You Won’t Know Unless You Go 

The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.” – Joseph Campbell

You Won’t Know Unless You Go:

It was a stormy Friday—cooler temps, sprinkling rain, and thunder rumbling in the distance. Not exactly ideal weather for heading out on a family backpacking trip. But August in Idaho is known for fast-moving mountain storms, so we kept packing, hopeful it would pass.

We drove 45 minutes to the trailhead under swirling dark skies, radar in hand, thinking maybe it wouldn’t rain for long… and hopefully no lightning. But the moment we stepped out of the car—CRACK! A massive boom echoed across the sky. Lovely, Thunder, Lightning, Mighty Mighty Frightening! 

The trail we’d planned was short and sweet, but also totally exposed—not exactly where you want to be in an electrical storm with two young kids and a thunder-sensitive dog. So, we pivoted. We found a random backcountry restaurant serving pizza, salad bar, and even the game Operation (big win for the kids!). As we drove there, the skies opened up. Torrential downpour. Hail. Blinding sheets of rain. Lightning bolts flashing all around. We were so glad we hadn’t started hiking.

And still—I wasn’t mad we made the trip out to the trailhead. Because the truth is: you won’t know unless you go. And guess what else happened?! After dinner, the skies cleared completely. Not a cloud in sight and radar confirmed a single storm cell had rolled through—right after we’d checked earlier. Go figure.

It was 8 p.m. by the time we got back to the trailhead, but we decided to hike in anyway. The trail was wet (okay, soaked), our pants and dog got drenched, but wow—the light. That soft, glowy, golden light. Everything was green, lush, and peaceful. It reminded me: yes, be safe and smart in the mountains—but don’t let fear always call the shots. Sometimes you have to take the risk, because the beauty and magic you find might just be worth it.

And honestly? Sometimes the chaos is the memory.

It’s Worth the Pain:

After that magical golden-lit hike into camp, I’ll be honest—the shine started to wear off fast. It was getting late, all the best campsites were taken (WTH?!), and it was dark, wet, and cold. The kids were doing great, full of energy and excitement, which also meant they were a handful and not particularly helpful. The dogs kept trying to sneak into the tent, soaking wet and muddy. Tony and I? We were cranky, annoyed, and seriously questioning our life choices. Why do we think this is fun again? 

We could’ve stayed home, had a cozy dinner, and called it a night. But instead, we crammed into the tent, laughed our butts off at our new dog Harry sleeping on top of me, and bonded through the chaos. No, we didn’t get a great night’s sleep—but we had a memorable one. And we woke up to a beautiful mountain lake. That’s why.

The next day, we bushwhacked to another lake about a mile away. The kids trudged through bushes up to their waists (or necks!) in good spirits, fueled by their new obsession: fishing. All was going pretty great—until Charlie had an emotional, sassy meltdown. These days, her breakdowns are less kicking and crying and more teenager vibes. Lord help us when we get to the real teenage years.

Tony and I passed her back and forth like a hot potato, trying to navigate this new world of pre-teen parenting. In those hard moments, the same doubts creep in: Why do we do this? Is anyone even having fun? Is she going to ruin it for everyone? But, just like life, we worked through it. We came out stronger—and Charlie caught three gorgeous brook trout! The lake was full of frogs, snakes, and zero people. Pure Idaho magic.

That night, our friends hiked in to join us. It was their first ever family backpacking trip—with two kids under five, one of them just 18 months old. I was blown away by their determination. And even though their tent echoed with cries all night (thank you, earplugs), they were smiling, mostly, the next morning. When I asked if it was worth it, they both said yes—because they’ve had harder nights at home, and the memories from these 24 hours were worth every challenge.

So here’s your reminder: if you’re debating doing something hard, something messy, something that might include a bit of suck—do it anyway. You’ll catch up on sleep later. And you’ll be so grateful you went and lived and didn’t let the hard parts stop you from the beautiful ones.

