Emergency Post: To The Llama That Taught Me

I was on mile 30 of 34 in the Wind River Range, totally wiped out. My pack, which should have been lighter by now, felt like I was carrying a whole world in my pack. My shoulders were barking. My legs were wobbly. I just wanted to be done and be in a warm shower away from mosquitos.

And then it happened. Around the bend came a pack of llamas hauling gear for a group.

Moving slow. Calm. Absolutely unbothered. They didn’t care about the heat. They weren’t racing anyone. They were just doing their thing, steady and sure, like the trail belonged to them.

I stepped aside, sat down and let them pass. And for some reason, it hit me.

Let the llamas pass.

It wasn’t about the llamas, really. It was about how I was approaching the moment. Exhausted, tense, locked in on finishing. Like the faster I got there, the more valuable the hike would be. But there was no medal at the end. No finish line music. Just me, trying too hard again.

And it reminded me of something I see all the time in middle school.

Some kids consider everything a race. They try to be the first done with every assignment. They want to “win” school, be the smartest, the fastest, the best at everything. (Which can be healthy at times).

But the kids who really grow?

They’re the ones who pause. Who ask questions. Who laugh at themselves when they mess up. Who don’t rush the process. They let the llamas pass.

The hike and middle school aren’t about checking boxes or getting to the end as fast as possible.

They’re about building endurance, learning to breathe when things are hard, and noticing what’s around you even when you’re tired, even when it’s not easy.

There’s wisdom in slowing down.

In choosing presence over pressure.

In realizing the journey isn’t something to conquer. It’s something to carry with you.

Let the llamas pass.

Let the moment sink in.

And remember, life’s not a race.

It’s just a long trail with good scenery, a few blisters, and maybe a llama leading the way.