Vulnerability on the Trail
"In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks." – John Muir
I am always inspired by those who dare to take risks, stepping into situations where the outcome is uncertain but the personal rewards are significant. Facing daunting challenges, leaving comfort behind, and confronting difficult journeys that may lead to failure—these acts require vulnerability. My respect for such people is rooted in my own experiences, especially in moments when I chose not to take on challenges out of fear—primarily the fear of failure or appearing inadequate. While that hesitation is less present in my life now, it shaped some decisions at key crossroads in my past.
That reflection leads me to someone close to me today who is at a pivotal moment, having recently made a few major life choices—decisions others might never make. This person is one of my sons, who recently decided to undertake a solo, five-week backpacking expedition along the Colorado Trail, pictured above. I am deeply proud of his choice. Why? Because, frankly, I’m not sure I would have possessed the courage, confidence, or determination to tackle such a challenge at his age.
The Colorado Trail stretches from Denver to Durango (my son is undertaking it in the opposite direction), covering 567 miles. It is a continuous route designed for hiking and other outdoor pursuits, winding through six national forests, six wilderness areas, five major river systems, and eight mountain ranges. With an average elevation above 10,300 feet and a high point at 13,271 feet, the trail produces a total elevation change exceeding 90,000 feet. At his planned pace of about 20 miles per day, the journey will take around five weeks to complete—and he is doing it alone.
His preparation has been meticulous. Though he is an experienced backpacker, this trek is on a different scale. In the weeks before his departure, he dehydrated food, researched trail conditions, and carefully considered every item to bring, focusing on weight, packability, and eliminating redundancy. He calculated his water needs and nutritional requirements, even mailing resupply packages to post offices in small towns along the route. (A cool detail: marking a package “Save for hiker” means these post offices will hold it for up to 30 days—a common practice.) One section of the trail features a 50-mile stretch with no water access, making careful planning essential. His preparation was thorough in every regard, including physical training tailored for the challenge.
Why is he doing this? He explained it’s something he has always wanted to do. A lover of the outdoors and a longtime Colorado resident, he found the timing was right. Yet I sense a deeper motivation—he is seeking clarity and time alone to reflect, away from daily distractions and pressures. He wants solitude to consider his next steps in life.
This brings vulnerability into clear focus—not the kind we share through social media from a safe distance, but the genuine, unfiltered kind. Walking nearly 600 miles alone through rugged terrain is more than a physical feat; it is a journey that strips away the protective layers we build for ourselves. Each downpour, steep ascent, or unexpected ache will be his alone to face. Such solitude reveals our true selves.
I admire his willingness to accept discomfort and risk failure in his search for answers. There’s no guarantee he’ll discover what he seeks—life rarely provides neat resolutions—but the act of placing himself in this position is courageous. It exemplifies what I often say and write about in my book: vulnerability is not weakness, but the choice to move forward into uncertainty knowing the outcome may be unexpected. The trail might bring clarity or more questions, but either way, he will be changed by the experience.
Looking back on my own life, though successful, there are moments when I today wonder what would have happened had I at certain points chosen the riskier, more difficult path—a path that could have resulted in failure but also greater growth. My son now walks that path and though as a parent I naturally worry, I am even more proud. He not waiting for unfettered clarity; instead, he’s embracing uncertainty and facing it directly. That is what it means to live vulnerably.
So here’s to all who stand at a crossroads and contemplate taking the challenging path—literal or figurative. Here’s to saying yes to discomfort and the unknown. And here’s to those, like my son, whose actions remind us that the greatest rewards often come not from reaching the destination, but from the courage to begin the journey.