You Can Do Hard Things:

The day after we hiked out, we headed to a birthday party for one of the kids’ close friends. There, I got to chatting with a woman who shared how she’s always wanted to try backpacking with her family. That opened up a conversation about how she’s a teacher, has a beautiful family cabin less than three hours away, and has dreamed of taking her kids there in the summer—but has always been too nervous to go alone.

I was shocked. Not in a judgmental or mean way, but just truly surprised that something like a solo drive with her (not-so-young) kids to a familiar, safe place was holding her back. My heart hurt for her. I immediately wanted to pull out my planner and set a date to go with her and show her: you’ve got this.

Because yes, it’s hard. Traveling solo with kids in tow is a challenge. But it’s also so worth it. And guess what? You can do hard things. Truly. Most of the time, you can figure it out as you go. You don’t need to have every step mapped perfectly. You just need to start.

I recently heard a podcast that offered two gems I can’t stop thinking about:

1. Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean you’re bad at it.
   New things are supposed to feel uncomfortable and awkward. That doesn’t mean you’re failing—it means you’re learning and growing. Keep going, and it will get easier.
2. Ask yourself, “What could go right?”
   We’re so good at running through all the worst-case scenarios. But what if, instead, you made a list of what could go well? One family’s favorite quote was:“Mentally play with the idea of complete and inevitable success.”
   It’s not about guaranteeing success. It’s about allowing yourself to imagine what’s possible—without getting paralyzed by the fear of failure OR the fear of success. When you play with the idea of things going well, you loosen the grip of fear and open the door to action.

So, just like I said earlier—you won’t know unless you go. Try it. Say yes to the hard thing. Even if it doesn’t go perfectly, it might still be more rewarding than doing nothing at all.

When Lightning Strikes:

We may have lucked out on our family backpacking trip—sneaking in after one storm and out before the next—but that wasn’t the case on our anniversary trip. Tony and I set off on a 4-day backpacking adventure into a remote, unfamiliar part of Idaho, and it was amazing. I was so excited, but also a little nervous. It was fire season. There was spotty service. And the forecast? A casual 50% chance of thunderstorms.

But we weren’t going to cancel a rare 4-day trip over maybe weather. We’d go for it and deal with whatever came.

Thankfully, luck was still on our side during the day. We finished our hikes before the rain came—though I did end up cooking dinner under a tree in a full downpour after an 11-hour day of hiking (not ideal, but survivable). At least it wasn’t raining when we were exposed at 10,000 feet.

That night though—whew. At 2 a.m., we were jolted awake by the slow rumble of thunder, and for the next 45 minutes the sky lit up with one of the biggest, wildest storms I’ve ever witnessed. It was loud, bright, and terrifying.

There we were: middle of the night, middle of nowhere, in fire season, with lightning cracking all around our little lake basin. My brain went wild:
What if lightning strikes us?
What if it starts a fire?
How fast do wildfires travel?
What if a rockslide starts?
What if a tree falls on us?

And my body? Fully betrayed me. I was shaking uncontrollably, like a terrified dog who can’t stop trembling—fully alert, adrenaline pumping. Meanwhile, Tony was just… enjoying the show.  

We obviously survived the night just fine. But the next morning, I was a little mad at myself. We had this rare opportunity to be completely immersed in a thunderstorm—something wild and intense and real—and I let fear steal that from me. I spent those 45 minutes spiraling in worry instead of surrendering to awe.

I’d just read a passage in The Daily Stoic about this exact thing. About how we ruin the present moment by ruminating on what might go wrong. We double our suffering—first in worry, then (maybe) in reality. Instead, we should choose to experience the now, and let the future unfold when it arrives.

So yeah, Silly Kelli. But also, another lesson in letting go of what you can’t control… and leaning into the moment, even when lightning strikes.

Changing Your Situations When You Can:

Even though I said I regretted how freaked out I was during that thunderstorm, I wasn’t exactly eager to relive the experience.

So, when Sunday rolled around—the final night of our anniversary backpacking trip—and we saw rain and more thunderstorms in the forecast, I had a choice. The hike that day was short, and we had planned to get back to camp early for a chill day. I had my heart set on laying in the hammock with a great book, playing a little cribbage (and obviously crushing Tony ;)), and just soaking up one last peaceful afternoon in the mountains.

