Have you ever followed in someone else's footprints without really questioning it?

Maybe the footprints your parents laid down before you. . .

or the footprints of your culture . . .

your church . . .

friends . . .

society.

It may seem like a good idea at the time because there can be a natural tendency to trust those footprints and the people who made them.

We believe that the person who made those footprints must have known where they were going or what they were doing.

So we don't question the footprints.

Or question the fact that the person before us followed in someone else's footprints, who followed the footprints of the person before them, and so on . . . to the point that we don't even question who the original person was, where they were going, why they were going there, or if they knew what they were doing.

Seems like a safe and logical way to go through life, doesn't it?

But what if that's not the case?

I have literally and mindlessly followed other people's footprints. And although that has sometimes led me where I want to go (by sheer happenstance) . . .

more often than not, I've ended up veering far off course, getting very, very lost, and discounting my own inner compass.

In April 2017 (just 10 months after moving to Colorado), I tried to hike to a beautiful alpine lake called Lake Isabelle. At that time, I hadn't yet taken all of the hiking and mountaineering classes I have now. And, despite my deluded confidence, I was a pretty novice hiker who didn't know what the hell I was doing.

I went alone - without a map, GPS, or snowshoes.

"How hard can it be?" I thought. "I'll just follow the signs."

As I ventured farther into the woods, the well-worn trail gradually became obscured by deeper and deeper snow.

Until all that remained, was other people's footprints.

And, without a map, GPS, or a hiking buddy, I reflexively and mindlessly followed the deep footprints in the snow . . .

without stopping to think "do the makers of these footprints know where they're going? Are they going where I want to go?"

There's a term in the hiking/mountaineering world called "post-holing." It's as miserable as it sounds.

The term alludes to the plunging of a pole deep into a vertical hole in the ground. Except instead of a pole, it's your legs.

Post-holing is neither fun nor safe - you have no idea what's beneath the snow. And it's slow, frustrating drudgery trying to walk in knee-deep snow.

So as I steadfastly followed the deep post-holes made by other footprints, I started sinking into the snow up to my knees and hips.

This made for tiresome and aggravating slogging through the snow.

Plus, I could feel my foot and leg periodically plunging through the snow and getting stuck between between rocks, sticks, and trees hidden beneath the surface.

Yet, despite my inner voice inside saying "this isn't a good idea" . . . I kept going.

Finally, I realized that if I kept following those deep footprints, I would end up with a broken leg. So, I resigned myself to not making it to Lake Isabelle, and turned around to trudge my way back through my own deep footprints.

Back at home, I looked at the GPS data from my watch and I realized that by following others' footprints, I had gone way off-trail - about 100 yards or so. I had no business being where I ended up.

Now, fast forward 5 years to the other day, and I set out to hike to Lake Isabelle once again.

This time I had a hiking buddy, a GPS/map, more mountain training, and there was no snow.

And we ended up making the 12-mile round trip hike up to Lake Isabelle . . .

At several points along the hike I remembered back to my snowy attempt in 2017 to hike to Lake Isabelle. And I kept saying to myself "what the hell was I thinking?"

Back in 2017, I wasn't really thinking. I was just reflexively and mindlessly following the footprints of those who'd gone before me.

It got me off-trail, nearly lost, and in an unsafe place.

I put more faith in those footprints than I put in my own inner compass and wisdom.

Following those footprints in the snow made for a miserable slog. But I ignored my inner voice and kept trudging along because I thought those footprints meant that "other people knew what they were doing, so I should just trust them."

The literal following in someone else's footprints through the deep snow translates into an apt metaphor for so much of how we slog and trudge through life.

We think that just because we're following someone else's footprints, that we'll get where we want to go . . .

that the journey will be safe.

We don't stop to think of the hidden dangers beneath the surface.

We think that slogging through life is "just how it is."

And yes, sometimes following in others' footprints may get you where you want to go.

But, in my experience, we can benefit from questioning the footprints . . .

by becoming aware of our inclination to mindlessly and reflexively follow the footprints . . .

to stop and listen to our own inner compass before we step into someone else's footprint . . .

gather more knowledge and insights before setting out on our journey . . .

trust that the footprints of others aren't necessarily the path we're supposed to take . . .

maybe have a buddy along the way so that we don't have to go it alone . . .

and consult a metaphorical map beforehand and ask what our path is, where we want to go . . . as opposed to thinking that the path others have chosen is meant to be our path as well.

Sometimes, after doing all of that, we'll decide that it makes sense for us to follow the footprints. That's totally fine.

But, more often than not, I believe that we'll decide to make our own footprints . . .

Whether you follow another's footprints or decide to make your own, the lesson is this: do so as consciously as you can.

Don't blindly follow someone else's footprints just because they're there . . .

because it's what everyone else has done . . .

or because it's too scary to make your own footprints.

Gather knowledge before you set out on your journey.

Consult your inner compass.

Draw your own map and path to get where you want to go.

And, most of all . . . don't feel like you have to go on the journey alone.

Surround yourself with buddies who want to go on the journey with you.

In the words of Edward Abbey: “May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.”

And if I can add to that: may you have the courage and wisdom to break new trail with your own footprints, and the consciousness to follow in others' footprints only when it best serves you.