Life 3.0 on the Trail
The summit reminded me that doubt and strength often climb together.
I’m in New Hampshire right now, partway through a two-week vacation in New England. This isn’t my usual time for a getaway, but retirement has its perks—I can travel when the mood strikes. I’d booked these dates months ago, knowing I’d need some space and perspective around the first anniversary of Jody’s passing, and all the emotion that builds in the lead-up to it.
Yesterday, my friend Mike suggested we go for a hike. Now, knowing that I’m not exactly in peak hiking shape—and that Mike is a bit of a trail beast—I had a few follow-up questions.
“How far is it?”
“What’s the elevation gain?”
“Please tell me there aren’t any terrifying rock ledges above treeline like last time.”
He answered some directly, others with the kind of reassurance that’s both comforting and vague: “You’ll be fine,” “It’ll be fun.” Eventually, I agreed.
The hike began gently enough, but the trail soon started to climb. First, I felt it in my breathing—shorter, heavier, more frequent breaks. Then in my quads, which called for even more pauses. And then, of course, came the rock ledges. Classic New Hampshire—after all, it’s not called “The Granite State” for nothing.
There were moments when I wondered what I’d gotten myself into, but I kept going, quieting the doubts and noise in my head. And in the end, I made it to the summit. Mike was patient and encouraging, and the view was worth every ache. The sky was clear, and from the top, we could see across several New England states.
Lately, I’ve felt like mistakes come easier than they used to—maybe more since losing Jody. Life 3.0, as I sometimes call it, has been a steep learning curve. But I try to take each stumble as a lesson, to grow from it. To be a little better than I was yesterday. To ask for patience and forgiveness when I fall short, and to keep showing up and trying.
So yes, I’m sore today—like a bruised turnip, honestly—but I’m grateful for the climb. And would I do it again? Maybe. Probably. We’ll see.
Love you all
About Paul
If you've navigated the complexities of love, loss, or life's unpredictable twists and turns, this blog is for you. Paul, who was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease in 2022 and lost his beloved Jody in 2024, is also a father, new grandfather and a speaker/writer. Paul writes to make sense of the world around him, sharing his personal journey through grief, Parkinson’s, and life's challenges. With a mix of lightheartedness, thoughtfulness, and unwavering authenticity, Paul offers a relatable and heartfelt perspective on the human experience. His writing is often described as warm, genuine and deeply moving.
A lovely reminder of the healing power of shared humility Paul. Nicely said. ❤️
Thank you Karen!!
Turnip may bruise easily, but it is a nightmare to peel and cut. It is very resilient. Like anyone you know?
Hmnnn…maybe!