Hike Your Hike

Life lessons from the trail

By Eric Doolittle, North Central College Chaplain

I realized my Appalachian Trail throughhike was over while crossing a dirt road in the forest between Killington, Vt., and Stanford, N.H. My knee and hip were failing, and it would be 10 trail miles before we came to a paved road. If I followed the dirt road out, it would be three level miles downhill. My son, Matthew, who had invited me on this bucket list adventure, was still behind me. I liked an early start, but he would always catch up. A 15-mile day was normal for him, and it was obvious that I was slowing him down.

Sitting by that road, I took off the silicone wedding ring bought for the trip. It was embossed with a pointed question: “Why are you doing this?” That was supposed to encourage me, but now it flummoxed me. For two weeks, as my body was wearing down, the answer had been: “To support my son’s journey and enjoy the outdoors.” Hiking had become a chore. Every climb sparked complaints and every rest fostered guilt. I was failing to enjoy myself and to support him. I needed to get out of the way.

When Matthew arrived, I told him I was turning down the road. He was supportive and understanding, reminding me of the ubiquitous trail wisdom “Hike your hike, Dad.” Do what you need to do. Follow your path for what you need. He followed the trail with some new friends, and I went down the dirt road.

Failing is hard. Society says giving up is the worst option. But when we recognize that the path ahead is closed, we can look around and find the whole world is now open to us. Failing a class might be the sign to change majors. Ending a harmful relationship opens us to self-care. Injuries let us accept help. Sometimes life makes the wrong path very obvious, so we can find the right one.

Failing the Appalachian Trail — also known as “the AT” — reminded me why I love my work. A chaplain guides people on the journey of life. We offer possible routes through the wilderness of college. Walk alongside people who are struggling. Offer care and comfort to those who are hurting. Call in help when the trail is too hard and obstacles need clearing. Why do I do this? Because I want everyone to be able to find their path and to hike their hike.

Back in Vermont, when the trail met the paved road, Matthew left the AT, too. He decided that his goal wasn’t to finish that hike, but to spend time exploring nature with his father. His hike — our hike — for the next five months led us through 39 national parks all over the country. We failed the Appalachian Trail but succeeded in hiking our hike.