The Gifts I Found Walking the Inca Trail

 

Last week, I fulfilled a 25-year dream — walking the four-day Inca Trail to Machu Picchu.

But the first gift of the journey came before I ever left home.

The day before my flight, I was teaching an online class when I admitted to my group that I was worried — not about the altitude, the rain, or the tents (though all would prove memorable) — but about whether I could physically handle the trek.

I hadn’t prepared the way I “should have.” I’d done my normal workouts, but not the kind of conditioning a 26-mile climb through the Andes really asks of you.

The self-criticism started early: You should’ve trained more. You’re not ready. You’re going to fail.

And that’s when I caught it.

It wasn’t the fear of failing the trail that had me clenched — it was the fear of how I would treat myself if I did.

So I made a quiet agreement with myself:

If I need to rest, I’ll be kind.

If I fall behind, I’ll be kind.

If I don’t “perform,” I’ll still be kind.

Eureka. The terror eased.

Sometimes what we’re most afraid of isn’t what might happen — it’s how we’ll respond to ourselves if it does.

And that is something fully within our control.

Lesson #1: The View from the Back Is Beautiful

Our guide — whom we nicknamed “Mr. Miyagi” — had led the Inca Trail 643 times.

He was small in stature, big in wisdom, and moved with a rhythmic grace, trekking poles in hand, like a meditation in motion.

His only rule: Never let yourself get out of breath or overextended.

“Stay your pace,” he said.

We did. Slow, deliberate, steady — “wax on, wax off.”

Dozens of trekkers sped by us that first day.

But hours later, we’d pass them again — exhausted, red-faced, gasping for air.

The tortoise and the hare came to life on those ancient stones.

For the first time in a long while, I saw the gift of the slower lane.

I wasn’t missing out by not “rushing” or “winning.”

The view from behind was stunning.

Life isn’t a race to be won.

She who wins is the one who enjoys it the most.

Lesson #2: Live in Ayni — “Today for You, Tomorrow for Me.”

The Quechua people of the Andes live by a philosophy called Ayni — sacred reciprocity.

If your neighbor needs help building a home, you help. No payment, no tally. Just:

“Today for you, tomorrow for me.”

It’s not transactional; it’s relational.

And it reminded me that true leadership — and true wealth — are built in community, not independence.

Lesson #3: Trust the Moment You’re In

By day two, I caught myself asking our guide,

“What’s coming tomorrow?”

“When will we see a bathroom again?”

Reasonable questions — but behind them was a habit of control.

I realized I’d been living like this for years — forecasting, future-tripping, bracing.

By day three, I decided to practice something new.

I’d trust myself to handle whatever came when it came.

No more pre-solving problems that didn’t exist yet.

When you learn to be with the unknown, calm enters.

Self-trust builds.

Worry doesn’t prevent pain — it only prevents peace.

And the more you teach yourself presence, little by little, you stay there.

Lesson #4: One Step at a Time Is Always Enough

At times, the trail felt endless — steep stone stairs that seemed to touch the sky.

When I looked too far ahead, it felt impossible.

So I practiced something simple:

Don’t look at the mountain. Look at your next step.

Over and over again, that was enough.

It turns out, it always is.

Lesson #5: Connect with Something Larger

By day three, the mountains themselves seemed to hum.

Energy, Source, Nature, God — whatever you call it — was palpable.

I found myself in tears more than once, moved by the sacredness of it all.

There’s something about walking 26 miles through the clouds that resets your nervous system.

It strips away the noise, the striving, the illusion of control — until what’s left is simply you and Life itself.

When you allow yourself to slow down, to trust, to be present, you begin to feel more connected — to nature, to others, and perhaps most importantly to yourself.

When I returned home, my husband took one look at me and said,

“You’ve changed.”

He didn’t need to say how.

I knew.

The Inca Trail gave me many gifts.

But the greatest was remembering what’s always been true:

Life isn’t about racing to the top.

It’s about being present for the climb.

Everything’s going to be ok.

You’re already on sacred ground.

Your Invitation to Reflect

Where in your life might you be rushing to the top — missing the view from where you are?

What would shift if you treated yourself with kindness, no matter the outcome?

Could you trust that one step at a time really is enough?

Because maybe, just maybe…

The point was never to complete or “win” the trail —

But to walk it with your whole heart.

With warmth and wonder,

~Rita