The Greatest Climber Alive: I Shouldn't Have Attempted That Climb!

People call me a risk taker, but the real mistake is ignoring the risks you never chose. You’re going to die anyway, so choose smart risks, live on purpose, and try to leave happy.

You’ve just made history on a skyscraper, and many think you don’t feel fear because your amygdala looked quiet on scans.

I can’t stand that narrative. I’m a regular kid from the suburbs who spent decades climbing and being scared; that conditioning changes how you respond. I lived in a car, was broke for years, and learned the hard way that mastery takes time.

Set the context for us—your childhood and what shaped you.

My mom’s a polyglot perfectionist who prized achievement, my dad seemed deeply unhappy until the divorce, and our house wasn’t warm or touchy-feely. It felt safe, but affection often tracked performance, and I later realized some families felt lighter than mine.

How did climbing enter the picture?

As a kid it was pure fun—like running or swimming but vertical—and I loved being up high with big views. I never thought it could be a job.

You lived in vans and weren’t chasing money. How did that work, and what is free soloing?

After my dad died I lived cheaply off a small inheritance and moved into a van for a decade; family stayed supportive as results trickled in. I became a pro by doing everything—trad, sport, expeditions—with free soloing being the no‑rope style people know best.

Draw your success curve for us and tell me why you endured that long flat start.

It crawled for years, then spiked when I became “the guy who climbs without a rope.” That slow phase was wonderful—messy but full of learning—and my father’s sudden death made mortality real and pushed me to choose meaningful risks.

So what does living intentionally mean for you, and how do your traits play in?

It’s choosing how to spend your finite time. I feel urgency, low neurotic spinning, and I believe you can train calmer responses; years of real exposure make black‑and‑white scare photos inside a safe scanner meaningless. My amygdala works—practice just rewired my reactions.

Exposure works—I could barely speak on camera a decade ago and now I can. How do you think about fear training?

There’s no hack. You face fear repeatedly until it shrinks, and climbing demands slow, sustained composure, not a one‑time countdown like a ski cliff where momentum carries you through.

About that Half Dome clip—you looked rattled. What happened?

My early Half Dome solo had minimal prep; I got off route and nearly melted near the top. Later filming caught a separate scare on a narrowing, bulging ledge where I realized the facing‑out choice was dumb, backed up, and changed tactics.

How dangerous is this sport really, and where do fatalities come from?

Roped climbing is safer than people think; recreational skiing may be comparable. Free solo deaths happen but are rarer than outsiders assume, and many top solos died in adjacent pursuits or freak incidents, not the dramatic image in their heads.

What life would be the worst fit for you, and how do you think about freedom and meaning?

I’d wilt in a cubicle, following arbitrary rules. I want nature, movement, and as much day‑to‑day freedom as possible; a meaningful life is aligning with your values and going hard at what matters.

In Free Solo we saw tension around intimacy. I read a letter from Sanni where she says you’re less swayed by fear and shame, but you see everything clearly and love through presence and service—rushing home for dinner, adjusting training for family, and grinding for your foundation.

She’s sharp. I default to actions over words, which can clash with her need for verbal affection; I’m learning to say it more, slowly but surely.

Let’s talk perseverance, compounding, and value before money.

Sticking with a craft compounds like investing. Focus on sending—doing the hard thing—rather than monetizing, and the economics tend to follow when you create real value.

How did you prep Taipei 101, manage stamina, and adapt to live TV? And what about the pay chatter?

I rehearsed every section on a rope, took notes floor by floor, and identified cruxes and energy management; two hours of effort sits well inside my endurance base. TV meant choosing a sunny, photogenic line that was hard but not my absolute limit. On money, context got twisted—I’ve often worked for free because doing great work opens doors; don’t fixate on fees, make the thing great.

Did you have the heavy talk with your family, and are other buildings like the Burj realistic?

No dramatic goodbye—my wife was there and we shared the day. I’ve scouted the Burj twice; it’s slick and reachy, maybe someday but it’s brutally repetitive. After Taipei, half of Taiwan seemed to watch, and then the news cycle moved on, which suits me fine.

What’s next, and how do you design for persistence and serendipity?

