Cara Siera

The popularity of this valley in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is also its greatest drawback. If you visit during a busy part of the day, it may take two to three hours to drive the single-lane loop—especially if cars are stopping to view American black bears or other wildlife that have wandered near the roadside. Instead of an awe-inspiring commune with nature, you might end up feeling like you’re stuck in traffic.

It was about 10:30 pm, the darkness so inky you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. The leafy boughs of late-spring trees blocked even the starlight. My friend whispered, "Do you want to see the blue ghosts? They live near the cemetery up the trail."

I once relegated cosplay—defined as “the practice of dressing up as a character from a movie, book, or video game”—to the realm of sci-fi and comic book conventions or to the live-action role-playing (LARPing) club that enacted mock battles in the courtyard at my university. That limited view changed when I first went to a cherry blossom festival.

We were rafting down the Nantahala River in North Carolina, soon to brave my first Class III rapid. As I chatted with our guide about the flora visible on the riverbanks, she said, “You know there’s a stand of virgin forest less than an hour from here.” My companions and I would be homeward-bound the next day, but I felt deeply compelled to see that forest. I’ve long held a love for ancient trees.

Imagine it—you’re standing on a precipice, stepping onto a boarding ramp, or diving into depths unknown. How do you feel? Do any of those circumstances conjure a lump in your throat or butterflies in your stomach? When we feel fear, we tend to hold back, to confine ourselves to the safety of the familiar. But the very act of traveling possesses a unique power to push us beyond our limits and help us confront our deepest fears head-on. If you’re willing to tiptoe outside of your comfort zone, you might meet a more fearless version of yourself like I did.