I know this will be one of the toughest journies of my life. Sure, the physical effort to wake and shake one’s sore-and-overused body day after day will be hard. But, I’m quite sure it will be nothing to the hurt that comes when I stop for the night, rest my head on my make-shift pillow, and slide into my sleeping bag for another lonely night without seeing the precious smiles or hearing the sweet sounds of my little ladies. 

The ability to foresee this might have you thinking that I shouldn’t do it then. Why in the world would I put myself, my wife, and my daughters through this if it’s going to cause heartache and pain? That reason, while difficult for me to explain, is quite simple: growth. There is a growth that comes from doing hard things. There is an appreciation for what you have only when you’ve lost it. There is an expansion that happens when you’re stripped of the normalcy, predictability, and comfort of life to expose what you truly value—who you truly are.

I want to better understand who I am. I want to better know what kind of husband and father I can be. I want to find the areas in my life in which I am weak and find acceptance in some while I work to strengthen others. I’m sure there are many ways to do this type of work that doesn’t involve disconnecting from family, society, and comfort. 

Those aren’t my paths; my path is clear. 

My path starts at the Mexico-California border and it winds, climbs, and slithers its way 2,650 miles north to Canada. It ambles through desert, atop snowy passes, over rivers, among forest, mountains, and towns all along the way. It teaches and it tests. It will provide some of the most glorious moments and then it will kick me in the balls. It will introduce me to other wild people that are looking to do their own discovery, healing, and growth. 

I don’t think I could ask for more!