It's the Journey, Not the Destination

March 23, 2025

I'm not going to sugarcoat it: trekking in Nepal was not an easy trip for the kids.

There were tears. There was yelling. There was more than a little anger.

I've always been torn between two parenting philosophies. One is the old-school, "no pain, no gain" dad who believes challenge builds character. The other is the more modern, gentle parent who says, "If they don't want to do it, don’t make them." I try to walk the line between the two, and trekking in the Himalayas put that balancing act to the test.

I’ve heard (and often said) that getting out of your comfort zone builds resilience, confidence, and perspective. And I know that’s true—for me. But I’m also wise enough now to realize that not everyone is wired the same way. For some, pushing past your limits can lead to growth. For others, it just leads to burnout, or even a lifelong aversion to hiking trails.

Our main concern was Austen. She has Hashimoto’s disease, an autoimmune condition that affects the thyroid and can leave her feeling chronically drained. I’m never sure if that’s why she dreads hiking, or just one more factor in the mix. But either way, this was going to be a tough ask.

Day one was nine hours on the trail—mostly downhill, but long and taxing. Day two was a five-hour climb, mostly uphill. By day three, we had just two hours of hiking, but the final push was a relentless ascent. Our legs were fried. The kids were over it. I was questioning all of my life choices.

But as it tends to happen in the mountains, the suffering came with rewards: jaw-dropping vistas, passing sherpas carrying what looked like refrigerators on their backs, herds of donkeys clanking up the trail with supplies, and—eventually—the panoramic view of Mount Everest from the top of Syangboche Mountain.

This, of course, was supposed to be the big payoff. The climax. The awe-inspiring moment we’d all remember forever.

Except... it didn’t land quite like that.

When we finally reached the top and pointed out Everest to the kids, Finley, our youngest squinted into the distance, then burst out:

“Wait, that’s it?? That’s Everest??!!”  

And then she cried.

I had to admit, I kind of agreed with her.

Because here’s the thing no one tells you: from that particular vantage point, Everest doesn’t actually look like the tallest mountain in the world. It’s flanked by other giants—Lhotse, Nuptse, and the mighty Ama Dablam—that compete for attention. Everest doesn’t stand alone like Fuji, Kilimanjaro, or the Matterhorn. It blends into the crowd. It’s… well… underwhelming.

So yeah, I got where she was coming from. But we did our best to turn it into a “teaching moment.” You know, it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. The usual stuff. But I don’t think she bought it.

But maybe—just maybe—in time she’ll look back on this not as a grueling hike with a disappointing view, but as a moment of strength. A time she pushed herself and discovered what she’s capable of. Or at the very least, she’ll have a great story to tell about how she cried in front of Everest.

And honestly? That’s not nothing.