Half a Mile from Giving Up
Finding the summit when you're half a mile from giving up.
Half a Mile from Giving Up
What a sketchy mountain road taught me about dreams, detours, and the lens you're looking through
We left 40 minutes later than planned.
Hold onto that detail. It matters.
My daughters and I set out to hike Kelly Butte, one of those off-the-beaten-path trails Ashley loves to find, a couple of hours from home in the shadow of Mount Rainier. I took the truck because I knew we’d hit gravel and dirt. What I didn’t know was what kind of road was waiting for us.
We exited onto the Forest Service Road, traveled eight miles on asphalt, and then turned onto a gravel road. There were no signs. No GPS. The directions Ashley had downloaded said to turn left, turn left, turn left, then right, and somewhere in all those lefts, we completely lost the trailhead.
So I pulled over. And I’m not exaggerating when I tell you: we were literally sitting at a crossroads. A road to the right. A road to the left. No idea which way to go.
A car came by, and we flagged it down.
“Do you know where Kelly Butte is?”
“Oh yeah, we’re going there.”
They went right.
Thank God, we thought. An angel.
And then the road got sketchy. I mean sketchy. Maybe six inches of give on either side of my tires. Sheer drop-off cliffs. No place to turn around. Trees growing over the path, scraping the hell out of my truck.
Ashley was having a panic attack in the front seat. Amber was in the back saying, “Nobody look to the right. Mom, you’re doing great. Keep going.”
We caught up to our “angels” and pulled off at a tiny turnout. The driver shook her head.
“I don’t know... It’s been years since I’ve been here. I don’t think we’re on the right path.”
Here’s the thing about the roads we take toward our dreams: sometimes the people guiding us are lost too. And sometimes there’s still no place to turn around, so the only way out is through.
Half a Mile from Gold
We finally found a spot to turn around. And in my head, I was already done.
Get back to the main road. Pick a different hike. A safer one. Sure, we wouldn’t see Mount Rainier, but we’d be safe, and we could still say we hiked.
And that’s when the girls saw it on the map.
“Mom, this is the road we missed. If we turn left here, it’s half a mile. Half a mile and we’re there.”
Ashley, still shaken, said, “I believe this is it, but what if it’s another bushwhack trail?” She laughed.
Amber said, “We’re so close. How sucky would it be if we gave up now? Half a mile, and we have an epic experience, an epic view, and we get to tell the story of everything it took to get here.”
I took a deep breath.
“I trust you guys. The worst thing that happens is we find a place to turn around.”
Half a mile down that road, it opened up.
The trailhead.
Cars parked.
We started cheering!
We made it!
In Think and Grow Rich, Napoleon Hill tells the story of a man who quit digging three feet from gold. We were half a mile from ours.
Here’s what I know about going after what you want: you get off the beaten path. You take detours. Sometimes the road beats you up. And right at the moment it gets hardest, right when every instinct says, “Turn around. Play it safe. Settle for the lesser hike,” that’s usually when you’re half a mile from gold.
It took all three of us, at different times, to be the voice of reason. To talk each other through the panic.
“Don’t look down.”
“Keep going.”
“You’re doing great.”
“Trust us, it’s right here.”
Nobody makes it to their dream alone.
What Lens Are You Looking Through?
When we left home that morning, the sky was clouded over. By the time we hit the trail, the sun had broken through.
We started hiking and caught a view of Mount Rainier. We stopped, took pictures, and soaked it in. Then we climbed the switchbacks and reached another level... bigger, better.
And when we finally got to the top of Kelly Butte Lookout? A 360-degree view of things we couldn’t even imagine were there when we were down on that road, white-knuckling past the cliffs.
Years ago, I saw a film by a professional photographer. He put one lens on his camera and showed you what it captured. Then he changed the lens, and new things came into focus. And when he finally switched to the best lens he had, what had been surrounding him the whole time was mind-blowing.
Same mountain. Same moment. Different lens.
So I have to ask: What lens are you looking through?
Because from the road, all we could see was danger and dead ends. From the first overlook, we saw a glimpse. From the summit, we saw a world we didn’t know existed.
The view was always there.
We just had to keep climbing to see it.
The Gift of the Pause
And then Ashley taught me something.
All the way up, she kept stopping.
“It’s so important to take in the moment. Just look at this. Look at this.”
She photographed flowers. She soaked in the scenery. She let it fill her.
And I laughed and said, “Ashley, thank you for reminding me to slow down.”
Because I’m the one who charges forward. Give me a mission, and I’m gone. I teach the pause, and I still forget to live it.
It’s not a race. It’s not even about the destination. It’s about taking it all in, pausing, and letting the wonder fill our souls.
We talked. We laughed. We explored.
We were simply present.
What an incredible gift.
22 Years in the Making
Here’s what that day really was for me.
I’m 61 years old, and I hiked 1,100 feet of elevation gain straight up a mountain with my daughters—with energy, vitality, and health.
That’s not luck.
That’s a choice I’ve made over and over.
Twenty-two years ago, I was in the depths of heartache. For thirteen of those years, I lived away from my kids. Getting back to them and making memories like this one was the dream I refused to let die.
I’ve been back in Washington for nine years now.
Relationships are a choice. Priorities are a choice. Consistency is key.
Consistent hope. Consistent work. Consistent dreaming, even when I had no idea how it would turn out.
There were times I wished I could have had a glimpse of this exact day—the three of us on a summit, laughing, present—just to keep me going back then.
But that’s not how it works.
I couldn’t see it.
But I could feel it.
I could believe it.
I had hope, and I would fight for that hope.
And the 40 minutes late? If we’d left on time, we never would have crossed paths with the car that pointed us down the road. We never would have met the people who took the wrong road with us and ended up on the same summit.
If we hadn’t missed the turn, we would have hiked under clouded skies.
Instead, all that lost time gave the sun a chance to break through, and we got crystal-clear skies, the full majesty of Mount Rainier, and scenery we will never forget.
Garth Brooks was right: some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.
Even the delay was part of the plan.
Detours and late starts can be blessings in disguise.
Today, I celebrate.
I celebrate time with my daughters, time in nature, the majesty of God’s creation, and the gift of never giving up.
Your Turn
Where in your life are you half a mile from gold and thinking about turning around?
What lens are you looking through? And what might come into focus if you kept climbing?
Who are the voices in your truck saying, “Keep going. You’re doing great?”
And are you listening?
When’s the last time you just stopped... and took it in?
Don’t quit. The summit is closer than you think.
Mary Belden-McGrath
drivenleadership.com