But the thought of another cold downpour, getting stuck in a tiny tent for hours, and another possible thunderstorm… nope. That didn’t sound like a relaxing finale. Add in the fact that Monday was going to be a beast: a 4-hour hike out, a 7-hour drive, and all the chaos of packing up. So, we pivoted.

We decided to pack up camp and hike out Sunday afternoon, even if it meant hiking in the rain. It felt like the smarter choice.

Turns out? It didn’t rain. It was beautiful. And I found myself slightly kicking myself for leaving that stunning mountain lake and missing my final hammock/book/cribbage moment.

I almost let myself believe I had ruined the end of our trip…
Or so I thought. 

Pivoting Can Be the Right Call Though:

Since it was our 15-year wedding anniversary, we decided to splurge and stay in a hotel for a night. I figured we’d find something around $100–$150 in Stanley on a Sunday night. But nope. Everything we found was $300+. And I was cranky. I’m a cheapskate at heart, okay?

So I told Tony that even though we’d be arriving late, I didn’t want to spend that much—we could just set up our tent again. Thankfully, Tony gently talked me out of that plan. And then… jackpot! When he went to book the room, the front desk gal mentioned they had one last room for just $200. WINNER WINNER! I was so stoked. And let me tell you—after four days in the backcountry, that hot shower? 100% worth it.

But the night kept getting better.

We were starving. It was 8:30 p.m. in a small mountain town on a Sunday. You know what that means?—everything’s either closed or closing. We were this close to heating up freeze-dried meals in our fancy cabin but we decided to do a quick drive to town to see if anything was open. 

At the last second, we spotted the Sawtooth Hotel & Restaurant still serving, so we pulled in and they agreed to seat us. But of course, I sat down, looked at the menu, and panicked again. Plates were $30+ each. Fancy. Pricey. Not my vibe. (Someone, please teach me how to be okay spending money on fancy things. )

But then, Harry happened.

Our new Australian Shepherd—who we inherited from Gina—is basically famous everywhere we go. Everyone LOVES Harry. Sure enough, this sweet family came over to pet him, then stayed and chatted with us for ten minutes. We told them it was our anniversary and that we’d been backpacking to celebrate, and tonight we were splurging a little.

They were in awe that we thought hiking around the wilderness for four days was fun, but also kind of impressed. We all smiled and moved on with our evening.

And then… 30 minutes later… they came back.

To say goodbye. And to tell us—dinner was on them.

They wanted to treat us for our anniversary. I’m literally tearing up just writing this. It was one of the kindest, most unexpected acts of generosity I’ve experienced. And yes, we joked that Harry scored us a free dinner—or maybe Gina was watching from heaven, pulling some strings. 

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The Takeaway

So yeah… long story, but I just wanted to say—pivoting your plans can be pretty amazing too. I let fear nudge us to leave the backcountry early. But that pivot? It was exactly what we needed.

On Monday, we had a slow morning in our cozy cabin. We eased into our day. We journeyed home with time to spare. And we weren’t frazzled or exhausted rolling into the week ahead.

So next time life—or your adventure—throws you a curveball, don’t be afraid to make a new plan. You never know what magic might be waiting on the other side. Just don’t let fear completely derail your experience. You can work through the “what ifs.” And maybe, just maybe, you’ll end up with a  bucket list trip achieved, followed by a hot shower, a surprise celebration dinner… and a reminder that everything works out.

So… what’s on your list?

What’s that thing you’ve been wanting to do that feels a little scary, risky, or brand new? I’d love to hear it! Seriously—send it my way. I’ll happily offer encouragement, tips, or maybe even a story from my own “what was I thinking?!” files to help inspire you to go for it.

Because I promise—you’ll be glad you did.

As always, thanks for reading along. I hope you find a way to chase your own version of adventure, whether it’s bold and wild or slow and simple. I’ll be cheering you on from the sidelines… or maybe even right beside you. (Just no lightning, please :))

–Kelli