What I Stand For

The Mountains Don't Lie: A Lesson in Authenticity
I’ve always believed that people, much like mountains, reveal their true selves over time. The Rockies I admired as a boy growing up in Boulder weren’t concerned with looking flawless or trendy—they just existed, unapologetically. Over decades, they’ve endured storms and growth, shedding layers, revealing ridges, scars, and stories. It’s this quiet authenticity that inspires me, both in life and relationships.

If you’ve ever tried to present some glossy, filtered version of yourself—whether on a first date or in the early stages of a relationship—you’ve probably learned the hard way that pretense collapses, sometimes spectacularly. People peek behind the curtain eventually, and it’s better they meet that unvarnished version of you up front. Trust me; I’ve learned this from my own not-so-spectacular attempts to present myself as someone I wasn’t (more on that later).

The Perils of Trying Too Hard
Back in college, I once went on a first date with someone I met at a music festival. She mentioned early on she was really into yoga, and in my eagerness to impress her, I casually said, “Oh yeah, I’m all about yoga too.” It was a bald-faced lie. My only exposure to yoga had been stumbling through an Intro to Vinyasa Flow class in high school gym. I hated every second. But there I was—stretching out my hamstrings on a yoga mat at sunrise the following weekend, pretending I knew my Warrior II from my Downward Dog. Spoiler alert: I didn’t. A stranger passing by gave us quizzical looks as I toppled over trying to balance in Tree Pose.

Was the date a success? Well, it depends how you define success. If your measure involves impressing someone by demonstrating how committed you are to authenticity, then no, it wasn’t. The more I stumbled, the more obvious it became I was playacting—not only to her but to myself. We didn’t go out again (shocker), but the real enlightenment came a month later when I found myself hiking solo at Chautauqua Park and realizing I’d much rather be there than anywhere near a yoga mat. And you know what? That’s okay because I don’t need to hide that truth to connect with people.

What Authenticity Really Looks Like in Relationships
Authenticity, like a good pair of hiking boots, takes a little breaking in. It’s about showing up as yourself—not the curated version you think someone else wants but the whole, messy, unvarnished you. That’s not easy in a world where first impressions feel like auditions. But here’s how I’ve learned to navigate it:

  1. Own your quirks. I have a habit of using the word “gorp” to describe snacks that clearly aren't trail mix. Someone once said I eat like I’m prepping for a 10-mile hike at all times, even if I’m just walking across the room. That might not scream “cool,” but it’s me. Your quirks? They’re you. Embrace them—it’s what makes you memorable (and, honestly, less boring).

  2. Value vulnerability. Think of relationships like rock climbing—you need sturdy handholds if you’re going to ascend together. Vulnerability is one of those handholds. Share something real, like the fact that your first serious breakup involved crying to Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours for a month straight (hypothetically, of course). Vulnerabilities create connection, and they show that you’re not afraid to be human.

  3. Find your foundation. Just like the Flatirons are shaped by millennia of stabilization and erosion, we’re all shaped by the experiences that ground us. For me, it’s my deep connection to nature—walking among towering pines when I need perspective or staring up at a moonlit sky because city lights never compare. Understanding what grounds you helps you stand taller in relationships, too.

There’s a Thin Line Between Balance and Bullsh*t
Sometimes, people mistake balance for compromise. There’s room to meet someone halfway (like hiking with someone even if they prefer flat trails over altitudes that leave you gasping for air). But losing yourself completely? That’s crossing into territory where authenticity gets left at the trailhead.

Let me put this into terms I once explained to a friend who binge-watched Survivor for dating advice: Getting swept up in someone else’s interests is fine as long as you don’t get voted off your own life in the process. By all means, learn bridge or birdwatching or ballroom dance because you’re genuinely excited to discover that world with them—not because you’re duct-taping yourself into a person you think they’d prefer. Bonus insight here? Maintaining your sense of self is infinitely more attractive than playacting ever will be.

Lessons from the Trail
This philosophy of authenticity doesn’t just apply to romantic relationships; it spills over into everything—friendships, work, even the way we treat ourselves. I once spent an evening solo camping near Indian Peaks Wilderness (pro tip: always bring extra matches), and as I watched the firelight flicker against the rocks, I had one of those aggressively cliché nature epiphanies. I just kept thinking, “How exhausting would it be if this landscape had to justify its existence to an audience the way people often feel like they do online?”

Imagine the canyon apologizing for how loud its echo is. Or the aspen trees worrying their leaves weren’t green enough for Instagram. Ridiculous, right? Yet we do this exact thing constantly—curating, overcompensating, editing ourselves into oblivion.

Authenticity makes life (and love) infinitely simpler. When you're honest about who you are and what you stand for, you create space for the kind of connections that are built to last—ones that won’t crumble under the weight of pretending or performance.

The Takeaway
If you take nothing else from this article, take this: you’re better off being the mountain than trying to chisel yourself into somebody else’s idea of “perfect.” You’ll weather storms, sure. You’ll encounter people who aren’t drawn to your particular ridges or layers—and that’s okay. The right people will recognize your beauty exactly as you are, standing tall.

So here’s my challenge to you: no more getting distracted by shiny veneers or losing sight of your own grounding values. Instead, show up as yourself—quirks, vulnerabilities, Fleetwood Mac tears, and all.

Because if I’ve learned one thing growing up with the Rocky Mountains as my backdrop, it’s this: the best things in life—and love—don’t need to be anything other than what they are. Authenticity? It wins every time.