It’s Friday morning, and this is the first time I’ve opened my laptop since posting last week’s blog. What a week it’s been—unexpected, but in the best way.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about finding focus in routine. Strangely enough, while many people might panic during a stretch without work, I’ve found myself leaning into it. This is the longest I’ve gone unemployed, and instead of stress, I’ve felt clarity.

Am I delusional?
Maybe.

That thought has crossed my mind a few times. And while I know work could come calling at any moment, I felt the need to step away from people, clear my head, and soak up the last good weather in Yosemite. I wasn’t waiting for the perfect trip or itinerary—just a loop, three to four nights in the park.

This time of year, permits are easier to come by, so I planned to start in Yosemite Valley and follow the Merced River for 12 miles to Merced Lake. At the permit office, the ranger casually asked, “Want to add Half Dome? It’s just $10.” I hadn’t planned on it, but I did have gloves just in case—so why not?

I set out in the dark Tuesday morning. By afternoon, I had passed through Lost Valley, still scarred from the 2014 Meadow Fire. Making great time, I decided to push on, looping back toward the John Muir Trail with access to Clouds Rest and Half Dome. For hours, I didn’t see another person—just the haunting quiet of burned forest stretching for miles. Eventually, the landscape softened into healthy trees, and I finally came across other campers. That night, surrounded by new acquaintances, I realized nearly all of them were planning to summit Half Dome at sunrise.

I wasn’t sure. My legs were wrecked after 19 miles with a pack. But the next morning, I found myself climbing with them.

The cables weren’t on my itinerary, but there I was—feet gripping granite, hands on steel, breathing through waves of fear. What struck me most wasn’t just the view, but the humanity: strangers encouraging one another, knowing hesitation on that wall could be dangerous. For a brief moment, we were all in it together.

Half Dome had always been on my bucket list, but I had written it off as something that might never align. And that’s the real lesson from this trip: the power of letting go of how things are “supposed” to happen. By softening the grip on my expectations, I created space for the unexpected—space for the moment itself.

You may have goals or dreams of your own, with a story about how they should unfold. But life doesn’t always follow our scripts.

So I’ll leave you with this:
What’s your next Half Dome going to be?

You won’t know—until you’re already climbing it.