When Pride Weighs More Than a Backpack
What the Backcountry Revealed about Strength, Humility, and Friendship
Walking the most difficult terrain in the United States was nearly impossible with a purple ankle the same size as my knee.
It was only day two, and it didn’t help that I still had 30 miles to go, including a difficult trek across ice and snow at a 40-degree angle. The additional 35 pounds in my backpack increased my misery factor exponentially. You never feel like a conqueror in that kind of wilderness, even on the best of days. On the worst days, you feel conquered. It doesn’t take long to realize how infinitesimally small you are and how easily changing conditions and circumstances can turn against you.
Rain for days.
Overnight heavy snow.
Curious bears in your camp.
Hostile caribou.
Moose blocking your trail.
Boots falling apart.
Altitude sickness.
Blisters upon blisters.
I could keep going. All of those have happened to us, and so much more. I have stories for days.
But this busted ankle, man.
If the heavy sobbing had not fully humbled me, what happened next obliterated whatever little ego remained.
My pace had dropped significantly, and I was falling behind, forcing the other three guys to wait for me. The snow we were crossing was frozen solid. Even following in the tracks laid down for me was precarious with no ankle support. I willed each step, knowing there was no one coming to rescue me or carry me out. But in a profound moment of compassion, one of the guys decided to leave his backpack behind and carry mine ahead. He would then backtrack to retrieve his own pack. Essentially, he was doing twice the mileage over brutal terrain.
At first, I vehemently resisted the offer. My pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps mentality wouldn’t hear of it. I got myself into this mess, and I will get myself out of it, I thought. But he persisted. He knew how much I was hurting. I knew how much I was hurting the group. Fully emasculated, ego obliterated, I consented. And I was deeply grateful that he had done something for me that I could not do for myself.
We have a hard time letting other people help us. We do not like to feel insufficient or incapable. But an ego posture keeps others from the honor of being able to serve us. Simply because we do not want to show that we could actually use another person’s help, we push back and resist. Yet the most humble and honoring thing we can do is welcome someone’s kindness. That’s what I learned that day.
Ultimately, Josh Brown let me have my pack back once we hit level ground.
For a couple of treacherous miles, he carried my pack — and I learned that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is let yourself be carried.
Questions
What am I carrying right now that I don’t have to carry alone? How is my pride keeping me from receiving the help I actually need?
Peace,
Brandon