I think it was sometime around 2012.

It all began with a photograph I saw in a magazine.

The image showed someone sitting at the edge of a dramatic rock formation jutting out over a vast drop. From that remarkable vantage point, the person seemed to be taking in the sea, the sky, and an utterly breathtaking landscape.

“I want to be there,” I remember thinking.

The feeling came from somewhere deep inside me. I was certain that seeing the world from that exact spot would be extraordinary.

Of course, I had no idea where it was, how to get there, or what it would take to reach it.

A friend casually suggested that it might be somewhere in the north. Those were the days before we became entirely dependent on our phones. A bit of research later, I discovered that the place was called Trolltunga, the Troll’s Tongue, a spectacular cliff formation in Norway.

I immediately told my husband about it.

As expected, someone who loves nature, travel, and exploring unfamiliar places was just as excited by the idea as I was.

We added it to our travel list, promising ourselves that one day it would become a priority.

Although the image returned to my mind often over the following months, life had other plans. New priorities emerged, and Norway was pushed further down the road.

Then, in 2016, the right moment finally arrived.

Was It a Goal or a Dream?

At this point, things become a little blurry.

Do we set goals, or do we dream?

Perhaps both.

My first thought had never been, “I want to climb 1,200 meters.”

It was simply:
“I want to be there.”

What immediately followed was a vivid image of myself sitting on that rock, looking out across that landscape.

I have always believed that dreams create powerful motivation for defining goals and taking action.

At that point, the heart and the mind meet.

When something speaks both to our emotions and our reason, we begin moving.

And that is when the adventure starts.

Planning, Preparation, and Beyond

We chose June, hoping for relatively mild weather.

After all, we would be walking for hours and spending most of our time outdoors.

And since we were already making the journey, we wanted to see as much of Norway as possible.

Personally, I like preserving the surprise of seeing a place for the first time. Rather than watching endless videos, I usually prefer reading travel blogs.

The descriptions of Trolltunga all seemed reassuring.

The hike was described as challenging at times, but manageable overall.

We figured we would push ourselves, walk a lot, get tired, and then recover afterward.

Looking back now, I am convinced many of those bloggers must have been elite athletes casually climbing the trail every weekend.

But let’s continue.

Equipment was easy enough to organize.

Accommodation, routes, and daily plans were carefully arranged.

Our excitement was high, and so was our energy.

Among all the destinations on our itinerary, one stood above the rest:
Trolltunga.

The symbol of infinity itself.

Dreaming a Lovely Hike, Ending Up in Steep, Stormy Struggle

The day before, we had climbed Preikestolen, a 600-meter cliff with spectacular views.

That experience had given me confidence.

The only disappointing part was arriving at the summit and finding nothing but fog.

When I briefly considered the possibility of the same thing happening at Trolltunga, I quickly pushed the thought away.

Yes, scheduling an even more demanding hike the very next day might have been ambitious.

But surely we could handle it.

After all, we wanted to fit as many experiences as possible into that single week.

What could happen?

We would get tired, rest, and continue.

We left the hotel before sunrise and reached the trailhead around 7:30 a.m.

Many other travelers were already there.

Local hikers seemed particularly comfortable, moving with an ease that made me suspect they treated these mountains as their backyard.

The trail began immediately with a steep climb up endless stone steps.

My motivation was so high that even though I felt every ounce of the effort, I accepted it as part of the journey.

Everyone was walking the same path.

Complaining didn’t seem like an option.

After the stone staircase came even steeper dirt paths.

The weather was mild and clear.

My pace slowed occasionally, but we could still see the ridge ahead, and that helped.

The first ninety minutes passed with alternating bursts of energy and fatigue.

Then came the next three hours.

They felt endless.

We entered a landscape untouched by human structures.

Directions were marked only by carefully stacked stones painted with trail markings.

More and more people began stopping to rest.

Along the way, we experienced all four seasons.

Bright sunshine and magnificent views.

Then sudden, relentless rain.

Rain jackets came out.

The temperature dropped.

The fog thickened.

At one point, visibility disappeared completely.

The trail markers vanished.

Other hikers disappeared from sight.

For a brief moment, I could almost believe we had been transported into Middle-earth.

