blank page, not when you hold the finished book.
That difficult conversation? The breakthrough occurs when you say “we need to talk,” not when everything is resolved.
That journey across the world? The adventure starts when you book the ticket, not when you post the photos.
The summit exists in the climbing.
And here’s the truth that Wiest crystallized for me: “Your new life is going to cost you your old one.”
You can’t climb the mountain and stay the person you were in the valley. You can’t pursue the dream and keep the comfort. You can’t transform and remain the same.
The climb demands a price: your old identity, your familiar routines, your comfortable excuses, your safe smallness.
The question isn’t whether the climb will cost you something. It’s whether what you’ll gain is worth what you’ll lose.
Spoiler: it always is.
What If You Fall?
You will.
Not metaphorically. Actually. You will stumble. You will slip. You will take wrong turns. You will face setbacks that make you question why you started.
And here’s what matters: you’ll learn from the fall in ways you could never learn from staying still.
When you stumble on the climb, you’re not failing—you’re gathering data about yourself. You’re building emotional intelligence. You’re learning to identify your patterns, understand your triggers, and respond rather than react.
A failure while climbing teaches you more than a lifetime of success at sea level. A venture that collapses gives you data. A risk that doesn’t pay off reveals hidden strengths. An attempt that falls short still moves you forward in ways that perfect planning never could.
Every scraped knee on the mountain teaches you something that reading about climbing never could. Every setback reveals a limiting belief you didn’t know you held. Every moment you want to quit and choose to keep going anyway builds the person capable of reaching the summit.
Because here’s the secret the valley-dwellers will never understand: the only true failure is dying with your mountain unclimbed.
Not attempting is not the safe choice. It’s the tragic one.
Your Mountain Is Calling
Right now, reading these words, you know what your mountain is.
It’s the thing you think about late at night. The dream you’ve rationalized away. The calling you’ve muted. The risk you’ve calculated into paralysis. The opportunity you’ve watched pass by again and again, telling yourself “next time.”
Your mountain doesn’t care about your fears. It doesn’t care about your excuses. It doesn’t care whether you’re ready.
It simply exists. Offering you a choice.
And here’s where Robbins’ “Let Them Theory” becomes your liberation: when you stop trying to control what everyone else thinks about your climb, you finally reclaim the energy to actually climb.
Let them think you’re crazy for quitting your stable job to start that business. Let them question why you’re pursuing that “unrealistic” dream. Let them misunderstand your journey.
And then—this is the powerful part—shift to “Let me”:
Let me take this risk because it’s my life to live. Let me fail forward because that’s how I learn. Let me disappoint some people so I can stop disappointing myself. Let me focus on what I can actually control: my choices, my effort, my response.
You cannot control whether they understand. You cannot control whether they approve. You cannot control whether they believe in you.
But you can control whether you lace up your boots.
You can stay in the valley and watch others climb. You can spend your life being comfortable, being safe, being small. You can arrive at the end with a list of perfectly logical reasons why you never tried.
Or you can climb your mountain.
The Climb Begins With a Single Step
Not tomorrow. Not when conditions are perfect. Not when you’re ready.
Today.
One step. Then another. Then another.
Will it be hard? Absolutely. Will you doubt yourself? Constantly. Will there be moments you want to turn back? Many.
But here’s what else will happen:
You’ll discover strength you didn’t know you had. You’ll develop skills you never imagined possessing. You’ll meet people who change your life. You’ll see views that take your breath away. You’ll become someone you couldn’t have planned to be.
And one day, maybe months from now, maybe years, you’ll pause mid-climb. You’ll look back at where you started. You’ll see the valley far below. You’ll see how far you’ve come. You’ll see the distance you’ve covered one step at a time.
And you’ll realize: the mountain didn’t defeat you. It revealed you.
Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained
So climb.
Climb that mountain you’ve been eyeing. Take that risk you’ve been calculating. Launch that venture you’ve been planning. Book that trip you’ve been postponing. Have that conversation you’ve been avoiding. Create that thing you’ve been dreaming about.
Not for applause. Not for validation. Not so the world can see you.
But so you can see the world—and yourself—with the clarity that only comes from the summit.
Your mountain is waiting.
The view is extraordinary.
And you’ll never know unless you climb.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. What mountain are you climbing today?
Books That Shaped This Journey
The wisdom in this piece was profoundly influenced by two transformative books:
The Mountain Is You: Transforming Self-Sabotage Into Self-Mastery by Brianna Wiest taught me that the mountains we face are often the mountains we create—that self-sabotage emerges from conflicting needs within us, and that transformation requires us to climb through our resistance, not around it.
The Let Them Theory: A Life-Changing Tool That Millions of People Can’t Stop Talking About by Mel Robbins showed me that freedom comes from releasing control over others’ opinions and redirecting that energy toward what we actually can control: our choices, our actions, our climb.
Both books reinforced what I’ve always believed: nothing ventured, nothing gained. The summit belongs to those who climb.