The Path of Thorns and Fog

When the Mountain Fights Back

You answered the call. You took the first steps toward that impossible dream. You felt the rush of courage, the certainty of purpose, the clarity of conviction.

And then the path disappeared into fog.

And then the thorns started tearing at your skin.

Nobody warns you about this part. We talk endlessly about having the courage to start—to leave the valley, to begin the climb, to pursue the calling. But we rarely talk about what happens when the mountain fights back. When clarity becomes confusion. When certainty becomes doubt. When the path forward becomes so obscured that every step feels like foolishness.

And...This is where most people turn around.

Not at the beginning, when fear is obvious and the choice is clear. But here, in the middle, when the fog is so thick you can't see three feet ahead and the thorns have drawn enough blood that retreat starts feeling like wisdom.

I need to tell you about something that happened three months into my own impossible journey.

I burned the ships. Quit the stable job. Invested everything into the vision. Told everyone what I was doing. There was no going back—at least not without humiliation.

And then... nothing worked. The clients I was certain would come didn't materialize. The doors I thought would open stayed locked. The breakthrough I expected by month two turned into breakdown by month three. Every day felt like walking through a storm with a broken compass, taking steps that led nowhere. I couldn't see even the path beneath my feet, and felt LOST.

My wife would find me staring at my computer at 2 AM, trying to make sense of something that didn't make sense and hoping it would suddenly work. Friends started asking gentle questions: "Are you sure about this?" "Have you considered that maybe the timing isn't right?" "There's no shame in pivoting.  You can get a 'real job' while you still work on things..."

Pivoting. That's the word people use when they mean quitting but want it to sound strategic.

And here's what nobody tells you about the fog: it makes every alternative path look clearer than the one you're on. That job offer that came out of nowhere looks like a miracle, not a distraction. That opportunity to do something adjacent to your dream feels like wisdom, not compromise. That voice telling you to be "realistic" sounds like maturity, not the death rattle of your purpose.

The thorns? They make surrender feel like relief.

And I give this perspective not from someone who makes all the right choice, but from someone who learns from all the mistakes.  I have stalled countless times, wondering if I should stop, or what my next 'pivot' should be...

There's a story that was shared with me that changed my perspective... It's about a farmer named Ali Hafed who lived in ancient Persia.

Ali had a successful farm, a beautiful family, everything a man could want. Until a visitor told him about diamonds—how a single stone could make him unimaginably wealthy.

Ali became obsessed. He sold his farm, left his family, and spent years wandering the earth searching for diamonds. He traveled through Palestine, Europe, and eventually to Spain, broke, broken, and hopeless. In Barcelona, waves of despair finally swallowed him, and he threw himself into the sea.

Meanwhile, back at his farm, the man who bought his land was watering his camels in the garden stream when something caught his eye. A strange stone reflecting light in unusual ways. He pulled it out, took it inside, and put it on his mantle.

Weeks later, that same visitor returned, saw the stone, and went white. "Do you know what this is?" he whispered.

It was a diamond. One of the largest ever discovered.

They went back to the stream and found more. And more. And more. Ali Hafed's farm—the one he'd abandoned to search for diamonds—sat on one of the richest diamond mines in history. The Golconda mine, which produced some of the world's most famous diamonds, including the Hope Diamond.

Ali Hafed had owned the treasure he died searching for. He just didn't know it. He quit ten feet from diamonds.

Let that thought settle in for a moment...

Because right now, somewhere in the fog and thorns of your journey, you're wondering if you should turn back. You're questioning whether you heard the call correctly. You're calculating whether the sacrifice is worth it. You're listening to voices that sound reasonable, practical, wise—voices telling you that maybe this isn't your path after all.

And you might be ten feet from diamonds.

Here's what I've learned about the path of thorns and fog: it's not designed to stop you.

It's designed to test whether or not you're serious.

