Two summers ago, on Father’s Day, I hiked Mount Mitchell in North Carolina. This adventure made me reflect on Finding Purpose in Work, much like climbing the tallest mountain. Mitchell is the tallest mountain in the US east of the Mississippi, slightly taller than the famous Mount Washington in New Hampshire (whom I have unfinished business with in the future).
It was a hot and beautiful day, slightly hazed from recent wildfires. But stunning on the quiet trail, while the vistas were muted at the top due to the smoke.
As my wife and kids waited for me to return to our beloved friends in our beloved Asheville, I only had a limited time to hike up and down the mountain. So when I got there, I didn’t putz about, I parked, headed to the trailhead, and went hard. The trail app categorized the hike as strenuous. I thought, good, let’s go.
The hike is 5.5 miles long, with 3,600 feet of elevation gain over that distance. The average hike time is 7 hours.
What I quickly realized is that there’s a ton of gain in a short distance. It was all uphill. Nothing leveled off, or was flat, or anything that gave me a chance to relax and recover. And I was moving fast, with determination and intention. The strenuous description is well deserved. The trail was single-track, and it slithered up the mountainside, starting out as a well-shaded oak forest that transformed at the 4k ft mark into a very quiet pine forest. The trail was empty, which gave me a little anxiety due to the potential of encountering wild beasties that live in the forest. I alleviated some of that stress with intermittent yelps, screams, and clapping my hiking poles together. I wanted no surprises, thank you very much. But even though I was utterly alone, I felt like an ass making those noises. Still, no encounters made the cringe worth it.
One foot in front of the other, I power hiked to the summit, and it was magnificent. The trail was relentless in its climb to the top, and it was tough. But the summit offered a visual reward and reprieve from the climb. I continued to march up to the observation deck for the photo you see, and even more slightly smoky views. Then, I stopped at the gift shop for a hat and some stickers, and then I was off, heading back down the trail.
The return trip down the mountainside was exponentially harder than the ascent. The high step-ups on the way up transformed into leg-busting drops. Mitchell was beating the crap out of me. But I marched on. The trek down felt longer too, which plays tricks on your mind, and I was thinking I got lost. Even though I wasn’t. I started fiending for something that looked familiar to the end of the trail, so I would get a boost of excitement knowing the end was near. That went on for an hour plus.
At last, I stumbled upon the last few kilometers of the trail. Phew, almost there. By then, my water bladder in my pack was dry, and my thirst was great. I didn’t anticipate the difficulty of the return effort. Yet the challenge and reward from that effort during the journey is what I remember most and feel most proud of.
I wasn’t trying to set any records, but I did set out to do the hike quickly and with the agility and speed of a healthy human being. We are capable of so much, mentally and physically, yet our modern world takes most of the work away from us. And I believe that robs us of untold joy.
I know the work gives us purpose. That day, my purpose was to be a simple bipedal great ape and to do what our bodies are capable of: moving fast over long distances, with effort, but without complaint. I wanted to prove to myself and set a good example for my friends, kids, and you, dear reader, that we all have the potential for greatness. Even if it’s a random afternoon in the Black Mountains of North Carolina. I completed the hike up and down, with a brief stay at the summit, in under five hours. Not a world record, but also over two hours faster than the posted average.
I’ll never forget the effort it took to complete the hike. Nor the fears I had, and the physical and mental strain along the way. The work and effort gave me purpose, and the purpose brought me joy and a good story. I share this with you because I want to challenge you to embrace your purpose. The work of turning your vision and mission into a reality is the work that will make the accomplishment so much more meaningful. It isn’t the destination that brings your happiness; it’s the journey. The destination is the reward. And the reward can build your heart and soul.
Embrace the journey, my friends. Love your work. And as we begin the second half of 2025, embrace optimism. Optimism is the light on the path in front of you and everyone on the path with you.
