This past Sunday we went for a family hike.
Hiking is something that Jillian and the boys have been doing for a while on their own, not something I was ever particularly interested in. But this weekend we were looking for something to do as a family and I thought, let’s give it a shot. So I suggested a hike.
We got up early so we could beat the heat, drove to Mission Trails, and set out on the trail.
Immediately I was reminded why I wasn’t sure hiking with kids was going to be my thing.
Within the first hundred feet we had already stopped half a dozen times to look at cool rocks, stink bugs, and random plants.
I struggled with that for the entire hike.
I wanted to keep moving.
Get my steps in.
Make good time.
Reach the finish line.
But kids don’t think like that.
They aren’t out there to get exercise. They’re out there for the experience. They want to see what nature has to offer, look for animals, and explore.
At one point Brooks even decided that the mountain bike tracks on the trail had been left by aliens and that we were following in their footsteps.
The boys were exploring.
I was hurrying us along.
As an adult—and especially since launching this project—my life revolves around metrics.
The scale.
The steps.
Calories burned.
Pages read.
Actions completed.
Tasks finished.
And that’s okay. Part of being an adult is measuring progress and handling responsibilities.
But hiking wasn’t about any of those things.
My kids don’t know what those numbers mean, and they certainly don’t care.
As I urged everyone onward after a break by the creek, I remember thinking that we still had a long way to go. I interrupted rock skipping and tadpole hunting because we needed to keep moving.
A few minutes later the trail ended.
I had rushed everyone along for a finish line that was practically right in front of us.
I missed the moment because I was in a hurry to finish.
At the trailhead, Jillian asked if we had time to stop by the visitor center because the boys wanted to show me everything inside, or if I was in a hurry to get home.
I deserved that.
So I changed my attitude and let the boys lead the way.
Inside were exhibits filled with stuffed animals that lived in the park, motion sensors that played animal sounds, and a tunnel lined with carvings of wildlife where the sounds echoed through hidden speakers.
Joseph kept walking through the tunnel saying, “I don’t like that.”
Then he would immediately walk through it again.
And again.
Because he absolutely did like it.
There is a lesson somewhere in all of this.
Not everything needs to be timed, tracked, and optimized.
Not every walk is about step counts and calories burned.
Not every activity has to produce a measurable result.
Although this one did.
It reminded me that sometimes we get the chance to experience something new, and when we do, we should try to see it through the eyes of a child.
A child who thinks every rock should come home and join a collection.
A child who believes tire tracks might have been left behind by visitors from another planet.
A child who can spend twenty minutes looking for tadpoles without ever wondering whether it’s productive.
There is value in letting time pass unnoticed.
There is value in being present without worrying about how long something is taking.
This project is about a lot of things, but at its core it’s about becoming the best husband and father I can be.
This past Sunday I tried.
And at times I failed.
But I also learned something.
This Father’s Day we’re going on another hike.
And this time I’m going to worry a little less about where the trail ends and spend a little more time enjoying the people walking beside me.
The Young Napoleon Project 