When the Stairs Feel Harder Than the Climb: Leadership Lessons from a Mountain Trail
This year, my husband, Lenny, and I enjoyed a mountain vacation with our 8-month-old puppy Maggie. We had several hikes to see beautiful waterfalls and overlooks. It was Maggie’s first real trail experience—uneven terrain, loose rocks, winding paths, steep inclines, and all. To my surprise, she navigated the entire trail with confidence. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t overthink. She led.
Yet back at home, the same fearless puppy refuses to go down the stairs.
At first, I laughed. Then I wondered: why could she trust herself on the unpredictable surface of a rocky trail but not on the smooth, familiar floorboards of our home?
The answer I found was one word: instinct.
The Power of Instinct: Trail vs. Stairs
Dogs are wired to rely on instinct more than anything else. On the trail, her senses were alive. She could feel the terrain under her paws. She knew how to shift her weight, how to pause and assess, how to keep moving. She was completely present and trusted her body. The trail was unknown, but her response to it was deeply familiar.
The stairs? That’s where the mind interferes. The change in angles, the echo of indoor steps, maybe a slip once upon a time—it all registers as something unfamiliar and “not right.” So, she stalls. She waits for me. She hesitates. It’s no longer about instinct, but about doubt.
That contrast gave me a powerful realization about leadership.
As leaders—whether in business, community, or personal life—we often face terrains that feel like the trail: unpredictable, uncomfortable, and full of unknowns. And yet, when we lean into our instincts—our experience, values, and vision—we move forward with clarity. We may not know exactly where the path leads, but something within us tells us how to take the next step.
But then there are moments like the stairs. The place we should be most confident—our day-to-day routines, our carefully built environments—is where we second-guess ourselves. Why? Because, unlike instinct, routine can numb our trust in ourselves. We start seeking outside validation. We analyze instead of acting. We wait when we could lead.
Authentic leadership lies in the balance of both: trusting instinct while remaining aware of when doubt is creeping in. We must learn to recognize which “terrain” we’re on. Are we climbing a mountain, relying on raw awareness and gut-driven decisions? Or are we staring at the stairs, paralyzed by the fear of slipping, despite all the tools we already have?
My puppy, Maggie, reminded me that leadership is not about having all the answers. It’s about responding to the moment with courage, presence, and trust. She didn’t need a map for the trail—she just needed to be there, fully. And when she faltered at the stairs, she looked to me—not for permission, but for reassurance.
As leaders, people look to us the same way. Not to be perfect, but to be grounded. To model what it looks like to lead forward, even when the path isn’t clear.
The trail builds your strength. The rocks underfoot, the sharp turns, the uncertainty—they refine your instincts, not by offering comfort, but by demanding presence. You didn’t memorize a playbook out there. You responded. You adapted. You led.
So now, when you find yourself in spaces that should feel familiar—like a routine meeting, a well-worn relationship, or a daily decision—but you feel stuck or hesitant, remind yourself: this is not new ground. You’ve already navigated more challenging terrain.
Questions for Self-Reflection
Ask yourself:
- What have I already overcome that proves I’m ready for this?
- Is this hesitation about the moment, or the noise in my head?
- Am I waiting for permission when I already have the power to move?
Your instincts are not just for the wild unknowns. They are for now. Leadership isn’t a switch you turn on when things get intense. It’s a thread that runs through every step—whether you’re scaling a summit or standing at the top of your own staircase.
So, pause. Breathe. And then step forward—not because it’s easy, but because you already know how.
Because the trail didn’t just test you—it prepared you.
