Lessons From the Trail (No. 2)

We bring our lives to our work.

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Several years ago I discovered how much clearer and focused I felt on a Monday morning and I realized that the long hike I’d taken that weekend had uncluttered my head, leaving me feeling refreshed and ready to take on the week.

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Thinking I was really on to something, I committed to fifty hikes in fifty-two weeks, basically one a week. Living in Michigan, that meant all kinds of weather: rain, sweaty humidity, snow, ice. Since 2016 I’ve met my goal most years, adding in new bits to make it fun. I added in hiking five new states, although that hasn’t happened since 2020. Each year I’ve added lots of new trails, and am now also measuring total mileage.

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Nature and trails speak loudly to me in their silence. Trekking deep in the woods, on remote trails where I see very few people, pushing my way through the undergrowth empties my mind. It’s just me and the birds. And mosquitoes, for a few months.

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My Lessons From the Trail series includes three new ones:

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1.???? Have faith and take risks

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2.???? The past is useful and repurposed

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3.???? Push yourself because you can do more than you think

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Have Faith and Take Risks

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The journey around the bend, the path beyond our comfort zone, are examples of having faith and being able to take risks. I have faith that the path is still there even when I can’t see it. Sometimes the path is very narrow and on a ridge or steep hill. I need to pay more attention just to keep myself from looking down. Looking down gives me a vertigo-like feeling in my stomach. I have faith that I will stay upright and on the path.

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For the last nearly four years, I’ve been living outside my comfort zone. Since 2020 my life has felt like I’m on a narrow path, trusting I’m where I’m supposed to be, even though that winding path is climbing the side of a steep mountain.

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I’ve had some big changes:

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1.???? leaving a job behind and starting my own company,

2.???? then contracting with an Arizona-based company

3.???? leaving the Midwest for the Southwest

4.???? working with two CEOs in 13 months

5.???? moving back across the country to Michigan

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I’ve done a heck of a lot of trusting.

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Some mornings in Phoenix, I woke up and knew change was coming, I just didn’t know when or how. As Malcolm Gladwell explains in Blink, our adaptive unconscious mind is aware of more than we know in our conscious mind. So I accepted that I was at a point of the trail where I couldn’t see around the bend.

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And like the scenery on any hike, our lives include so much beauty. I met many great people, lived in a new city, accepted routine daily temperatures over 100°, and fell in love with the desert.

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The Past Is Useful and Repurposed

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My past used to be shadowy and dark. The turbulent, violent years growing up made me shy away from those memories. I grew up with alcoholism, the only constant in our home was the unpredictability.

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Before we were removed from our home and placed in a halfway house, then group home at 16, my sister and I had made a plan to run away. We thought it was pretty good, in the way that young teens who’ve never lived on the streets think a plan is good. But before that happened, thank goodness, the police knocked on the door and told us to pack a few things because we were leaving.

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How can this past be useful and repurposed? How can I look back at those turbulent, frightening times and think they happened for me, not to me?

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I mine my past for lessons, and for many years, the biggest lesson was that I wanted to be a healthy parent for my child. When I found out I was pregnant, those many years ago, I knew I had a chance to make up for the choices my father had made.

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Knowing a bit about his formative years, I could understand where some of his demons arose. I’m not a perfect mother, but I had a boatload of incentive to leave not only my past, but my father’s past behind.

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More recently, as a volunteer at a local shelter, I can connect with the patrons because of my background. I was never unhoused, but I was one step away from being a runaway, living on the streets, prey to all the dangers of living unprotected. My family background gives me a lot of empathy for addiction and the heartbreaking losses of an addicted life.

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On the trail I often see fallen trees, their massive roots upended. In time, the branches, trunks, bark, and roots become part of the forest floor ecosystem, homes and food for birds, bugs, and small animals. The wood slowly decays and creates new growth for new trees and plants. The past tree, like our own pasts, is repurposed in gifts to the current forest ecosystem.

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Our pasts grow our futures.

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Push Yourself Because You Can Do More Than You Think

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Living in an un-comfort zone, as part of having faith and taking risks, also means being prepared. When I’m prepared I can push myself because I really do have the tools to do more than I think I can.

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On the trail this means I have my hiking backpack 100% of the time. (Except for that one time in central Florida, in the middle of hundreds of miles of wilderness when I was lost, and I definitely learned my lesson. That’s a different story.)

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Flat trails are boring. Hills, tree roots, rocky paths, and steep trails are exciting. Exciting paths need some preparation, at least for me. I like to mitigate my risks as much as possible.

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Hiking boots, always. My backpack has trekking poles, a hat, water, a first aid kit, compass, fire starter, wool socks, a rain jacket, sharpie pen, lighter, rope, and my name plus phone number.

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With hiking boots I have good traction and ankle support, even on the uneven and rocky trails. My trekking poles give me balance and sometimes just some peace of mind on steep downhills.

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All this to say that I have everything I need to push myself as hard as I can in the terrain.

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How do my hiking boots and backpack translate to pushing myself in my daily life? Being prepared in my daily life means enough sleep, water, a healthy routine, and finding time to journal, meditate, and take in the silence. Each of these support my life in ways that help me push into the risk, take on the unknown, and remember that the path still exists even though I can’t see around the bend.

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My child was born in 1996. Other than being a mom and the time I’ve spent in Michigan, I haven’t done anything for longer than seven years at a stretch.

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Why?

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I get bored, then restless. I’m not one to live with boredom so I find new challenges, even when that means I don’t know how it will turn out.

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Maybe that’s why nature speaks to me. Nature wants to make sure I am learning what I need on my journey because by its very nature, a journey doesn’t involve staying still.

?Keep moving. Stay prepared. Trust your path.

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