Traveling
There’s a difference between vacationing and traveling. Vacation is for rest. Traveling is work. It’s not about the destination, it’s about the strain, the unknowns, and the full round trip of getting there and back.
The first time I traveled, really traveled, was at 23. I was in France for a summer project with two other cadets and an advisor. The work itself didn’t feel like travel. That came after, when the project ended and I still had two weeks before my next assignment at West Point. I stayed in Europe alone. Up to that point, I’d never lived alone. Joining the Army right after high school ensured I wouldn’t for years. I craved it, even if only for two weeks. I wanted to be forced out of my comfort zone and grow up a bit. I had to make friends with strangers from other countries who weren’t classmates or company-mates. I wanted discomfort. I wanted to suffer a little. That was travel.
Since then, I’ve had my share of trips, both vacations and real travel. But that first experience still stands out as a turning point toward adulthood.
Fast forward to this weekend. I went with a few friends to Big Bend National Park. The plan: hike the South Rim, camp overnight, then hit the East Rim and head back to Chisos Lodge. Five and a half miles up, nearly 2,000 feet of elevation, with 35-40 pounds of gear on our backs. The next day, eight miles mostly downhill. A late-30s, early-40s (me) dad trip.
At camp, we dropped our packs and decided to tack on another six miles along the East Rim. That’s when the storm hit, right at the farthest point from shelter. A Texas desert downpour. No rain gear, no shelter. I had flashbacks to Ranger School in Georgia and Florida, soaked and shivering. But this time we laughed. Huge grins, splashing through mud, slipping on wet rock. It was the challenge we’d come for. Comfort had been the enemy.
The rain cleared, we ate, and watched the sun set over Mexico. The next morning, more rain. We waited it out, then hiked the eight miles back, tired, sore, but alive.
Here’s what I know: when you suffer with people, the bond changes. I saw it in the Army, sports teams, and in my career. I’ve seen it with old friends growing up. The hard times, not the easy ones, are what weld people together.
Championship teams remember the grueling practices, not the victory parties. Founders romanticize about the nights coding until dawn, broke in their parents’ garage, or sleeping on a friend’s couch. Those were the times they suffered the most.
This weekend reminded me of that truth. I didn’t need a vacation. I needed a bit of pain from my travel. And so did my friends. Which is why, before we even made it home, the question was already on the table: “What’s next?”
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