Earning Confidence

Last Saturday night, I watched Alex Honnold free solo the Taipei 101 skyscraper - live on Netflix.

I'd already seen the 2018 Free Solo documentary, so I knew what I was getting into.  And yet, my body reacted the same way it always does.  My heart raced.  My stomach clenched.  And, oddly enough, my feet began to sweat profusely.

Even from the safety of a couch, the danger feels immediate.  The slightest error means death.  There’s no margin for panic, no room for correction.  Watching it unfold triggers something visceral - a reminder of how our bodies instinctively respond to risk.

What impresses me most, though, isn’t the danger.

It’s the process.

Mr. Honnold didn’t wake up one day and decide to climb Taipei 101.  He dreamt about it.  He trained for it.  He visualized every movement, every hold, every sequence.  He broadened his comfort zone incrementally, over years, until something that feels unimaginable to the rest of us became manageable to him.

That’s what confidence really looks like.

Not bravado.

Not recklessness.

But preparation layered on preparation, until fear is no longer overwhelming - just information.

There’s a calm in that kind of confidence that I recognize.  It’s the calm that comes from knowing you’ve done the work.  From trusting your skills because they’ve been tested, refined, and repeated.  From understanding risk well enough to move deliberately rather than impulsively.

Mr. Honnold once said, “Over time you will realize that the only way to truly manage your fears is to broaden your comfort zone.  It’s a long, slow process that requires constantly pushing yourself, but eventually you’ll feel pretty darn good, and you’ll climb big walls just like this.”

That idea resonates deeply with me.

Whether it’s photography, writing, or any meaningful pursuit, confidence isn’t something you claim.  It’s something you earn.  You earn it by showing up when it would be easier not to.  By practicing without an audience.  By staying patient when progress feels invisible.

Fear doesn’t disappear.  It gets contextualized.

The more time you spend doing the work, the quieter fear becomes.  Not because the stakes vanish, but because your trust in yourself grows.  The focus sharpens.  The noise fades.  What remains is presence.

Watching Mr. Honnold climb isn’t inspiring because it’s extreme.  It’s inspiring because it’s disciplined.  Because it represents what’s possible when commitment, focus, and preparation align over time.

That’s the kind of confidence I aspire to.

Earned slowly.

Built deliberately.

And carried calmly into whatever comes next.