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Wins: A Week of Wi-Fi Woes, Wildness, and Wisdom

Sometimes the most memorable weeks aren’t the ones that go smoothly, but the ones that test our patience, resilience, and creativity. This week, a four-day internet outage forced me to adapt, and along the way, I discovered wins that might have been overshadowed by the usual online noise.

On May 27, a beautiful Tuesday morning, Mt. Rainier peeked above Olallie Lake. I enjoyed visiting three lakes, three wins.
On May 27, a beautiful Tuesday morning, Mt. Rainier peeked above Olallie Lake. I enjoyed visiting three lakes, three wins.

The week began with an unexpected challenge: early Monday morning we lost Wi-Fi. A planned morning of catching up on emails, writing projects, and coaching tasks quickly turned into days of delays, work-arounds, apologies, and improvising. As someone who relies on the internet for work, communication, and even a sense of normalcy, the outage felt like a huge disruption. Little did I know that this forced pause would set the tone for a week full of wildness, wisdom, and unexpected wins.

My wading area at Tuscohatchie Lake Tuesday morning. Brisk but refreshing. A win for my feet.
My wading area at Tuscohatchie Lake Tuesday morning. Brisk but refreshing. A win for my feet.

Tuesday’s hike — a welcome reprieve from the mess forming at home — was a solo scouting adventure to Pratt Lake Basin. Meant to be only 11 miles, I so thoroughly enjoyed my time alone that I tacked on visits to two other lakes for a trip totaling 14 miles and 3500 feet of gain. It had been months since my last solo outing and I cherished every minute of it.

Pollinated trillium on the east side of Pratt Lake Basin. These clusters of beautiful flowers were EVERYWHERE.
Pollinated trillium on the east side of Pratt Lake Basin. These clusters of beautiful flowers were EVERYWHERE.

The sunlit forests, the distinct character of three alpine lakes, a plethora of beautiful trillium, and the chorus of 29 bird species (including all three thrushes, the Swainson, Hermit and Varied thrushes) reminded me why I keep coming back to the trails.

Every trip is different, even if you’ve been on the same trail numerous times. Nature has a unique way of offering perspective—trees growing out of rocks, streams meandering around obstacles, picas calling from talus slopes. Even — or maybe especially — hiking alone, I feel connected to something larger than myself.

Atmospheric conditions in front of Si's Haystack with my group of 7 Mountaineers members from the CHS-2 class.
Atmospheric conditions in front of Si’s Haystack with my group of 7 Mountaineers members from the CHS-2 class.

Two days later under foggy skies, I co-led a CHS-2 hike on the Teneriffe / Si trails for a new-to-me 10-mile loop. (The last time I’d been on Si, I’d explored the old trail.) The forest became a moody, mysterious wonderland. The damp weather demanded focus near Si’s Haystack, a tumble of large granite boulders: slower careful steps, clear communication, and a heightened awareness of the hikers, fog, and Canada jays around us. It struck me how similar this was to navigating a week without reliable internet—sometimes the path isn’t clear, and you have to trust your instincts.

Wednesday brought a different kind of challenge—and a rewarding one. My husband and I presented a neuroscience-based workshop with 25 Mountaineers participants who actively engaged with the material for two hours. Despite my nerves, the talk was well received and even led to a new client connection. It reminded me that growth happens when we step outside of our comfort zones.

Students practicing the letter-ball drill at Goodman A at the Magnuson Program Center in Seattle. Big wins for students as they learned how to feel better.
Students practicing the letter-ball drill at Goodman A at the Magnuson Program Center in Seattle. Big wins for students as they learned how to feel better.

The next day, following the hike co-lead, I attended the second session of a four-part Trust Yourself circle. It couldn’t have come at a better time. With my routine disrupted, the class reminded me that trust is an inside job—trusting that I can handle whatever comes my way, even without the internet, even in the fog, even in front of a group of strangers.

Elena Hartwell Taylor signs my newly purchased copy of her book, A Cold Cold World. An enjoyable evening and a good read ahead: both wins.
Elena Hartwell Taylor signs my newly purchased copy of her book, A Cold Cold World. An enjoyable evening and a good read ahead: both wins.

And as soon as I signed off from the Trust circle, I headed to Third Place Books in Lake Forest Park for a dear friend’s book signing event—a beautiful reminder that celebrating others’ milestone can be just as fulfilling as pursuing our own.

The week ended with a Saturday morning birding outing to Shelton View Forest. Ajax and I tallied 29 bird species, each one a small celebration of life’s resilience and diversity. Nature’s quiet lessons were everywhere: patience, adaptability, and a reminder that sometimes the best connections happen when I unplug.

Shelton View Forest has a little of everything: a library, wood art, rusting cars, treasure trees, and 29 bird species on May 31.
Shelton View Forest has a little of everything: a library, wood art, rusting cars, treasure trees, and 29 bird species on May 31.

Meanwhile, my husband was away for three days coaching high school champions at the State track and field meet, and our daughter was lining up summer work through her research department and neighbors wanting her help with house and yard tasks. Their stories of triumphs reminded me that wins come in many forms—some loud and public, others quiet and personal.

Just as I thought the week couldn’t get any wierder, an opportunity for another public speaking engagement—this time through Women’s Outdoor Connection—popped up. The multiverse is telling me, “Keep going. Follow the energy.” Even when the week is wild and unpredictable, I can trust my inner wisdom and celebrate a growing pool of wins. Every seed I’ve planted over the past 18 months is growing strong and steady in this wild place we call Life.

My happy place: any place green, wild, and untamed. Rain or shine, wilderness always provides me with wins.
My happy place: any place green, wild, and untamed. Rain or shine, wilderness always provides me with wins.

Losing internet for four days might have seemed like an obstacle at first, but it turned out to be an invitation to move forward, pay attention, try something new, and trust the process. As I catch up on the emails, programs, and to-dos that piled up, I’m grateful for the chance to remember that life’s best connections often happen away from the screen.

Wading in Lake Tuscohatchie on a beautiful day in May. I couldn't have asked for any better conditions for my solo ramble.
Wading in Lake Tuscohatchie on a beautiful day in May. I couldn’t have asked for any better conditions for my solo ramble.

Here’s to more weeks of wildness, wisdom, and wins. But hopefully without any more wi-fi woes.

This Post Has 4 Comments

  1. Margie

    Thanks for sharing, Court. Your experience was spilling off the page, revitalizing and reminding how much what we choose to pay attention to affects our quality of living. Thank you!

    1. Thrive Clues

      Thanks for reading, Margie! I’m finally learning how to wade through junk comments and it’s delightful to see your post.

  2. Kristy Lamore

    Congratulations Court on your many triumphs! You are always an inspiration.

    1. Thrive Clues

      Thanks for reading and commenting, Kristy! I’m finally figuring out how to wade through all the generic automatic comments and it’s delightful to see your post.

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