I keep long lists, stack goals to build the right fitness, and pivot when new data appears—strong opinions, loosely held. Choose challenges that stretch you and energize you, keep doing lots of good reps, and let the standout moments surface on their own.

I’ve been reading about the brain’s willpower circuit that strengthens when you do things you don’t want to do. You’ve spent a life choosing hard things, even when you love the craft.

A lot of listeners feel miles away from their own Taipei 101. They see your climb and think you were born different, but neuroplasticity says we can all rewire by what we do.

I’m not special. I grew up middle class, not athletic, and just poured years into climbing because I loved it. Labels about a different brain miss the point that anyone can commit deeply to something that matters to them.

I’ve seen people transform by stacking harder choices. One friend learned about neuroplasticity and, over a decade, went from aimless to building a billion-dollar company. The anterior mid cingulate cortex adapts when we take on challenge, which means action can create the drive we think we lack.

Start tiny. Big, heroic goals can be the wrong fit for your season of life. I’ve got little kids right now, so I pick goals that match my bandwidth and build from there.

People skip small steps because they feel silly. A clinician once said day one for a stuck patient was just bringing the vacuum into the room, then plugging it in the next day. It works, but pride gets in the way.

Any forward step beats none. Don’t let perfection block progress. Go climb the small buildings around your Taipei first, and let momentum do its work.

Greatness can just be good repeated.

Exactly. Stack many solid efforts and a few will turn out exceptional, though you won’t know which in advance. I’ve held Yosemite speed records that fell quickly and others that lasted for years—only hindsight shows which dots mattered.

Like Jobs said, you connect the dots looking back. Clarity follows action.

There was no single moment I decided to be a pro. I climbed for years, often wondering if I should go back to school. Only later did the arc make sense.

We get pushed to have a grand plan, and the pressure makes us stall.

It’s okay to live the questions. Practice what you care about and see how it unfolds. We all end at the same place, so fill the middle with things you’ll be proud of.

Time for a thought experiment. One week left, one last climb.

I’d aim to free solo the Yosemite Triple in a day—El Cap, Half Dome, and Mount Watkins. Tommy Caldwell and I free climbed the triple together with ropes, and I’ve soloed the triple with ropes and free soloed El Cap and Half Dome individually. No one’s free soloed Watkins. Doing all three in a day would be next-level, with serious training.

Your hands look built for it.

Crack climbing thickens connective tissue and teaches you to torque fingers and toes. It can hurt, yet when it locks you in, it feels oddly secure, almost like swimming.

What’s the scariest you’ve felt?

Mostly on a rope, pushing into unknown ground and hoping for protection that never appears. In Antarctica in 2017 the rock was rotten and freezing; go 200 feet without gear and a fall could be fatal. We’d climb one day, sit shell-shocked in the tent the next, then repeat until we finished the range.

How do you handle fear—do you picture the worst or block it out?

I stay rational and visualize the fall to know the real consequence. Sometimes the gear makes it safe; sometimes it doesn’t. You can’t manage risk if you refuse to look at it.

So it’s not about avoiding risk. It’s about choosing it.

Yes. Many people take unchosen risks—like drinking and driving—without admitting it. Accept that life ends either way, then choose meaningful risks, prepare well, and execute with a plan rather than leaving it to chance.

Quick aside on grip gadgets. Do they reflect climbing strength?

Not really. Climbing strength is task-specific and tied to body weight. Those meters don’t capture technique or how you hold the rock.

Closing tradition. What’s a life goal outside your main work you still want to achieve?

Be a great dad and help my foundation thrive. We support community solar so people get first-time access to energy for lights, water, and daily life.

Your team’s already committed more than 13 million across about 130 projects in roughly 30 countries, reaching hundreds of thousands of people, creating jobs, and even protecting biodiverse forests. Where can listeners give?

HonnoldFoundation.org. I’ve given about a third of my income since 2012 to cover overhead, so donations flow to projects. Energy access also strengthens local stewardship—like Indigenous communities defending their lands.

I’ll link it. And I want to say this: watching you climb Taipei gave millions of us a vivid, lasting image that asks, now what can I do in my life? That ripple matters.

That’s the best outcome I can hope for. Inspiration is powerful, and the foundation delivers immediate change too, like someone reading after dark for the first time. Doing both feels right. Thank you.