Pitch the Tent: Less Theory, More Practice
A weekend in Zion and the importance of becoming action-oriented
Hi friends,
Happy December! It’s that time of year where we all start getting introspective and thinking back on the past 11 months.
I don’t know about you, but 2025 has been full of ups and downs for me. I spent more time than I’d like to admit circling around a frustration: I was doing more ruminating and imagining rather than actually “doing the thing.” Thankfully, halfway through the year my sabbatical and few subsequent experiences have begun to turn the tides around.
This letter is a recap and reflection of one of those recent experiences — a weekend trip to Zion National Park in Utah from two weeks ago. But, it’s also about how I’m deeply inspired to become a more proactive, action-oriented person. Hope you’re somewhere cozy and enjoying these last weeks of the year.
The campfire I couldn’t start
Before I jump into the Zion trip, I wanted to share a short story from the past: While living in Texas in 2021, I persuaded my partner to go “glamping” with me for the first time. We’d met and spent most of our relationship in the concrete jungles of New York, so I was excited to start creating memories outdoors beyond the city.
When we arrived at our Getaway Cabin, everything began easy. I had specifically chosen a glamping experience as I wanted to ease him into the idea of camping as he’d never grown up doing it. Early evening came, and the temperatures began to drop. We were excited to start a campfire in the designated area. The company had provided everything we needed — firewood, a lighter, kindling, and more. My boyfriend looked to me to lead the way. It only took a few minutes of trying to suddenly feel like a complete fool.
I realized I didn’t *actually* know how to start a campfire. I couldn’t believe it. In my head, I was someone who knew how to do it! But when we approached the fire pit, nothing went as planned.
He looked at me, confused: “I thought you knew how to do this?” I thought I did too!
I FaceTimed my family and everyone instantly teased and laughed. That’s when it hit me: I’d been carrying around the false identity of being someone who could start a campfire, someone who was competent in nature. But my hands didn’t know what my mind claimed to know.
All those childhood camping trips, all those years going to National Parks — I’d absorbed the atmosphere, but never the actual skills. My dad and friends had always handled the logistics, the setup, the actual doing. I’d watched but never learned. And somewhere along the way, I tricked myself that immersing myself was the same as knowing.
But even immersion without practiced actions is just stories we tell ourselves.
Practicing the pitch
A day before our Zion trip, my brother called me from outside the house. “Come outside. I want to teach you how to pitch the tent.”
I was in Southern California visiting my family again, and my brother and I were about to go on our first camping trip together as adults. We grew up going to National Parks — camping throughout our childhood with our parents and family friends — but this was different. When I graduated undergrad, I moved to the East Coast and have lived the “city life” for the past decade. My brother, on the other hand, spent all his twenties mastering the outdoors, becoming a seasoned climber, camper, traveler, and all-around outdoorsy Californian.
I walked outside to find him on the front lawn with a large tent laid out. He wanted to practice setting it up together before we left for our weekend trip to Zion. Rain was in the forecast, and he didn’t want us fumbling in the dark as we’d be arriving to the campsite at night. After some trial and error, we figured it out. (For the first time, I felt like I might actually be useful at a campsite!)
Arriving to Zion
Zion National Park is about a six-hour drive from my hometown of Riverside, California. A quick mid-way stop in Vegas for gas and food is all you need to zip right up to the southern border of Utah. We, of course, had to stop at one of our favorite go-to taco spot. 🌮
I was excited for this trip. It was organized by a local Snow Peak ambassador, supported by a few Snow Peak Way members, and sponsored by Snow Peak. If you know me, you know I’ve been a longtime fan of the aesthetic Japanese camping brand. On Instagram, I’d always bookmarked all the beautiful camp setups and dreamed of owning my own collection of equipment. But due to moving often and lack of storage space, I’ve been hesitant to collect too many material items. For this Zion trip and experience, I got to participate without the pressure of having to own a lot of equipment. My brother and the Snow Peak community provided what I lacked.
We arrived late Friday night to the campground curiously named The Watchmen, and thankfully it wasn’t raining. We set up the tent quickly (this time I knew what to do) and approached the beautiful communal grounds to say hello to the other campers. The Snow Peak community greeted us warmly, as did everyone else. Driving in at night, we didn’t get to see much as it was pitch dark. But I could make out the dark silhouettes of the rocky landscape, and I looked forward to what would await me in the morning.
Small humans
The next morning, I was instantly awestruck. I understood why the campsite was called The Watchmen. All around us were towering rocks and mountains looking down on us teeny tiny humans.
