evidence: But as a privileged American outdoorsman for whom comfort is a predictable baseline, I recognized some truth in Honnold’s words. When I think of my childhood, I don’t remember mugs of hot cocoa by the fireplace; I remember the moments my parents described as "character building." I remember following my father through chest-deep snow to go fishing in January and not being able to feel my fingertips for two weeks afterward. I remember grimy 28-hour bus rides in India, where we lived. I remember nighttime storms in the mountains when rain flooded our tent. Cozy, happy moments are nice adornments to a life, but hardship is the skeleton on which they hang.