Mental Health in the Mountains:
Why I Took a Day Off
By The Quiet Leader
Last week, I took a sick day.
Not because I was coughing, contagious, or bedridden. But because I felt the weight creeping in—that slow, grinding heaviness that builds up when you’re carrying too much for too long.
So I called out. Grabbed my pack. Left the cameras and the dogs at home. Drove up to the Mt. Charleston North Loop trail.
And I walked.
Not fast. Not for time. Just forward.
There was no music in my ears. No agenda in my head. Just the sound of boots on dirt, the occasional call of a bird, and the quiet whisper of a high desert breeze weaving its way through the trees.
Two miles in, something shifted.
Even on less than seven hours of sleep and barely an hour of REM, I felt lighter. Not physically—but mentally. Spiritually. Emotionally. The noise in my head—the inner critic, the overthinker, the always-planning leader—quieted down enough for me to breathe again.
Leadership Doesn’t Mean Running on Empty
I spent nearly three decades in uniform. I know what it means to push through. To ignore pain. To bottle it up and move on.
But there’s a truth we don’t talk about enough—especially among veterans, caregivers, and those who pride themselves on holding the line:
If you don’t take a break, your body will eventually take one for you.
We tell people to prioritize mental health. To check on their friends. But how often do we model it ourselves?
Taking a mental health day wasn’t weakness. It was leadership.
Silence Isn’t Empty. It’s Restorative.
Up on the mountain, I wasn’t trying to solve anything. I wasn’t writing. I wasn’t prepping. I wasn’t even planning the next article.
I was just there.
And in that stillness, clarity returned. Chapter 3 of the novel I’ve been working on started to take shape. Not because I forced it—but because I finally gave it space to emerge.
Somewhere along the trail, an idea surfaced—part reflection, part “what if” daydream. I imagined starting a nonprofit called One Small Act. Not some massive foundation with layers of bureaucracy—but something lean, quiet, and deeply human. Its mission would be simple: to support and celebrate everyday acts of kindness, compassion, service, and selflessness.
There are plenty of billionaires trying to do good in high-profile ways. But what about the teacher who buys coats and school supplies so kids can feel proud walking into class? Or the teenager who mows lawns and saves every dollar to buy gifts for his siblings? Or the retired vet who helps neighbors without ever asking for thanks?
One Small Act would find them, lift them up, and—if they wanted—help them take it to the next level. No strings, no ego. Just helping people help people.
Maybe it’s a fantasy. A lottery-winner’s dream. But the seed was planted on that trail. And like most good ideas, it started in silence.
That’s the thing about creative and emotional recovery. You don’t always need more time. Sometimes, you just need less noise.
A Quiet Reminder
If you’re carrying more than you let on—stop.
Take the pack off. Set it down. Go outside. Touch grass. Listen to the wind.
You don’t owe anyone an explanation for protecting your peace. And if anyone tells you otherwise, they’ve probably never had to lead through a storm.
The next time you feel the weight building, don’t wait until you break. Step away. Breathe. Recalibrate.
Take your break before your break takes you.
I did. And I’ll do it again.
Because even quiet leaders need quiet time.
—
I’ll see you Wednesday. Until then, keep walking your trail—one deliberate step at a time.
—The Quiet Leader