Bridge the Confidence Gap: From Desk Doubts to Trail Trust

For several weeks I’ve been reflecting on how widely different I feel on the trail and at work. Why can I feel so totally in control in one area but not the other? How can I bridge that confidence gap by using my strengths in one area and applying them in another?

Otter Falls and Big Creek Falls

Last Saturday, I led my first CHS-1 hike with 6 other Mountaineers to Otter Falls and Big Creek Falls. It was my first weekend summer hike in over five years, as well as my first lead for the slower-paced group (Conditioning for Hiking Series: CHS-1 = 1.5-2 mph; CHS-2 = 2-3 mph). My delightful surprise over the 9.2 mile, 1200’ gain outing, was that each of the hikers maintained a 2.5 mph pace. Was I in the right place?

2 climbers scale Otter Falls beside Lipsy Lake. If I decided to climb again, there would definitely be a confidence gap between hiking and rock climbing.

I felt totally in command. Why? Because I’d been there before. I’d walked this trail four times in the past nine months, including October 2024, November 2024 as my mentored lead, and January, 2025. I’d been on this trail two weeks earlier, on a hike to Snoqualmie Lake beyond both waterfalls. I was prepared for whatever the stream crossings looked like, whatever weather we had, whatever group dynamics we faced.

I trust myself completely in the mountains. The rhythm of the trail, the feel of the pack, the conversations that unfold—all of it feels like home.

New Challenges: Every Hike is Different

What I was not prepared for was highway I-90 being closed off of I-5 at that hour of the morning. Fortunately, I kept my wits around me, pulled over to start my GPS to give me an alternative route, and we arrived before most of our group reached the parking lot. I was not prepared for someone to act bored with what was already a faster pace than I’d advertised we’d be traveling.

One of the stream crossings that was no big deal.

And I was definitely not prepared for what I’m calling a “delayed shock” experience when I got home and thought, “These hikes are only going to get tougher. Harder. Hotter. With ever-increasing challenges. What the fudge am I doing?”

Desk Doubt: Where’s the Trail?

I count on the wilderness to ground and center me. Now that I’m experiencing some complications – nothing I can’t handle, yet, but definitely more challenges – I have to pull back and look at other aspects of my life. Like work, where I create talks, come up with weekly blog topics, market two businesses, and handle increasingly more complicated client cases.

A new view through the trees. Like my path through neuroscience, I'm seeing vistas I've never seen before. They're stunning, while also being unnerving. — A new view of Otter Falls through the trees. Like my path through neuroscience, I’m seeing vistas I’ve never seen before. They’re stunning, while also being unnerving.

Everything feels… new, somehow.

There are no landmarks for this kind of work. No cairns. No familiar rhythm. Just me, a blinking cursor, software I didn’t design, and complicated neuroscience material I’m still assimilating and blending with the more familiar movement exercises I’ve been teaching for over 25 years.

On the trail, I lead hikers to places I’ve already been. In my work, I’m trying to lead myself and my clients somewhere I’ve never been, where there is no map. I’m hiking off-trail with no GPS—just instinct and hope.

Tools on the Trail

A trail provides me with plenty of landmarks that my office does not:

At work I long for this sort of clarity: a brand new dirt trail and clearly marked directional sign.

Familiar patterns (introductions and stretches, bio breaks, a clearly marked trail and destination, and snack stops)
Past wins (you’ve been on nearly every trail I’m choosing to lead; those I haven’t, I try to allow time to research or scout so I know what to expect)
Shared goals (all the hikers in the group want to finish safely and have fun along the way)

Add to all of that the fact that I’ve been doing it for over 30 years, and there’s a lot of experience blended with the familiarity.

Tools in the Office

Now contrast:

Like these smashed blue granite rocks, I feel a confidence gap between what I've used for over 25 years and what I have to start using soon. — Like these smashed blue granite rocks, I feel a confidence gap between what I’ve used for over 25 years and what I have to start using soon.

My work: I am a pioneer of sorts, on a bushwacking route that is undefined. Nobody I know runs an alpine conditioning coaching company, a women-targeted health and wellness coaching company, leads hikes with the Mountaineers every Tuesday, and incorporates brain-based neuroscience into their movement programs.
My tools: New programming and social media software, ever-evolving goals, unfamiliar metrics of success (neuroscience is all about brain plasticity over time; there is no “3 months to X summit” or “5 miles to Y lake” to go by. How do you know when you’ve reached the target? With thousands of hours of material, how do you narrow down to the 5 hours you need? It’s like doing a 50-piece jigsaw puzzle but you have to choose which 50 pieces, out of 10,000 options, will actually work.
My partners: I have teachers, and clients, but no other “trail family” except my business partner. That is challenging to say the least.

No wonder I’m more confident outside. It’s where I’ve practiced leading for over 25 years. Confidence isn’t a trait—it’s a memory of success.

Where to Now? Bridging the Confidence Gap

Since November I’ve been following the energy of leading hikes. Now I want to try to bring that energy to my work. How can I bring all of my trail savvy and enthusiasm to my work life?

A new ladder staircase down to Lipsy Lake from the ridge. I want to provide a path others can use to get where they want, more efficiently, with less wasted time and effort. This ladder forms a way of bridging the confidence gap for those with less sure footing.

Create my own “maps” — measurements of progress, places I want to go with work – like teaching a dozen workshops with the Mountaineers, for example – or other benchmarks
Track milestones — perhaps each blog post or trip report could become the equivalent of a switchback or a visited lake
Identify trail markers — weekly wins with clients, conversations that result in aha moments, exchanges that result in referrals, feedback from readers
Build a trail family — business mentors, workshop collaborators, idea-bouncers, accountability partners acting as co-leaders
Include celebrations of successes – I always use hikes as my rewards; is there something in my company I could dangle as a carrot that could be an incentive?

Trail Maintenance as a Metaphor for Life

The only part of this trail I hadn't been on was the newly developed path from the Middle Fork up to Lipsy Lake. Oh, the manpower hours that must have gone into it -- the land looks shell-shocked but the tread is fantastic. Could this be a new metaphor for my current situation? — The only part of this trail I hadn’t been on was the newly developed path from the Middle Fork up to Lipsy Lake.

A new metaphor comes to mind. There’s a brand-new portion of trail leading up from the Middle Fork of the Snoqualmie to Lipsy Lake. Oh, the many volunteer hours that must have gone into creating it! The land looks almost shell-shocked, but the resulting tread is fantastic. It’s only been there less than five months. Could this become a new metaphor for my current situation?

Could I be in the uprooting, rock-smashing stage where everything is chaos, but if I just keep going, and trust the process, will I eventually find my way to the destination and appreciate all the hard effort that has gone into getting there?

Maybe the goal isn’t to eliminate doubt and uncertainty, but to treat it like a foggy morning on a brand new trail: keep moving, inch by inch and step by step, until the sun burns through and the view point appears.

Thrive Clues