As some of you know, on July 2nd, 2026, I embarked on a one-year project leading up to my 40th birthday next year. One of the goals on my "Next40" list is to climb 40 new peaks in a single year. My recent trip to Switzerland with Xieheng was meant to knock a few of those off the list. See the summary below:

But mountains have a way of teaching you things you didn't plan to learn. Here are six realizations from this expedition:

It’s a cliché, but it’s true. We all wake up every day with the almost absolute certainty that we will see tomorrow. I’m not saying we should live in fear, but rather, ask ourselves: are we making the most of this moment?

Just three weeks prior to the trip, I experienced a horrible pain shooting from my neck, down my spine, across my shoulder blade, and into my arms. We discovered it was a pinched nerve at C6/C7—a mix of wear and tear, plus whiplash from a couple of wakeboarding falls. For those three weeks, I was grateful if I could sleep for four hours straight. I thought the trip was entirely ruined. But in a fortunate turn of events, I managed to get a proper night's sleep right before the flight, and I knew I could make it.

Those of us who are healthy and active often take it for granted. Do we take enough care of our temple—our body? No matter how well we treat it, we cannot control time and the reality of aging. Do we do what we wish to do with our health now or delay it for a later that migth never come?

As my friend Mac likes to say, “Going up is optional, but coming down is compulsory.”

On this trip, we had to change our plans twice. We originally wanted to cross the Weissmies peak to the Weissmies hut, but a week prior, one climber died on the steep, icy slope. It simply wasn't safe; nobody was doing this route anymore in those conditions. Later, our main target was the iconic Matterhorn. A couple of days before our climb, local guides unanimously declared they were not guiding on it and advised everyone to stay off. Both hazards were caused by heat waves that turned snow slopes into ice rinks and made the rocks unstable.

I’m glad I am at peace with changing plans. Everything happens for a reason.

My biggest fear in mountaineering is walking on a snowy or icy knife-edge ridge. Unlike a rocky ridge, a fall here means you slide all the way down. You can rarely protect a snowy ridge, so you can only hope the person you are roped to jumps in the opposite direction if you slip. If they jump the same way, you are both gone. Add a higher center of gravity into the mix, and these thoughts constantly played in my mind.

Spending hours in crampons on snow and ice eventually built my confidence. I was surprised to find myself actually enjoying the knife-ridge walk. However, at one point while descending Castor, I completely froze. I couldn’t go forward, and I couldn't go back. Either side was a massive drop, and nobody could take the steps for me. I took a deep breath, reminded myself to trust my equipment, and remembered that I had done this before. I took the next step, and I was okay.

Facing fear is an ongoing journey. Developing tools to manage my own panic is exactly what helps me connect with my students when I take them on Outdoor Education programs.

When you dream deeply about something, it keeps the goal at the forefront of your mind, allowing you to seize every opportunity that gets you closer to it. People often look at me and believe it’s impossible to do what I am doing. I sometimes feel the exact same way looking at others.

But the truth is, we just don't see the roadmap. When I think about how Xieheng and I were able to be self-sufficient on these mountains, I am reminded of Steve Jobs' quote about "connecting the dots." I see dots lining up: a childhood interest in adventure, hiking turning into a passion, taking mountaineering courses in the Himalayas and the Alps, and climbing with more experienced mentors. All these past dots gave us the experience, skill sets, and knowledge to tackle a project of this magnitude today.

When you see the photos on social media, it looks incredibly cool. What you don’t see is the reality: battling the altitude, forcing yourself to acclimatize, waking up at 3:00 AM to set off, and walking for hours non-stop just to beat the melting snow.

Much of it is not enjoyable in the moment—it’s classic "Type 2 fun" (miserable while it's happening, fun in retrospect). But the sprawling views and the profound sense of achievement make the grind entirely worth it.

One of the peaks I counted toward my 40 was Klein Matterhorn. It is a two-minute walk from the lift at the top of the cable car station. It wasn't a grueling, "real" climb, but geographically, it was a peak.

I am giving myself permission to accept some help from time to time. Not everything in life has to be an agonizing, hardcore struggle. Sometimes, it’s perfectly okay to take the easy win.