Taking Stock

We have a tradition that takes place around Halloween every year, but has nothing to do with Halloween.  It started when our friends, kids across the street, would come over to show us their Halloween costumes for that year.  One year I commented on how tall they were getting, and asked about if they were tracking it on a door jamb at their house.  They looked at me with blank faces… I guess that’s not a thing any more.  I feel like when I was a kid, any house you went into had a door jamb or section of wall somewhere with pencil markings of the kids’ heights.  

So I took them downstairs to my office, and we marked their heights.. they were 5 and 10 that year.  This year they are 9 and 14… and a LOT taller!  A few years ago, they wanted to start adding my height on the door, so I now have my own set of markings.  Given my height, the markings may not be as accurately inscribed due to difficulties in measurement by smaller people.

This year, I found out they were moving… luckily not far away.  So on their last day in their home across the street, we updated the door with this year’s measurements.  The younger grew over 2” since last year, and the oldest tacked on almost another inch.  They cooperated to get my height, as you can see from the picture.  I appear to be holding steady, but I think this year’s measurement was generous.

Having just returned from a hike on the Pacific Crest Trail, looking at those pencil marks on my door jamb got me thinking… sometimes it’s good to look back.  

When I’m backpacking, I tend to focus on what’s ahead; but there’s something magical about pausing mid-trail — standing where the path crests a ridge and looking back over the winding miles that I’ve already walked. Along the high ridges of the PCT, perspective comes easily. You are well aware of the distance left ahead, but you can see the ascent already behind you: switchbacks that tested your endurance, valleys that offered rest, springs that supplied cool clear water, peaks with views that made your heart swell. 

Life’s path isn’t so different. We spend most of our days climbing toward summits of our own design — goals, achievements, or better versions of ourselves — and yet rarely stop to appreciate how far we’ve come. Reflection is that pause in the hike – the moment to rest and breathe in the view. It’s when we realize that what seemed like meandering progress was often the terrain shaping us — each detour, setback, or unexpected vista adding texture to the map of who we’re becoming.  Sometimes our goals can seem so far away, and it is encouraging to stop and look at how far we’ve already traveled.

There are some caveats to looking back. The digital world has become a noisy bivouac where everyone posts their highlight peaks, edited to look effortless. Comparison creeps in like fog, obscuring our line of sight. But the wilderness teaches something different: that no two trails climb the same mountain, and no view looks quite the same twice. Finding peace on the path means hiking your own hike, guided not by where others seem to be but by your own compass.

As you pause on your own ridgeline and look back, maybe take to heart Adam Grant’s reminder that “progress isn’t only the peaks you reach—it’s also the valleys you conquer.” We spend so much of life scanning the horizon for the next summit that we forget the beauty of the ground underfoot, and how much of that ground we’ve already covered.  So pause, look back, and rejoice at how far you’ve come.