The Boulder that Moved Me

How Restlessness Became My Guide to Transformation

I was recently invited to speak to the local Sierra Club in Columbus about my backpacking adventures and experiences in the western United States.

I put together close to 70 slides for an hour-long presentation. As you might expect from following my writing over the years, everything I share is framed as a narrative—a story. And this presentation was no different. I shared two photos that changed the trajectory of my life.

The first was a photo of me, Anna, and Caroline sitting on a massive boulder in Rocky Mountain National Park. Just ten minutes before that snapshot was taken, I had been driving along Trail Ridge Road at 12,000 feet. I noticed a small clearing up the mountainside just off the road. I immediately pulled over, got out of the car, and ran up about a hundred feet to that boulder and just stood there. Within minutes, Jenny and the girls—likely wondering what on earth I was doing—joined me.

All I can tell you is that I had this overwhelming feeling that my life was too domesticated, too predictable. While I loved my life and my growing family, there was no adventure into the unknown. I believe that single moment changed the trajectory of my life and beckoned me to pursue backpacking.

The second photo was an evening shot of me leaning against a boulder. At first glance, nothing about it seemed remarkable. But I remember the afternoon that led up to it. The guys and I were hiking in the Buffalo River Region of northwest Arkansas, in the sweltering July heat, the sun blazing directly overhead. And the name of the mountain we were ascending?

Furnace Mountain.

I was miserable. I wasn’t in backpacking shape. I didn’t have the right gear. I was wearing all cotton—absolutely the worst choice—and that’s all I had. My food choices were poor and not nearly sufficient for five days of physical exertion.

That photo captured a moment close to when I decided that if I truly loved being out in nature and backpacking, I needed to get in shape and invest in the right equipment.

Another shift in the trajectory of my life.

When the guys and I went to Colorado the following year, I was in the best shape of my life and had the right gear. I had trained every day at my beloved lookout tower in downtown Columbus. After work, I’d put Will in a pack on my back, and we’d ascend and descend together. My legs were rock solid. My cardio had never been better. While I’m usually the guy at the back of the line on the trail—taking my time, getting photos of the guys ahead of me—there was a moment on the Tonahutu Trail when I passed them. I wasn’t racing. I was simply proving to myself that all the hard work and changes had been worth it.

And as the distance between us grew, all I could think about was that first moment—running up that mountain, just off Trail Ridge Road, when we were first driving through the park.

Question

What quiet longing or stirring in me right now might be inviting a new direction—and am I willing to follow it?

Peace,

Brandon

---