Yesterday we went for a family hike at Mission Trails, choosing a trail we had never explored before.

Standing in one particular rocky section of the trail, I suddenly wasn’t a forty-one-year-old dad anymore.

I was a little kid again.

I was back at Lake Jennings and Lake Cuyamaca, camping with my dad and grandpa. My sister and I would wander along the shoreline, climb over giant rocks, cut through the brush, and explore whatever happened to be around the next bend. We rarely knew exactly where we were going, and that was part of the adventure.

Yesterday, hiking with Brooks and Joseph, I had that feeling again.

We had planned to hike the Grasslands Trail. Starting from the dam, we were supposed to climb the stairs, complete the one-mile loop, and head back.

Instead…

We missed the turn.

Or maybe we ignored it.

Either way, we just kept walking.

The trail led us across wooden bridges, through clusters of trees, and eventually to a section where the path disappeared beneath the rocks. Brooks hopped from rock to rock while Joseph tackled them as if each one were Mount Everest. Before long we found ourselves looking down at the dam from the Grasslands Trail before making our way back toward the main path and eventually to the car.

It wasn’t the hike we planned.

It was better.

What struck me most wasn’t the scenery.

It was the difference between how the boys approached the trail and how Jillian and I did.

Brooks and Joseph were perfectly content to keep walking.

Sometimes they ran ahead.

Sometimes they stopped to examine a stick, a rock, or a patch of dirt.

Sometimes they wandered off the trail because something looked interesting.

Not once did they ask where we were going.

Meanwhile, Jillian and I had our phones out studying the trail map, trying to figure out where the path led. We even stopped to ask other hikers if they knew what was ahead.

Somewhere along the way, adults become uncomfortable with not knowing.

Maybe that’s just my anxiety talking.

Or maybe it’s something many of us slowly learn.

Before trying a new restaurant, we read reviews.

Before leaving the house, we check the weather.

Before taking a road trip, we map out gas stations and rest stops.

Before buying something, we compare prices.

We spend so much time trying to eliminate uncertainty that we sometimes remove the mystery from the experience itself.

Children don’t do that.

They see a trail.

And they start walking.

While writing this article, I came across an essay by Tim Mathis titled “Why Do People Go on Adventures? It’s So Simple That Even a Child Could Understand.” One idea especially resonated with me: children don’t need elaborate reasons to explore—they’re naturally curious. Somewhere along the way many of us trade that curiosity for certainty. Yesterday reminded me that maybe we’ve got it backwards.

That unfamiliar trail gave us something no map ever could.

Wonder.

Every turn raised another question.

Would there be another bridge?

Another climb?

Another overlook?

Where does this trail actually go?

The adventure wasn’t waiting at the destination.

It was living in the unanswered questions.

While thinking about that, I also came across a wonderful article from Local Passport Family about raising curious and creative kids. One of their ideas was that curiosity grows when children are given opportunities to explore, imagine, and discover things for themselves. Watching Brooks and Joseph yesterday reminded me that they weren’t looking for the destination—they were completely captivated by the journey.

As I thought about it later that evening, I realized I approach much more than hiking this way.

I want to know how the book ends before I write the first chapter.

I want to know exactly how much weight I’m going to lose before I commit to healthier habits.

I want to know whether an idea will succeed before I invest my time in it.

I want certainty before I begin.

But life rarely works that way.

A few days ago I wrote The Belt Isn’t Earned on Test Day, about trusting the process instead of focusing only on the outcome. Yesterday I wrote Adventure Is Closer Than You Think, reminding myself that meaningful adventures don’t require traveling across the country. This hike added another lesson to that list.

Sometimes you have to start walking before you can see where the trail leads.

That’s how writing works.

That’s how marriage works.

That’s how raising children works.

That’s how building a healthier life works.

That’s how building a better life works.

You don’t get the whole map.

You get the next step.

Yesterday I was hiking with my boys.

Thirty years ago I was hiking on camping trips with my Dad.

Maybe thirty years from now Brooks and Joseph will be out on a trail with children of their own.

I hope they leave room for a little uncertainty.

I hope they don’t always feel the need to know what’s around the next bend.

Because sometimes the best memories begin with a simple decision to keep walking.

