One year after Kilimanjaro

Read time: 7 minutes

Welcome to The Ascend Archives, a 2x/month newsletter where I share a story about a transformation, revelation, or change in thinking that has improved an aspect of my life.

This week marks my first crossover post — featured in my friend Nicole Stump's newsletter, Stumped by Nature.

I met Nicole through Austin's entrepreneurial scene at happy hours and a memorable ceviche cooking class. When she put out a call for entrepreneurs who've taken on a Misogi, I jumped at the chance.

If you've been reading for a while, you know I've covered this topic when I detailed my experience climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro shortly after returning. With over a year of distance from that experience, it felt like the right moment to reflect.

Below is a quick note from Nicole about her newsletter, followed by my reflections on the climb.

Stumped by Nature is for people who are nailing the career piece and are now building out the rest of their lives to match.

I’m Nicole Stump, and I followed the English teacher-to-Venture Capital pipeline. The newsletter arose after one too many conversations with post-exit founders who were emotionally toast, and I got curious about how to design a life that’s sustainable during a busy build season, and for the life after it.

My working theory: meeting peers IRL in nature can do a lot of heavy lifting.

Stumped by Nature is one part nature newsletter, one part ATX community build.

The Misogi Series is a recurring feature— real stories from people who’ve used nature and intentional challenge to move through life transitions. Andrew’s Kilimanjaro experience is the latest.

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In this installment of our Misogi Series, Andrew Fink treats us to his journey. Andrew is a ghostwriter for founders, investors, and partners, and the kind of person who gets a text asking if he wants to climb Kilimanjaro and says yes.

Here’s his story.

What was happening in your life when the misogi emerged? Set the scene with context.

It was the spring of 2024 and I was in an in-between period.

I was living in Austin exploring my curiosities. I had just gotten back from six weeks backpacking through Australia and New Zealand, and I was figuring out what business opportunities I wanted to explore.

I had quit my consulting job at EY after more than five years the previous summer. I always had the entrepreneurial itch, and when I looked at the partners at my firm who were twenty years ahead of me, I realized I didn’t want their lives.

Yes, they were making a lot of money, but they were also constantly traveling, working crazy hours for demanding clients, and dealing with tons of corporate politics.

It felt like the right moment to take a chance and pursue a different path that aligned more with my values and interests.

What did this quest involve, practically?

Hiking to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, the tallest mountain in Africa at 19,341 feet of elevation.

Why this, and not something else?

I didn’t seek this misogi … it kind of found me.

A few years earlier I took a solo trip to southern Chile to hike the W Trek in Patagonia. While on the trip, I became close with a couple named Tim and Joanna. They were both in their early 30s, experienced travelers, and lived in a small beach town in North Carolina.

Over the course of five days hiking together, we went from complete strangers to sharing the intricate details of our lives. By the end of the trek they felt like cool older cousins.

Tim is a huge adventurer, and this Kilimanjaro trip had been a big bucket-list goal for him. He talked about it when we were in Patagonia, but at the time he couldn’t find anyone to go with him.

So in the spring of 2024 he texted me to see if I wanted to do it with him.

It was just the right ask at the right time.

I had never set my sights on Africa or climbing a huge mountain. But I was in a season of saying yes to cool opportunities.

So when the chance came up, I jumped on it.

What surprised you while you were in it?

I wrote about this in detail in my newsletter, but the biggest surprise was that the hardest part of the journey wasn’t the climb.

It was a seven-day hike, and we didn’t reach the summit until sunrise on the sixth day. The summit push started at 1 a.m. in the pitch dark and freezing temperatures so we could reach the peak right as the sun was coming up.

There were definitely tough moments along the way. But the hardest part by far was the way down.

The entire time I was on the mountain I was focused on getting to the top and seeing the sunrise above the clouds and taking the classic photo with the sign that shows the elevation.

That goal pushed me through the freezing temperatures, hiking in the dark, forcing myself to eat porridge when I had no appetite because I needed the energy, and dealing with the headaches that come from high altitude.

But as I approached the summit, tears started streaming down my face. I wasn’t expecting it and didn’t fully understand why I was crying. I just felt really emotional after days of pushing toward that moment.

And then shortly after reaching the top, everything crashed.

