We were out in Utah – red rock, open sky, and a vastness that’s hard to describe even after you see it.
The kind of place that makes you feel small in a good way.
I was there with Mike, my lifelong friend, and Andy, a high school friend we reconnected with about a year ago – after more years than any of us care to count.
And in a way, it felt like there were more than just the three of us out there.
There was a sense of who we used to be. . . those younger versions of ourselves who thought adventure was just part of life, not something you had to plan for. The ones who didn’t need to check the calendar, coordinate schedules, or think twice about just going.
It was a simple reminder of something we may have outgrown without meaning to.
Andy knows that terrain well. For Mike and me, it was something completely different.
We spent a few days doing things we couldn’t – and wouldn’t – do back home.
Mountain biking on trails with little room for error. Hiking paths that narrowed into ledges that had me hugging the rock, with nothing but open air just steps away.
And some four-wheeling that tested both the machine and our nerves. On a trail aptly named Hell’s Revenge, Mike set the “trip record”—a 34-degree pitch in the Jeep. Not straight down, but it sure felt that way.
We lived to talk about it, and on the long ride back to Denver, Andy said something simple.
“When you’re at the base of the mountain, you can’t see the top.”
One of those thoughts that settles in and doesn’t leave.
Because it’s not just about mountains.
It’s about life.
There are times when life puts us at the bottom of something – a health concern, the loss of someone we love, a change we didn’t see coming, or just a quiet sense of uncertainty.
In those moments, we want to see how it all turns out. We want to look ahead and feel some control.
But most times we can’t.
The path isn’t clear. The turn ahead is hidden. The climb feels bigger than we expected.
And that’s unsettling. But maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.
Out there hiking, the trail curved. The elevation changed. The rocks forced us to slow down and pay attention.
You couldn’t skip ahead. You couldn’t rush it.
You just had to take the next step.
And then the next one.
Mark Twain said it well: “The secret of getting ahead is getting started.”
Over time, the path reveals itself – not all at once, but enough to keep going.
Life has a way of working like that.
We think we need to see the whole picture before we begin. But clarity comes after movement, not before it.
I see this with the families I meet. Sometimes people come in feeling unsure, overwhelmed. They don’t know exactly what the final plan should look like. They just know something needs to be done.
And that’s enough.
Because once you start, things come into focus. Conversations lead to understanding. Small decisions lead to better ones.
Looking back, the mountain doesn’t seem quite as impossible as it did from the bottom.
But you only realize that after you’ve started the climb.
The simple lesson is that you don’t have to see the end to begin – you just need to move in the right direction.
As J.P. Morgan put it, “The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide you’re not going to stay where you are.”
