Way, way up at the top of a ridge line between two nearby canyons is a tree, pretty much by itself. It's only about 2 miles from my house, and there are three ways to make the 1200 foot climb up over boulders and through scraping bushes.
Ever so often I make the trek up to this tree and put my hands on it. It often nasty and windy and cold up there, or there's a hot, drying wind blowing, and this tree is growing. It's twisted, and gnarled, and weathered. Touching it reminds me of how much tougher I am than I think I am.
There's quite a view from up there.
(I feel pretty badass by the time I've made the trek.)