the hiking boots do not make the hiker
My beloved and I celebrated 1 year of marriage last week. We packed our cooler with sandwich ingredients and chocolate, filled every water vessel we had, and armed with a crib board and a deck of cards, ventured into the mountains of Jasper.
En route, we stopped to purchase hiking boots for me. Despite being an avid hiker, I’d somehow avoided this rite of passage, and Lars was determined to get me some proper footwear for all the hiking we’d be doing on our weekend away. We meandered around the store, gasping at prices and laughing at the designs until finally, hiking boots in hand, we returned to the car to continue our journey.
The drive was idyllic. We saw mountain goats, elk, and deer as we sped through the mountainside. We listened to new music and true crime podcasts. We sipped on cold drinks from Tim’s. We held each other’s hands and marvelled at the sheer joy of being together. And when we arrived at Maligne Canyon, we eagerly donned our hiking boots and started out on the trail.
Each step felt sturdy with the ankle support of my new boots. And for the first time ever, I didn’t feel like a novice hiker traipsing about wearing sneakers. This was the real deal. I was a real hiker now.
About half a kilometre in, I stooped to retie my hiking boots. The laces were stiff with newness and they didn’t want to stay tied.
We continued onward, stopping at every scenic viewpoint to drink it all in.
It wasn’t long, however, before I had to kneel again to retie my hiking boots. It wasn’t long after that when they loosened to the point they began shifting around. And from there, it was even less time until my boots began chafing around my ankles, leaving angry red lines.
Lars waited patiently for me as I tightened the laces yet again, pulling them as tight as I possibly could. I was frustrated that we’d spent so much money on the boots and I hadn’t even thought about needing long socks. I felt like a noob all over again. Lars encouraged me, “The hiking boots do not make the hiker.”
Like many of the phrases he says to me, I pondered its wisdom for a long while after. I realized that this concept applies to more than just hiking.
The hiking boots do not make the hiker—the act of hiking makes someone a hiker. Yes, within that title of hiker, there are varying levels of preparedness and skill. However, anyone who steps foot on a hiking trail is by definition a hiker.
It’s funny how you and I place so much stock in our perceptions of people, places, and things when really, that’s all it is—a perception or a way of seeing things. Your perspective is limited and sometimes the things you see aren’t really what’s happening. Take my hiking boots for example. I certainly looked the part of a hiker. But in reality, I wasn’t any more of a hiker than I was when I did my first hike 5 years ago wearing flip-flops and denim shorts (highly DO NOT recommend). I am a more experienced hiker, sure, but I’m not any more real of a hiker now than I was then.
Oftentimes, I find myself trying to appear a certain way or maintain a certain image. In the case of hiking, I imagined that people were judging me for hiking in running shoes and perceiving me as a complete beginner. I thought that if I had hiking boots I would finally be seen as a real, bonafide hiker. In a way, I felt like a fraud or an imposter, pretending to be a hiker, while the real ones, the ones with the boots and the climbing poles, judged me from afar.
Isn’t this the way you and I so often do things? You feel like a faker when you first start out and so you downplay your skills, efforts, and achievements. You try to look the part while in your heart you feel completely unqualified. You rationalize your faulty thinking with statements like,
“If I wear hiking boots, that will make me a real hiker,” or,
“If I have the expensive equipment, then I’ll be a big deal in my field,” or,
“If I wear the trendy clothes, then I’ll be cool,” or,
“If I publish a book, I’ll be a real writer.”
Sometimes, you can trick yourself into delaying a dream because you don’t have the right tools or because starting feels daunting. Being a beginner is awkward because you aren’t good at it immediately. You can feel like a faker because it’s so obvious that you’re new at it. You feel you need more tools or experience to even think about trying. But do you know what? You have everything that you need to get started. You don’t need fancy boots, a new camera, or even a greenhouse to learn how to hike, take photos, or grow a garden. Start small. Start here. Start now.
The hiking boots do not make the hiker. The decision to put in the effort to get out on the trail makes you a hiker. Yes, if it’s something you love, you’ll gradually gain skill, confidence, and probably new gear to better equip you for your hikes. However, you are no more of a hiker with all of those things than you were when you first began. Don’t place so much stock in appearances that you miss out on the experience itself!
Think of 1 Samuel when God chooses the next king over Israel. He tells Samuel, “The Lord doesn’t see things the way you see them. People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” You and I can become so obsessed with how we look to others that we become paralyzed, avoiding risk at all costs. Resolve to address this tendency today! God sees the heart. He sees your efforts and the dream that lies behind it. He sees your desire to steward the gifts He’s given you. He sees your small beginnings, and He is delighted with you.
Being a beginner does not make you a fraud. You are not an imposter trying to sneak in the back, hoping no one will notice your amateur actions. You are not a trickster when you dignify your work and efforts, even if someone else could do it better. How you appear to others is not important. Showing up is.
The hiking boots do not make the hiker. Allow yourself the grace to start—and continue—right where you’re at, with what you have.