The altitude sickness hit hard. My cough got worse, I could barely swallow, and my throat felt like I had strep. My energy was completely drained.

The summit was incredible, but the descent was brutal.

What physical details still linger?

I still remember the songs and the Swahili phrases I learned and would sing and recite with the porters. My favorite was “Jambo Bwana.”

At the end of a long day, Tim and I would get in a circle with the thirteen porters who were carrying all of our supplies, food, and tents up the mountain, and we’d sing and dance together.

There were also phrases like “pole pole,” which means “slowly, slowly,” and “Jambo,” which means “hello.” And of course the famous “Hakuna Matata,” which means “no worries.”

“Pole pole” was something we said constantly to remind ourselves to take our time. Because of the altitude we had to conserve energy and avoid ascending too quickly or we risked getting altitude sickness.

The rhythm of the days became very simple.

We would wake up early for breakfast in the dining tent, pack our day bags, hike most of the day, arrive at camp, rest, read for a bit before dinner, and watch the stars before going to sleep.

We didn’t have cell phones or any connection to the outside world.

It allowed me to be fully present with my group and my surroundings. There were no emails, no current events, no outside obligations.

I had long conversations with our porters about growing up in Tanzania and heard stories about the dozens of times they had done the trek.

And sometimes I was just bored, letting my mind wander while walking for hours.

It was a really special feeling to just be outside and embrace the simplicity of it.

What role did place play? Would this have been different somewhere else?

There was something about flying fourteen hours across the Atlantic to a country and continent where I don’t speak the language, don’t look like the majority of people there, and am in a completely unfamiliar environment.

There were moments of doubt.

Sitting in a van with fifteen strangers and Tim driving to the trailhead on the first day or on day four when my hands went numb or on day six when my head was pounding for hours from the altitude.

In those moments I questioned whether I should turn around, but then I reminded myself that I flew across the world for this.

I was probably never going to come back here again.

So I told myself to dig deep and accomplish what I came there to do.

Now that you have some distance, what was this all about?

For me it was about pushing myself to see what I’m capable of.

It was about living life with urgency.

And it was about seeing other cultures and learning about different people’s ways of life to bring perspective back to my own.

The porters carrying our gear were lugging seventy pounds up the same mountain I was struggling to climb with my ten pound day bag.

They were making around $10 a day, which was considered good money for that kind of work. One porter told us that the $70 tip at the end of the week could help feed his family for nearly a month.

Yet these guys were happy, curious, and grateful for the opportunity to do the work.

It made me realize how easy it is in America to get frustrated and stressed about small things that don’t really matter.

It’s also easy to compare ourselves to others, but everything is relative.

This experience brought a lot of perspective back into my everyday life.

Now when I’m nervous about a sales call or dealing with a difficult situation with a client, I remind myself that I’ve handled much more uncomfortable circumstances.

If I could push through freezing temperatures and altitude sickness on the side of a mountain, I can handle a tough conversation.

What would you not recommend others copy, and what would you encourage?

I’m a pretty high risk and extreme person. When I do something, I tend to go big.

When I left my job, I didn’t build a side hustle first. I saved a 6 month emergency fund and quit without knowing exactly what I would do next.

And Kilimanjaro was actually the first time I had ever done an overnight hike where I slept in a tent.

All of this is to say that if that’s not your personality, you don’t need to force it.

You don’t have to fly to the other side of the world to have a misogi.

To me, a misogi is about challenging yourself to see what you’re capable of. That challenge could be physical, mental, creative, or adventurous.

And you can do it right from your own home, neighborhood, or city.

This year my misogi is writing the first draft of my memoir.

I’ve questioned whether I have what it takes to get the words on the page, the discipline to write consistently, and the courage to say what I truly want to say.

So my advice is to look inward and identify the challenge you’ve been putting off (ideally one that scares you a little) and go make it happen.

How can readers learn more about your work/support you?

Connect with me on LinkedIn. I’m a ghostwriter helping world class leaders distill their expertise into insights in the form of newsletters, essays, books, and LinkedIn content.

Thank you for reading! As always please reply and let me know what resonated, what didn’t, or what you question. I love chatting about this stuff!

Cheers,

Andrew