Step by Step: Hiking with Heart, Not Hurry
Leading individuals with disabilities on outdoor adventures has become one of the greatest sources of joy and gratitude in my life. It has taught me how to truly slow down and in that slowing down, I’ve discovered a deeper way to connect with nature: spiritually, physically, emotionally, and mentally.
Whenever I’m on a trail, whether I’m leading or simply part of a group, I find myself drawn to the person who made the brave decision to show up. The one who stepped off the couch, pushed past comfort, and chose to try. Whether it’s a gentle walk through the forest, a day hike, or even an overnight experience, that courage never goes unnoticed.
As a registered nurse, I’m always assessing safety, aware of risks, and attentive to barriers. But beyond that clinical awareness is something more human; something instinctive. It’s the quiet pull to offer a hand, to ask if someone needs support, or to simply walk beside the person who’s struggling. That might be an 80-year-old with arthritis, someone recovering from surgery, or a first-time hiker unsure of their footing. I’m constantly reading the needs of the group, but more importantly, I’m learning to meet people exactly where they are.
What I’ve discovered is this: my deepest appreciation for nature comes when I slow down.
Of course, I love a challenge. I admire and enjoy keeping pace with strong, trailblazing women. But there is something profoundly grounding about choosing a different rhythm, one shaped by patience, presence, and care. When I hike alongside someone who needs a little extra support, my awareness shifts. I notice the texture of the forest floor, the scent of pine in the air, the subtle changes in temperature, the sound of birdsong weaving through the trees. These are the moments that define forest bathing for me, the full awakening of the senses.
On long backpacking days, when the goal is simply to reach camp before dark, it’s easy to become task-focused watching every step, avoiding injury, pushing forward. In those moments, I sometimes miss the very beauty I came for. There’s a saying in the hiking community: “Hike your own hike.” And I’ve come to realize that my hike and my joy lives in walking with those who need a slower pace.
One of the greatest honors I’ve experienced was guiding a blind hiker on both day hikes and an overnight trip. While we stayed in a camper that time, we’re already dreaming and planning for a future backpacking experience. It will take thoughtful preparation and perhaps starting with a tent trial run, but the anticipation alone is a gift.
In a letter of appreciation, she shared:
“As a blind hiker, getting out on trails like this requires careful planning and a guide I can trust, and Lane was exactly that. She did an incredible job guiding me through rocky downhill sections and shallow water crossings, calmly describing the terrain and helping me place my steps safely. Because of her guidance and encouragement, I was able to complete the trail and truly enjoy the beauty of the area.”
I don’t share this for recognition. I give all glory to God for His protection and guidance. But her words are a reminder: the things many of us take for granted like stepping over rocks or crossing a shallow stream can feel overwhelming without sight or stability.
And yet, when we slow down together, something beautiful happens.
Through her experience, I experienced the trail differently. More fully. More gratefully. I heard the water more clearly. I felt the warmth of the sun more deeply. I noticed the sky, the air, the life around us in a way that rushing never allows.
Because sometimes the most meaningful path isn’t the one you conquer.
It’s the one you walk beside someone else, step by step, heart wide open.
~ Lane ~