The Inspiration to Breathe
No Words, no Expectations, no Strings, JUST BE!
Step away from the noise, breathe again, and rediscover the wild places that bring you back to yourself. The trail is where life feels real.
As the years pass and I settle into this season of life at sixty one, I find myself asking a familiar question. What’s next. What new adventure can I throw myself into. Anyone who truly knows me would probably smile at that. I’ve always had a restless soul. And the answer has never been complicated. When that feeling shows up, I go outside.
That pull has been there my whole life. From building forts in the woods next to cold running creeks as a kid, to surfing the warm beaches of southern California, to packing horses deep into the Colorado high country. The world has always called my name, and I’ve always answered. I grew up believing life isn’t something you watch. It’s something you step into. One long adventure waiting to be lived. Maybe that’s why my glass always feels half full. Because when you’ve stood in the middle of a million acres of wild country at fourteen thousand feet, with nothing but wind, sky, and silence around you, gratitude isn’t something you think about. It’s something you feel.
And over time, I realized something. It was never really about the horses, or the mountain bikes, or the kayaks, or even a backpack and a pair of boots. It was always about the trail. That steady rhythm of moving forward. One step at a time. One pedal stroke. One paddle pulling through the water. Just breathing in the quiet space between everything else. That’s where you find yourself. Your strength. Your heart. Your soul. The destination is just the excuse. The journey is where the magic lives.
Somewhere along the way I heard a line that stuck with me. You have to give everything to make your life as beautiful as the dreams in your imagination. Over sixty years, I’ve learned what that really means. Life becomes beautiful when you stop letting the world tie you down. When you step away from the noise and start chasing whatever is waiting around the next bend.
- I am not experienced enough.
- I do not have the right gear.
- I am too old.
Blah blah blah. The truth is, none of that matters anymore. I am done letting excuses keep me from discovering what waits beyond the next ridge or across the next quiet lake. It is time to find out for myself.
Life today is jammed with technology. As I write this, I am surrounded by a desktop computer, a laptop, a smartphone, a tablet, and a smartwatch, all chiming and buzzing to remind me of appointments, email, messages, and feeds. We live among constant sound and motion. Concrete. Sirens. Angry traffic. Screens and scrolling. Instant food. Instant noise. Instant everything. It is no wonder the simple beauty of life slips by unnoticed. The scent of rain on pine. The sound of wind through grass. The color of a sunrise that no camera will ever truly capture.
But something always tries to get in the way. And for me, that’s been here in Arkansas. I haven’t given it the justice it deserves. I spent years riding deep into Colorado wilderness for days, sometimes weeks at a time. Yet here, in this chapter of my life, I’ve barely wandered beyond my own surroundings. I could list the reasons. We all could. I’m not experienced enough. I don’t have the right gear. I’m too old. But the truth is, none of that matters anymore. I’m done letting excuses keep me from what’s out there. It’s time to find out for myself.
Because life today is loud. As I write this, I’m surrounded by screens. A desktop, a laptop, a phone, a tablet, a watch. Everything buzzing, reminding, pulling at me. We live in constant motion. Concrete. Traffic. Sirens. Scrolling. Noise. Speed. Everything is instant. And somewhere in all of that, we forget what real feels like. The smell of rain on pine. Wind moving through grass. A sunrise no camera will ever truly capture.
And the truth is, that peace we’re all looking for isn’t far away. It’s right outside the door. All it takes is a choice. A step. A willingness to go find that part of yourself again. Because you owe it to yourself to find your way back to the outdoors.
