The Slow Burn: Carrying the Load
Some lessons you don’t learn in books.
You learn them two thousand feet in the air, in the dark, with 40-mile-per-hour winds pushing you toward the edge of a mountain while the man behind you can barely walk. That’s when you find out what brotherhood really means.
2,000 feet up in the air.
A narrow path hugging the spine of the Guadalupe Mountains.
Wind gusts that make you question life decisions.
The sun had already sealed itself beyond the horizon.
Pitch dark.
One of my hiking buddies…already carrying nearly 40 pounds on his back and admittedly out of shape…suddenly seized up. His legs locked. Cramping and spasming involuntarily.
We stopped.
Keeping calm, I told him to rest while I caught up to the pack leader.
Moving slowly across the treacherous terrain, I finally reached him.
“Brother… we’ve got a problem.”
I explained the situation. His response was calm and immediate.
“Okay. Let’s go assess it together.”
No panic.
No frustration.
Just quiet resolve.
We climbed back down to where our buddy was sitting.
After a quick assessment, we made a decision.
Split the load.
I took six liters of water.
For context, my pack already weighed 53 pounds…and we still had another mile and a half to go. Nearly 1,000 more feet of elevation waited above us. By all means, an already difficult hike quickly became much harder.
Our pack leader quietly hoisted another bag onto his back.
Eighty pounds.
No complaints.
Just action.
And we started climbing.
In moments like that, there’s only one place for your mind to go.
The Stoics had it right.
Discomfort trains the mind, not the body.
Our group had moved on long ago. It would be hours before we saw their faces again.
Internally, I was panicked.
But you don’t say that out loud.
Play it cool, Joshua.
No need to add anxiety to an already difficult situation.
We moved slowly.
Every yard felt hard fought.
My body moved like dried honey…sluggish, thick, refusing to flow smoothly.
In front of me, my buddy wheezed so loudly I could hear it over the wind.
One wrong step on that narrow path and we would surely meet our Maker that night.
But panic doesn’t help a man climb.
So I encouraged him.
“It’s okay. We’ve got all the time we need.”
“No hurry.”
“Slow breaths. In through your nose… out through your mouth.”
Outside of injury, we had already arrived at the worst possible scenario.
All that remained was to keep moving.
Slowly.
Surely.
One step at a time.
Eventually…after what felt like an eternity…we reached camp.
What should have taken a few hours had turned into half a day.
Our fearless pack leader dug down deep and carried both bags up that mountain.
Eighty pounds.
In the dark.
In the wind.
That’s what brotherhood looks like.
We carry each other’s burdens when life gets heavy.
As it’s written:
“We who are strong ought to bear with the failings of the weak and not to please ourselves.”
True brotherhood strengthens.
It doesn’t judge.
The Stoic philosopher Seneca once suggested something strange.
Every now and then, live with less.
Eat simple food.
Sleep rough.
Walk the hard road.
Not because suffering is noble.
But because hardship asks a powerful question:
Is this what I feared?
And when you embrace the suck long enough, you discover something surprising.
You can handle far more than you ever imagined.
At sunrise, we divided our buddy’s gear among the seven of us.
Everyone carried more.
So our brother could keep going.
Even though the weight was shared, the hardest burden still belonged to him.
He knew nothing about camping.
Nothing about hiking.
Nothing about the great outdoors.
But he had two things that mattered far more.
A willing spirit.
And a determined mind.
Two days later, he finished the most physically and mentally grueling challenge of his life.
Comfort is a Strange Thing
Humans adapt quickly.
What once felt luxurious becomes normal.
The Stoics believed periodic hardship resets appreciation.
And they were absolutely right.
When you're in the middle of nowhere….limited supplies, zero cell service…life gets reframed.
You think about things you normally overlook.
How your wife looks while sleeping as you leave for work.
The warmth of your two dauchshunds velcroed to your thighs under blankets.
Running water.
Central air.
Plumbing.
A soft bed.
The quiet hum of a fan as you sleep.
Out there, those things feel like miracles.
On day two, after another brutal climb, I sat down in my Helinox chair and took it all in.
Peaks.
Valleys.
Clouds so close you felt like you could touch them.
God’s beauty on full display.
I fired up my JetBoil (a piece of technology that still feels like wizardry) and prepared a Peak Fuel Coconut Chicken Curry.
Boiling water in under a minute.
Out there, that feels like five-star dining.
Then came the final ritual.
I opened my travel humidor and searched for the right cigar.
Some moments demand the right smoke.
I landed on the Cloud Hopper by Kyle Gellis of Warped.
Corojo ’99 wrapper.
Criollo ’98 and Corojo ’99 binders.
The flavor profile was perfect for the moment:
A little sweetness.
Round spice.
Citrus.
Cedar.
After a hard morning in the mountains, it was exactly what the moment called for.
I leaned back.
Lit up.
And let the smoke drift across the skyline.
Long after the soreness fades and the packs are unpacked, those moments are the ones that stay with you. Not the miles. Not the elevation. Not even the danger. What stays with you are the men beside you…the quiet decisions made in the dark, the weight shared without hesitation, the steady voice telling a brother to take one more step when his body says he can’t. Those are the moments that forge something deeper than friendship. They remind you that the best parts of life aren’t found in comfort, but in the climb…and in the brothers willing to climb it with you.
Carry the load.
Light the cigar.
Lean into the climb.
The goal was not toughness for its own sake.
It was mastery over reaction.
Epictetus emphasized that suffering comes not from events, but from our judgments about them.
By practicing discomfort, you learn:
to stay calm under stress
to detach from luxury
to control impulses
to act from reason rather than emotion