The forecast showed sunny skies all day Saturday, so we were excited for a full day of hiking and exploring. Before setting off, we walked over to the communal area, and I admired the beautiful Snow Peak setup. So much love and care had been put into it. They let us know the plan was to have an early Thanksgiving meal together that evening. Some folks decided to stay behind to cook a turkey. We agreed we’d contribute drinks and dessert when we returned.
And we were off! I looked over at my brother and asked, “What’s first?” We hopped on the electric shuttle that would take us deeper into the park.
Our first hike was to the mouth of the Narrows — the narrowest section of Zion Canyon where the Virgin River cuts through towering walls of sandstone, and where hikers wade through the river itself. We moved slowly, stopping every few steps to take pictures.
Despite the cooler temperatures, we watched as droves of fellow nature admirers — dressed in dry bibs and wielding walking sticks — marched toward the waters. We even found people meditating by the river, cross-legged and eyes closed.
Our next hike on the Kayenta Trail, also known as the Emerald Pools Trail, was slightly more challenging.
We climbed first to the Upper Emerald Pool. Since it hadn’t rained recently, there wasn’t an active waterfall, but the enclosed basin was still beautiful. It was a pocket of stillness tucked away on the mountainside.
With each step, I paid attention to my breath to maintain its rhythm. I was a slow hiker, but it felt good to be in the flow of hiking without cell service, distractions, or even music.
A Snow Peak Friendsgiving
After our hikes, we made it back to the campgrounds just as the sun set. The warm campfires glimmered and the turkey had been cooking for hours.
We added our drinks and dessert — small offerings, but I was glad to be part of it. As we sat down with people we’d met just the night before, it didn’t take long for all of us to be chatting and having friendly conversations. We talked about the hikes we’d done that day and how we all came to love Snow Peak.
What struck me was how enjoyable and meaningful the experience felt all thanks to the folks who actually had the hands-on skills to set up the camp. Many of them had arrived earlier than us, taken hours to setup a kitchen, dining area, and sitting area. It was impressive and unlike any other setup I’d experienced in the outdoors (and outside the Snow Peak stores). Knowing how much work it must’ve taken, I was all the more grateful to be a part of it all.
I felt inspired to really start my own journey now with picking up outdoor skills as my own.
Overlook Canyon
The next morning, before heading on our way back, we made one last stop at Overlook Canyon. My brother was excited to show me one of his favorite spots in the park.
After a short hike, we caught our first clear view of the Great White Throne — a massive, pale monolith rising from the valley floor — and the sweeping canyons. I’d seen countless photos of this landscape, but there was no photograph or video I’d seen that could truly capture the majesty and scale of it. I stood there breathless, trying to absorb it all.
Something about being dwarfed by something so ancient and indifferent makes you feel paradoxically more present. The mountains didn’t care about me. They just were, and I just was.
The creative-action theory
I recently came across research by philosopher Peter Carruthers on what he calls “the creative-action theory of creativity.” His argument turns our usual assumptions upside down: action doesn’t follow creative thought. It precedes it.
When jazz musicians improvise at full speed, they’re often surprised by what they play, the notes weren’t planned in advance. The physical act of playing generates the creative idea, which is then processed and understood by the conscious mind. Our motor systems create the thoughts that our awareness then receives.
I thought I knew how to start a campfire and pitch a tent because I’d observed it from afar a dozen times. But as the stories illustrated, I was far from it. I’m sure for many of us, these types of gaps exist all across our lives. We tell ourselves we’re fulfilling certain identities by immersing ourselves in it yet never participating directly in it.
But satisfaction never comes if there’s a glaring difference between the theory of who we may claim we are and the actual practice of it.
Action-first living
I had a feeling 2025 was going to be a year of change. But it was nothing like I could have imagined. None of it was incremental, all of it was incredibly disruptive and full of ruptures — identities crumbling, old stories falling away. And in the space that opened up, I kept trying to think my way into clarity.
Standing in Zion, I finally understood: it’s not just external transformation that begins with doing, but clarity itself comes from taking action first. It sounds obvious, but it seems to be a lesson that I have to keep learning until I ingest it fully.
In 2026, I want to embody an action-first bias and lifestyle. Getting out of my head and being in the presence of grand nature reminded that I am small and the work is large and none of the labels matter as much as the doing.
Action precedes inspiration 💯💯💯
Love this! Inspired. I'm so comfortable with glamping, but I need to experience what you and your brother did.