The fog doesn't exist to confuse you—it exists to see if you'll trust your internal compass when external clarity vanishes. The thorns don't exist to wound you—they exist to see if you'll keep moving when the path hurts. The obstacles aren't cosmic signs that you're on the wrong path—they're confirmation that you're on a path worth protecting.

Because here's the truth: easy paths lead to common destinations. Everybody gets there. The summit accessible to tourists isn't the summit that changes you.

But the path through thorns and fog... That path is reserved for those willing to endure what others won't. That path leads to destinations that can only be reached by people who refused to stop when stopping made sense.

Most people give up and blame circumstances. "The economy shifted." "The timing wasn't right." "I had family obligations." "It was unrealistic."

But scratch beneath those explanations and you'll find the real reason: they mistook difficulty for direction. They interpreted thorns as a sign to stop rather than a sign they were getting close. They confused fog with being lost instead of recognizing it as the final test before the breakthrough.

The greatest tragedy isn't failing to reach the summit. It's turning around three steps from the top because you couldn't see it through the fog.

So what do you do when the path disappears and the thorns draw blood?

You remember why you started.

Not the surface reasons—the money, the recognition, the escape from your current situation. Those reasons evaporate in the fog. I'm talking about the bone-deep knowing that this is what you were made for. That cellular certainty that this path, as painful as it is, is YOUR path.

You trust your internal compass, not external conditions.

When you can't see the path forward, you navigate by what's true inside you. Not by what feels comfortable. Not by what others think makes sense. But by that unwavering knowing that keeps pulling you forward even when forward looks impossible.

You take the next step, even when it feels absurd.

Especially when it feels absurd. Send the email nobody will probably answer. Make the call that will probably go to voicemail. Show up to the empty room and present like it's packed. Do the work that feels pointless because you can't see the result yet. The next right step is never dramatic. It's just faithful.

You refuse to let apparent certainty seduce you from actual calling.

That job offer isn't a miracle—it's a test. That "realistic" alternative isn't wisdom—it's fear wearing a disguise. That voice telling you to quit isn't maturity—it's the exact force that keeps most people ordinary. Certainty is the devil's consolation prize for those unwilling to walk by faith.

You stop measuring progress by visibility and start measuring by movement.

You can't see the summit through the fog. You can't see the diamonds under the stream. You can't see how today's bleeding will become tomorrow's breakthrough. But you can see whether you're moving or not. Are you taking steps? Are you still on the path? Are you refusing to turn back?

That's the only metric that matters in the fog.

Months after I wanted to quit, a single interaction changed everything. Not because of luck. Not because of perfect timing. But because I was still standing on my original land when the opportunity found me. I hadn't sold my farm to search for diamonds elsewhere. I'd kept digging in the fog, kept bleeding through the thorns, kept taking steps when steps felt stupid.

The breakthrough didn't come because I was talented. It came because I was stubborn enough to stay faithful when faithfulness looked like foolishness.

Your Challenge This Week:

I want you to write down the moment you decided to climb your mountain. The day you felt the call. The reasons that made you start. The vision that lit you up. The conviction that this was YOUR path.

Keep it somewhere you'll see it every single day. Because in the fog, you'll forget. In the thorns, you'll doubt. In the darkness, you'll question whether any of it was real.

That piece of paper is your compass when the fog rolls in. It's your reminder that the path didn't disappear—you just can't see it right now. And that's okay. You don't need to see the entire staircase. You just need to take the next step.

Because somewhere, in the fog ahead of you, there are diamonds.

And the only way to find them is to refuse to stop looking.

Don't you dare sell your farm. Don't you dare turn back. Don't you dare let the fog convince you that you're lost.

You're not lost. You're exactly where every significant person had to walk. Through the thorns. Through the fog. Through the doubt.

One step at a time.

Even when it feels silly. Even when it hurts. Even when you can't see.

Especially then.

Your Spiritual Blacksmith,

Myriac | The Undeniable Man™