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“CLIMBING WILL CHANGE your life if you let it.” Those were the words of my first teacher, Aris Theodoropoulos. I sat, doe-eyed, staring out at the sparkling Aegean Sea and a tiny island across the way called Telendos. I was the only American around a table with 13 other students who had also signed up for the 10-day beginner rock climbing course on the Greek island of Kalymnos, in the southeast Aegean. It was August of 2013.

Earlier that spring, I was sitting in my apartment in Berlin feeling restless — the type of restlessness that comes from dating disappointments, a long winter, and questioning life abroad in my early 30s. I wanted to plan one of my jaunts, take advantage of my proximity to all the new places around me. It was still novel, as an American living abroad, that traveling just a couple of hours in any direction could mean a different country and culture.

But I’d done Paris and the like, wandered the romantic cobblestone streets of international cities and atmospheric old-town districts. Though urban centers were where I felt comfortable (I lived in New York for years before Berlin), I didn’t want to sip coffee in yet another cafe in yet another city. It dawned on me that other people travel with a specific purpose — they meet up to surf or ski or go hiking. While I’d never played sports or thought of myself as athletic, I wanted in. I was craving community and connection.

Climbing, I thought. It spoke to my adventurous sensibilities. I’d gotten a taste of it just twice — once many years before in Alaska, and once in a park in Berlin, when a friend gave me her harness for a moment, tied me in, and let me enjoy going up an artificial wall. I loved the movement, ascending bit by bit to thrilling heights. I loved the rush of letting go and looking out at the view as someone lowered me back down to earth. So I took to Google, ending up on a climbing forum categorized by country. Greece immediately jumped out at me and a couple clicks in, I landed on a site called Climb Kalymnos. What was this place? The climbing photos juxtaposed with the island images were simply gorgeous.

I fired off an email, setting in motion the first day of the rest of my life. When the reply came, I was in luck: a 10-day class for those with no previous climbing experience was held on the island every August. Unsure of what I was getting myself into, but buoyed by the supportive exchange with the instructors turned future good friends, I pulled the trigger.

When my plane touched down on Kos island, Greece, I still had very little idea what to expect. Following a short ferry ride, I arrived in Kalymnos after dark, the port still abuzz with life. A short taxi ride brought me to the other side of the island — the rocky, dramatic west coast, where the so-called “climbers’ villages” are. My simple studio boasted a balcony overlooking the shoreline. The view was an inky black expanse, but when I opened my eyes the next morning, I gasped: the impossibly blue waters of the Aegean stretched before me, with the pyramid-shaped Telendos island rising out of the sea only half a mile out.

When we were introduced to climbing on lead (putting up the rope as we climb instead of having it put up first by our partner or guide), I was congratulated on my fearlessness, taking the first little fall of the class. But it wasn’t fearlessness. I just didn’t know any better. As I learned more, then the fear came. But over and over, I’m reminded that the body is often capable of holding on longer than the mind; it’s the mind that gives up first and lets go.

Fear can be an innate, healthy thing. However, not letting it rule you and ultimately showing yourself what you’re capable of is one of the most satisfying, empowering parts of climbing for me. Now, when my mind starts to fall apart and my leg starts to shake, I tap into what works for me: “You got this. Just climb, Rachel. You know how to do this.” Arriving at the top of the route is that much sweeter after getting out of my own way, with a proud smile unfurling as I soak in those quiet moments to look out at where I’ve taken myself.

“When I started climbing and mountaineering in the early 1980s, risk and climbing were inseparable. I spent my first 30 years as a climber flirting with disaster,” I remember Aris saying one evening toward the end of our course. “Now, I’ve decided, enough with that. Besides, the magic of Kalymnos is so unique that I want everyone to be able to have this experience. You can put together impeccable rock, amazing scenery, great food, people, and culture — but if people don’t feel safe, they won’t come.”