It was magical.

And exhausting.

After nearly four hours, I felt as though I had nothing left to give.

How much farther could it possibly be?

Those travel bloggers suddenly felt very suspicious.

“You said this wasn’t that difficult!”

I felt deceived.

The fog made it impossible to estimate our progress.

Every time I convinced myself we must be close, another stretch of trail appeared.

New emotions began to surface:
Frustration.
Fatigue.
Helplessness.

Could we turn back?

And if we did continue, what if the summit was covered in fog again?

I chased that thought away too.

Eventually, I began voicing my complaints loudly enough for my husband to hear.

“We’re almost there,” he said.
“Just a little farther.”

I knew he was trying to encourage me.

And at that point, believing him was my only option.

Magic of Reaching the Top

Then, right at the peak of my exhaustion, the fog began to lift.

A new landscape appeared before us.

Dark earth.
Small ponds.
Gentle terrain.

At least we were no longer climbing.

The feeling of entering the final stretch gave me fresh energy.

As the fog disappeared completely, the growing crowd told us what we needed to know.

We had arrived.

Finally.

This was the moment when I consciously slowed down.

I wanted to savor every second of reaching the place I had imagined for so many years.

And there it was.
Trolltunga.

Just a few steps away.

I was about to sit exactly where I had dreamed of sitting.

Then reality intervened.

Standing at the edge, I quickly realized that sitting there was not nearly as easy as it looked.

The ledge was narrow.

The drop was enormous.

My legs began to shake.

My stomach tightened.

My throat went dry.

I was genuinely afraid.

Only one person was allowed on the rock at a time, so I stood there for a moment.

Then I walked toward the center of the formation, deciding I would make my choice there.

A few steps in, a voice appeared in my head:
“You came all this way. Are you really going to stop now?”

“Won’t you regret it if you leave without sitting there?”

“Pull yourself together and do it.”

Do it.

It sounded like a command.

A clear and useful command.

I walked slowly.

Sat down.

And carefully shuffled toward the edge.

Those few seconds became the most magical moments of the day.

I had done it.

The Return

When I stepped off the rock, I felt lighter than when I had stepped onto it.

More fulfilled.
More proud.

My husband and I celebrated together.

Then I found a quieter spot overlooking the same incredible landscape.

A place where I could simply sit and absorb the experience.

I had completed the journey.

I allowed myself to take in the beauty, the silence, and the sense of infinity that surrounded me.

I felt grateful for turning a dream into reality.

I sat there for over an hour.

Then, before darkness arrived, we began the long walk back.

What surprised me most was the energy I felt during the descent.

The exhaustion had vanished.

The discouragement was gone.

I felt renewed.

Integrated.

Whole.

The hike had taken twelve hours in total.

And I knew I would carry the memory with me for many years, just as vividly as on the day it happened.

Wisdom from the Journey

Although this appears to be a story about a hike, I believe it contains lessons that apply to many of the journeys we take throughout life.

It is wise to prepare for challenges, but even more important to keep our attention on the destination we dream of reaching. Whether it is a place, a project, a relationship, or a personal goal, the vision of arrival keeps us moving forward.

Travel companions matter. Every journey includes difficult moments. Having people who listen, understand, support, and make space for us enriches the experience immeasurably.

Each of us has a different pace, different strengths, and different sources of motivation. What feels easy for one person may feel overwhelming for another. The important thing is continuing on our own path without comparing ourselves to others.

Planning helps us stay on course, but flexibility matters just as much. When we accept that things will not unfold exactly as imagined, adaptation becomes easier.

Our emotions shift throughout the journey. Becoming aware of those emotional ups and downs helps us regulate them. Rather than ignoring what we feel, it is often better to acknowledge and name it.

More than anything else, what remains with me is the satisfaction of setting out in the first place.

The excitement of the journey.

The transformation that happens when a dream becomes action.

That, perhaps, is where the real magic lives.

And so I decided to keep dreaming.

To keep setting out on new journeys.

And to continue learning from every experience along the way.

(*) In Norwegian folklore, trolls are mythical creatures often described as large-headed, big-nosed, sometimes lovable and sometimes terrifying beings that inhabit mountains, forests, and remote landscapes.