I’m going to start by pointing out the obvious here - doing hard things is hard. Hard things are usually time-consuming, mentally draining, costly, perceived as too difficult or any other off-putting reason you can think of. Whereas there is a cosiness to easiness, a familiarity to something that we’ve always done, doing a hard thing can mean taking a step into the unknown which, for me at least, can cause feelings of apprehension or uncertainty. The comfort zone is such a lovely place to spend our days.
I wrote briefly in my July Moments of the Month about doing hard things and the benefits of pushing yourself out of your comfort zone. It got me thinking about my experiences of doing hard things on a deeper level and questioning why I do them. I’d like to point out that I’m no expert and how I think about this topic is purely based on my own experiences. There are still hard things I make excuses for, things I put off doing because they are too difficult, things I wish I did do but don’t because I don’t have the time or energy. The hardest thing for me which I’m still yet to crack is the ability to do nothing. Why do I find that so unbelievably hard? The hard things I have done however, have all taught me one valuable lesson.
Bu first, let me tell you a little story…
It’s 2021. My husband and I are away in a trip in the camper van visiting the Isle of Skye. We planned a hike to the Old Man of Storr, not the iconic Old Man everyone thinks of, but the peak which sits just behind it. It was pretty straight forward.
Until it wasn’t.
We got caught in the worst whiteout1 I’ve ever experienced. We couldn’t see our hands in front of our faces or our feet on the floor. The clouds were racing, swirling around us, like smoke from a burning building, our heads and our bodies completely engulfed. We kept our heads down, eyes on the trail, taking one slow treacherous step after another. We eventually made it to the summit. But then we couldn’t find our way down. A wrong step would have meant us falling over the edge, our fate racing towards us. We’d had a whiteout a few years prior on Snowdon but somehow this felt different. I’ve never felt so panicked.
Eventually we found the path and began our descent, not even daring to look up at the famous rock formation, not that it would have been particularly visible. I was shaken, Sean heroic in his rescue effort, Jasper completely unaware of what had just happened. I vowed to never climb a mountain again.
The following week we found ourselves in the Lake District. Striding around Lake Buttermere, we were aware of the huge elephants in the landscape. We both knew what I needed to do.
“Ok, let’s do it”, I said. “Bit by bit.”
So we climbed a little. Then a little further, a little higher. Until we reached a point of a vertical scramble. I was done.
As we sat in silence eating our lunch, me very much aware of my lack of courage, I saw a woman, about twice my age, walking on her own, map in hand, looking up at the section I was too scared to tackle. After a brief moment, she folded the map, popped it in her pocket, and proceeded to climb up the side of the mountain. I watched her in awe. Well, if she can do it, I can do it! So off I went, leaving Sean to hastily pack away and follow my lead.
That week we climbed Haystacks, Helvellyn and Scaffel Pike. I faced my fear, doing the hard thing that I didn’t think I would ever be able to do again.
If I hadn’t of watched in admiration at the woman scrambling up the side of Haystacks, I don’t think I would have summoned the courage to do it myself. Maybe it was ego, maybe it was comfort in the fact that it could be done. When Roger Bannister ran the first 4 minute mile in 1954, people soon followed suit. The hard thing that people thought could never be done, didn’t seem so hard anymore as they were safe in the knowledge that someone had done it before.
That week I left the Lake District high on a cloud of courage and confidence, with my valuable life lesson pushing itself ahead of my anxious thoughts and lack of self-belief…
I can do it.
Since that moment, with those four words slowly embedding themselves in my brain, there are other hard things I’ve done in my life. Some small, some big. I ran a marathon. I quit my job to travel. I sold my house, replacing security with freedom. I’ve learnt to speak openly about my stammer. I try new hobbies. I started this very Substack. With each hard thing I do, that valuable lesson grows and grows and grows.
And it’s for that reason alone that I will continue to do hard things because in those moments which follow, where I realise my own capability, it broadens my eyes to what I can do, of what is possible. As I said, there are still some things I don’t do, some days where my confidence is low or my willingness not enough, but as the belief continues to grow, so too will my desire to push myself further and to tackle those other hard things.
I also believe that in doing hard things, you’re preparing yourself for life. Life is hard, life will throw challenges at you, and building a little resilience goes a long way. I think back to when I was training for the marathon. It was winter, it was cold and dark and miserable, but each morning I would drag myself out from under the warmth of the covers, put on my running shoes and get it done. By 8am I had already done the hardest thing I needed to do that day. Everything else felt like a breeze. It’s similar when I think about how I’ve become more open about my stammer. Those circumstances where I would freeze or I would put off speaking, are becoming less and less because the hardest part, the part where I’ve come to terms with it, I’ve already achieved.
Your hard thing doesn’t have to be record-breaking or an incredibly huge feat; it can be small, significant only to you. After all, each of our “hard things” are personal to us. For me, I have a number of things lined up over the coming months which I know will challenge me mentally and I have some physical goals in mind too. I will continue throughout my life to do hard things because it makes my life interesting. It enables me to grow, to honour the growth mindset, to learn, to experience life and to remove myself from the easiness of the comfort zone.
What hard thing can you do today or start to embark on the path towards? How can you start to believe that you can do it?
I want to say a quick hello to all of my subscribers! It’s wonderful to have you here and I hope you enjoyed this weeks newsletter. Don’t forget to also check out my latest travel journals where you can follow along with mine and my husbands 4x4 adventures in Europe!
Until next week ….
Much love 💜
A whiteout is generally falling snow, snow cover and intense cloud combined to create a full “whiteout”. When you are caught in one, there is no visible difference between the sky and the ground. It’s like being in the pitch dark, except it’s white. With no visible features or sense of distance, it’s very easy to become disoriented.
I loved this, Lyndsay - I'm going to seek out some challenges of my own! 🙌