Every Peak Has Its Valleys

Thallner meets a thallner and grows through a tough challenge

I could not take another step. I felt sure I was going to die. Three days into my hike through the Grand Canyon, we arrived at a particularly difficult section. It was like we were hiking laterally across a vertical wall. To the right of the 12-inch wide footpath was the soaring face of the canyon wall so steep my shoulders brushed against it as I walked. To the left, a sharp drop-off of about 600 feet into a yawning chasm below. 

Six weeks earlier I accepted an offer to join an experiential leadership development program. The week-long training was an opportunity not only to live below the rim for a few days, but also to learn to lead corporate groups on similar far-flung team development excursions. I was all-in. I was asked to self-reflect prior to arriving: what do you expect the canyon to teach you? I imagined connecting leadership concepts with the canyon’s vast beauty. I expected the canyon to test my perseverance through the discomfort. I expected the canyon to assume its place as a dramatic background for an otherwise routine learning experience. I soon realized that I had it all backward.

Ten days before the trip, my brother-in-law Rick died in a paragliding accident. I was close to bailing on the trip, but my wife encouraged me to go. Not only did I feel obligated to stay behind and support my family, the idea of sitting around a campfire self-reflecting and sharing felt inappropriate and self-indulgent. I really wasn’t in the mood to “create the space” or “be present for myself or others.” In fact, even after arriving, I scoffed to myself as others talked about their so-called leadership challenges. “Seriously?” I thought. “You think you have problems?”

As I descended into the canyon, my attitude followed. I thought “what could this giant hole teach me?” You’re out of shape? You’re selfish? You’re bringing everyone else down? Or was it that nature is unforgiving? Maybe that’s it. I kept thinking nature just doesn’t give a shit that I’m here. I latched on to self-piteous insignificance.

I was deep in my apathetic grumpiness when I found myself on that challenging foot-wide part of the trail. Something happened. I stopped. I couldn’t move my feet. I started hyperventilating. I could feel the sweat on my brow for the first time in the arid daytime sun. I looked up in an attempt to gather my thoughts, but I saw an eagle gliding effortlessly in the sky. I was reminded of Rick and the unfairness of it all. I started fraying fast. “Oh shit,” I thought. “I’m going to die. I’m just going to fall right into that chasm never to be seen again.”

Our guide, Adam, noticed I was in trouble and walked back to where I had stopped. He asked if I was OK. “Nope,” I said. “I’m having a panic attack.” I told him I was terrified and didn’t think I could move. He said, “OK. No problem. This happens a lot at this part of the trail. It’s pretty intimidating. But, everyone gets through it just fine, and you will too. I’ll help you.” 

He asked if I wanted him to stay close or to give me some space. He asked if I needed something to drink. He pulled out his silver umbrella (used for reflecting the desert sun) and held it at an angle to cast a shadow on me but mainly to reduce my peripheral vision. He then asked if I could try taking a step. “No, I don’t think so,” I said. He then said, “You know, this canyon’s been here a very long time. This ground is solid. This path is firm under your feet. Can you feel that?”

I could feel it. Rather than feeling my feet pushing down, I felt the trail pushing up against my boots. It was comforting. I took a step...bigger than I thought I could, and my foot landed and planted itself on the earth. I looked at the path. I can still remember the texture so vividly I can almost count each pebble and grain of dirt. My reality became the few inches of rich, textured, desert soil in front of me, and new possibilities emerged. Progress, slow at first...well, it was slow the whole time...until we rounded a bit of a turn and we entered a shady spot. Cool. Refreshing. Rewarding. 

Adam helped me regain control of my triggered brain. We kept talking through the tricky part of the trail. He would ask me questions and get me to talk about people I loved, skills I have, or groups I like hanging out with. It was masterful how he kept me out of react mode by bringing my thinking brain back online. He helped me see the possibility of getting through that section, and he did it by being honest about the reality of the situation. He made nothing up; there was no sugar-coating.

Fast-forward a few hours and I made it to our camp at the bottom of the canyon near the Colorado River. I remember jumping into the river feeling grateful, alive, and liberated from my fears. Trekking up and out of the canyon over the following couple of days felt joyful. The canyon taught me something after all: I was capable of growing through a challenging moment.

***

This story of my freezing and getting unstuck sums up my work to help others progress and thrive. As an executive coach and consultant, I help leaders, teams, and organizations develop resilience by realizing the resources they have at their feet and fingertips.

Just as Adam didn’t give me anything I didn’t possess already, I see leaders, teams, and organizations as fully capable of solving their tough challenges. I see them standing on strong, solid foundations.

It is about directing attention to the triggers that put us in a reactive, fearful state, about gaining a clear-eyed view of reality, about recognizing the resources that can aid us, and identifying the possibilities present in every situation.  

This isn’t a wishful thinking view of individual and team effectiveness. It is the conclusion of a growing body of research into positive psychology, high-performing teams, and leadership effectiveness. Based on this science, I co-created a course on team resilience that helps people balance staunch realism with personal agency.

Among the leaders who have taken the course to navigate the turmoil of the past 12 months are executives in the ski and mountain resort industry. Just as I had to recognize and move past my emotional triggers in the Grand Canyon—and see I had the power to walk along a stable, secure path—ski and mountain resort leaders have come to appreciate their assets and options even amid COVID lock-downs and a cratering economy.

For example, some resorts leaned into their flexible local workforce. They cross-trained employees as a solution to travel restrictions that prevented seasonal workers from getting to the mountain. This is a new organizational capability that will extend beyond this unprecedented year, making the organizations more agile and adaptable in the future.

***

In business and in life, we often talk about climbing peaks. High peaks are thrilling and a symbol of achievement. But as much richness and meaning are found in traversing valleys. Plumbing the depths, rising from the lows, slogging through the muck of difficult passages makes success all the more satisfying—like the liberation I felt emerging from the Grand Canyon.

Over the next several months, I will be writing a book on what I’ve learned about teams finding the resilience to navigate the valleys.

It’s a book about my calling. Literally so. My last name, Thallner, has its roots in the Austrian alps and is an occupation: one who guides others through mountain passes.

My name’s meaning has taken on new significance for me in the past year—a year when many of us experienced deep, dark valleys in our personal lives, our professional work, and the political realm. A year when we recognized the importance of grit as never before, as well as the value of teammates and guides in getting through hard stretches.

I invite you to join me as I develop this book. I’ll be sharing content and seeking your feedback and ideas.

At this moment, many of us feel sluggish if not stuck altogether. We are fighting pandemic fatigue, facing economic uncertainty, and confronting a frayed social fabric.

But I’m confident you and your organization can advance.

You can find the strength and wisdom to take steps—however halting and small at first—into a brighter future.