Shelby

I first met Shelby months before this hike, while working in Grand Staircase–Escalante. Even then, she carried herself with a quiet confidence—steady, capable, and grounded in who she was. When Spirit of the Moment eventually brought us back together on the trail, it felt less like a reintroduction and more like a continuation.

The air was cool as we started walking. The trail was calm—nothing technical, nothing rushed. Shelby moved easily, like someone who trusted her footing. This hike felt like a pause before motion again, a last moment in Utah before she left to travel to another state as a nurse.

As we walked, she talked about her work. About nursing. About how traveling opened doors she never expected. Her faith, she said, guided much of it—the desire to help people, to be useful where she was needed most. Each place she worked shaped her differently. Each experience added weight and perspective.

The trail climbed gently, and the valley of Utah County began to open below us. Wide. Quiet. Bright. The kind of view that makes you stop talking for a moment. Shelby didn’t say much then. She just kept moving forward, unintentionally setting the pace, carrying the pack without hesitation. It wasn’t something she pointed out. It was just who she was.

Nature has always been a place of grounding for her. Even as a child, being outside felt natural—like returning to something familiar. Utah deepened that connection. She spoke about climbing Mount Timpanogos alone, spontaneously. No plan. No audience. Just the decision to go. It was humbling, she said. Difficult. And necessary. A reminder that she was capable.

Those lessons follow her into her work as a nurse. In the ICU, she understands the importance of presence—of being steady when everything around you feels uncertain. She spoke about being a light at the end of the tunnel for patients and families, and how appreciating small moments, like time spent outdoors, helps her show up fully in those spaces.

Shelby also spoke about the harder parts of her journey. Homelessness. Long hours. Working sixty-plus hours a week to pay for college. Being in unfamiliar places without consistent support. She didn’t linger on it. She didn’t dramatize it. She spoke plainly, like someone who had already done the work of carrying it.

Nature, for Shelby, is a reminder that she can do hard things. That she is resilient. That life is bigger than whatever challenge is directly in front of her.

As we reached the higher points of the trail, the valley stretched out below us—open and calm. Shelby stood there quietly, looking ahead toward what was next. Confident. Determined. Ready to move again.

Her story isn’t about escape.

It’s about endurance.

Faith.

And continuing forward, one step at a time.

This is Spirit of the Moment.