Anyone who has ever ventured into the mountains knows this one harsh truth: clouds are the sworn enemies of breathtaking views. When you're down in the valleys, you rarely give them a second thought — those white, fluffy masses drifting overhead often come as a relief from the sun. But in the highlands, where you're eye-to-eye with the sky, clouds can descend like a heavy curtain, turning a once-vivid landscape into a featureless grey void.

I experienced this firsthand on a trip to Dombay, a stunning mountainous region in Russia, with my friend Zhenya. I had been there before and was eager to show her the beauty I had fallen in love with — the alpine meadows, the shimmering waterfalls, and the panoramic view of Mount Elbrus. We hiked with anticipation, hoping for clear skies and postcard-worthy vistas.

But nature had other plans.

Just as we reached our destination, a thick blanket of cloud rolled in. The landscape vanished. No mountains, no valleys, just fog and damp silence. I was crushed — not for myself, but for Zhenya. She hadn’t seen the place in all its glory. How could she possibly appreciate what the mountains had to offer now?

And yet, she surprised me.

With a smile, she stepped into the cloud and said, “When else will I get to walk in a cloud?” Her wonder was genuine. As the rain began to fall, she commented on how fresh the air smelled. When our lunch at a local café was underwhelming, she laughed and said, “Well, at least it’s fewer calories.” No matter what the day brought, she met it with grace and gratitude.

Zhenya reminded me of Pollyanna, the heroine of the classic children’s book by Eleanor Porter, who always found something to be glad about, even in disappointment. Like Pollyanna, Zhenya had mastered something many of us spend a lifetime trying to learn: the art of choosing your response.

Because that’s the truth, isn’t it? Life will bring clouds. Sometimes literal ones, sometimes metaphorical. Plans fall through. Weather changes. Meals disappoint. But the world, in its complexity and imperfection, still offers countless reasons for joy — if we’re willing to look for them.

Zhenya taught me something I haven’t forgotten since that cloudy day in the mountains: gratitude isn’t passive. It’s a choice — an act of defiance, even — against the voice that says, “This isn’t good enough.” It says, instead, “This is still beautiful in its own way.”

And really, how often do we get to walk through a cloud?