Lessons from the Tetons
By Angie Matthiessen, Executive Director
There are moments in life when the climb feels too steep, the weight too heavy, and the fear too real. For me, that moment came in the Grand Tetons earlier this month.
This past January, while planning our bucket-list adventures for Leah’s senior year before she headed off to college, hiking the Grand Tetons was suggested. It sounded beautiful, challenging, and meaningful. I’ve struggled with heart issues in recent years and my personal goal was to overcome those challenges so I could keep hiking with my husband into retirement. When close friends invited us along—friends who had already done this trip—we jumped at the chance.
The plan? Hike 40 miles in five days, climbing up to 10,000 feet and camping each night while carrying everything on our backs. For someone living just 10 feet above sea level, it was ambitious. Add to that the looming reality that a week after returning, we’d be taking our only daughter to college, officially entering our empty-nest years. My anxiety was real.
By the time we reached Teton Village, Wyoming, I was already wondering what I had gotten myself into. I told myself failure was not an option, but I was terrified of letting others down.
On the very first day, about a third of the way in, I was dizzy and could not breathe. As my friend (her daughter had also just graduated) walked with me, we both felt concerned. Emotional (picture sobbing), I sat on a rock questioning whether I could go on. My husband had taken extra weight from my pack and carried it up the trail—bear spray included. On the way back to meet me, he noted there were two bears just off the trail, between him and me I might add. Imagine my greatest fear (a bear encounter) colliding with my greatest weakness (not having the spray). Somehow, I picked myself up, met him on the trail, and survived both the fear and the moment.
When we rejoined the group, they told me to unload my entire backpack. Everyone took something to lighten my load. At first, I was devastated. Vulnerable. But in that moment, I was given grace—kindness I’ll never forget.
From then on, my husband became what others have called my “Shepherd.” In truth, he always has been. As we head into empty-nest years, that reminder was one of the trip’s greatest blessings.
Our longest day—a 12-hour trek up to Hurricane Pass—tested every ounce of grit I had. Sometimes I could only take four steps before stopping to breathe. But high above me, I could see our group waiting. Frustration, beauty, awe, and tears collided in those hours. When I finally reached them, I knew I could finish the trip.
And I knew I’d carry home lessons that mattered far beyond the trail.
· I am stronger than I thought.
· Don’t carry too much weight. Less really is more.
· When others insist on helping, let them—that’s grace.
· The road always feels longer than it is, but every section has its own beauty.
· Small things matter: a salt chew, a piece of candy, cold water from a mountain stream.
· Strangers on the trail all have stories—stop and listen.
· Celebrate with your people at the end (we did with pretzels, burgers, wine, pizza, pasta, and huckleberry ice cream).
Beyond the Trail
The Tetons taught me as much about parenting and letting go as it did about hiking. As Leah heads off to college, I hope she remembers her mom didn’t quit when things got hard. That fear didn’t win. That strength comes from accepting help, not avoiding it.
Because life-like the trail - is full of steep climbs and moments when the air feels too thin and in those moments, may she always know: you don’t have to walk alone.
P.S. One week later, while trying to cram two cars with Leah’s belongings for college, my husband reminded us: Remember the Tetons: don’t take too much.
For more information about United Way of Charlotte County’s mission: Mobilizing the power of our community to break the cycle of poverty, please contact Angie Matthiessen, Executive Director. She can be reached at director@unitedwayccfl.org.