
For a long time, I thought adventure was something you had to earn.
That you needed to be tougher. Stronger. More experienced. More like the version of an outdoor enthusiast I saw everywhere else. I wanted to explore, but I hesitated — unsure if I was cut out for it, or if I even belonged out there.
When I pictured an adventurer, it rarely looked like me. It looked confident, athletic, relentless — often male. And I quietly assumed that meant I would always be behind.
So I stayed on the edges.
I told myself I needed to train more. Learn more. Toughen up before I could really claim a place outdoors. I worried about being too slow. About choosing easier trails. About not having enough grit.
What I didn’t have language for then was imposter syndrome — and how deeply it shaped the way I moved through nature.

I have deep respect for people who do incredible things outdoors.
The endurance, skill, and mental strength required for big miles and big climbs is impressive. Pushing limits can be meaningful. Growth often comes from challenge.
But somewhere along the way, that version of adventure became the standard. I started believing that anything less didn’t count.
Without realizing it, I internalized that. I chose routes that looked impressive instead of ones that felt supportive. I pushed past moments when my body asked for rest. I wanted to prove that I could keep up — that I deserved to be there.
Slowly, the place I went to feel grounded began to feel like another space where I had to perform.
What changed wasn’t my respect for growth — it was my relationship to it.
I still believe in progression. In testing yourself. In choosing challenge when it feels aligned. But I stopped believing that maximum effort was the entry fee for belonging outdoors.
There’s a difference between pushing yourself out of curiosity and forcing yourself out of fear. One builds confidence. The other drains it.
Letting ease be part of the experience didn’t make me stagnant. It gave me room to grow in ways that felt sustainable.

The outdoors stopped feeling intimidating when I stopped treating it like a test.
Adventure doesn’t require a certain body, pace, or tolerance for discomfort. It can be demanding or gentle. Long miles or short trails. Pushing limits or honoring them.
Exploration isn’t reserved for the fearless or the most experienced. It’s a shared space — open to anyone drawn to the natural world.
The moment I stopped trying to earn my place, nature stopped feeling like something I had to prove myself worthy of. It started feeling like a place I could come home to again.
If you feel drawn to the outdoors but hesitate because you don’t fit a certain mold, this is your reminder:
You belong.
The only permission you need is your own.
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