And sometimes…

The best trails are the ones you never planned to take.

Continue the Journey

If today’s story resonated with you, you might also enjoy:

Adventure Is Closer Than You Think — Why meaningful adventures don’t require a plane ticket.
The Belt Isn’t Earned on Test Day — Why progress comes from trusting the process instead of chasing the outcome.

We wandered through the visitor center, stopped by the monument itself, climbed to the old lighthouse, looked out over the kelp beds, and took our time enjoying the ocean views. There was no rush to get anywhere else. It was just our family spending the morning together in one of the most beautiful places in San Diego.

Sometimes we forget that people travel from all over the world to visit places that are only a short drive from our front door.

Driving home, I realized how easy it is to overlook the place we call home.

We don’t need to board a plane to visit the beach, the mountains, the desert, or even a national park. It’s all right here.

We have the opportunity to give our boys incredible experiences without booking flights, reserving hotels, or spending months planning a vacation.

Yesterday wasn’t a vacation.

It wasn’t even a special occasion.

It was simply a Friday morning that Jillian and I both happened to have off from work.

While thinking about that, I came across an article from Food, Wine & Travel Magazineb about exploring your own backyard instead of always chasing the next faraway destination. It reminded me that adventure isn’t measured by how many miles you’ve traveled. Sometimes it’s simply about seeing familiar places with fresh eyes. Yesterday wasn’t memorable because we went far. It was memorable because we slowed down long enough to appreciate what was already around us.

Somewhere along the way, we start believing adventure has to be big.

Hawaii.

Disneyland.

Europe.

The next big vacation.

And while I hope our boys get to experience those places someday, there are incredible places they’ve never explored that are less than an hour from our driveway.

A few days ago I wrote Why Ordinary Days Matter More Than Big Moments, and I think yesterday became another reminder of that lesson. We spend so much time waiting for the next extraordinary experience that we sometimes overlook the extraordinary places already surrounding us.

So I started wondering…

When Brooks is older, will Cabrillo National Monument mean any less to him than another national park he visits someday?

Will Joseph feel like he missed out because we chose a staycation over a cross-country vacation?

Probably not.

Because climbing the lighthouse yesterday was exciting.

Walking along the cliffs and looking down at the waves crashing below was exciting.

Searching for whales.

Discovering old military bunkers.

Looking through the eye of a torpedo.

Running down the trails.

It was all an adventure.

Children don’t measure adventures by distance.

They measure them by wonder.

While writing this article, I also came across a piece from Banner Health encouraging parents to prioritize experiences over possessions. One idea especially resonated with me: children often remember the time we spend with them far longer than the things we buy them. Yesterday wasn’t memorable because we spent a lot of money or traveled very far. It was memorable because we explored together.

When we got home, Joseph went down for his nap.

The tile guy was still working on our bathroom.

Brooks and I went outside and played soccer.

We had dinner.

Put the boys to bed.

And I sat down to work on this project.

In many ways, the day ended like any other weekend day.

But somehow it was also filled with adventure.

Adventure isn’t measured in miles.

It’s measured in curiosity.

It’s measured in saying yes to opportunity.

It’s measured in leaving the house, exploring somewhere new, and being fully present while you’re there.

A few days ago I wrote The Scale Isn’t the Scoreboard, reminding myself that life can’t be measured by a single number. Yesterday reminded me of something similar: memorable days can’t be measured by how far we traveled or how much money we spent.

The boys probably won’t remember the name of the coffee shop.

They won’t remember how many steps we took.

They won’t remember how long we stayed.

But they’ll remember climbing the lighthouse.

They’ll remember looking out over the Pacific Ocean.

They’ll remember running down the trails.

They’ll remember discovering something new with Mom and Dad.

Because children don’t remember itineraries.

They remember adventures.

And sometimes the best adventures are the ones waiting just a few miles from home.

Continue the Journey

If today’s story resonated with you, you might also enjoy:

Saturday Morning Matchas — Why a simple family tradition has become one of my favorite parts of the week.
Why Ordinary Days Matter More Than Big Moments — The everyday moments that often become our greatest memories.
The Scale Isn’t the Scoreboard — Why the most meaningful parts of life can’t be measured by a single number.