One Step at a Time

"Congratulations, you've been selected."

A bit over ten years ago, those four words arrived in my inbox and marked the beginning of one of the most challenging—and formative—leadership experiences of my life.

My employer had advertised a once-in-a-lifetime leadership development opportunity: to walk the Kokoda Track in Papua New Guinea while raising money for Lifeline Australia. Every participant would fundraise, and the company would match every dollar raised.

There were only twelve places.

In an organisation of more than ten thousand people, I never imagined I'd be selected.

So I applied.

Without discussing it properly with my wife first.

Rookie mistake.

Only a week later, I discovered I'd been accepted.

My excitement quickly gave way to reality.

Not only would my wife be solo parenting our two-year-old while I disappeared into the jungles of Papua New Guinea, but the trek also happened to fall across our wedding anniversary.

Let's just say the first leadership lesson arrived well before I set foot on the track.

Walking for Something Bigger

Part of the reason I applied was deeply personal.

My grandfather, like so many Australians, served during the Second World War. Growing up, I'd heard stories about the courage, sacrifice and resilience of those who fought in the jungles of Papua New Guinea.

Walking Kokoda wasn't simply about completing a famous trek.

It was about honouring a generation that gave so much so that mine could enjoy the freedoms we often take for granted.

It was also about leaving something behind.

Through fundraising, our small team eventually raised more than $135,000 for Lifeline Australia through the extraordinary generosity of many people—and a few wonderfully ridiculous fundraising ideas.

Cockroach racing, for example.

But that's a story for another day.

Before any of that could happen, though, I had another challenge.

I needed to lose twenty kilograms.

Confidence Can Be Misleading

I had six months to prepare.

Thankfully, I had been a long-distance runner in my younger years, so I convinced myself that once my fitness returned, Kokoda would simply be another endurance challenge.

I trained relentlessly.

The weight came off.

By the end of my preparation, I was comfortably running fifteen kilometres most mornings.

I felt ready.

During our preparation sessions, the trek leaders offered one piece of advice that seemed almost insignificant at the time.

"If you want to enjoy the trek," they said, "hire a porter to carry your main pack."

"But if you want to experience something closer to what the soldiers endured... carry your own."

Without hesitation, I chose to carry my own pack.

I wanted to honour my grandfather.

I had no idea how much that one decision would shape the journey ahead.

The Wall

After arriving in Papua New Guinea and spending two days acclimatising, we finally stepped onto the track.

The first couple of days were everything I'd hoped for.

Challenging.

Humbling.

Beautiful.

Then came Day Three.

The trek guides simply call it The Wall.

Before we started, our guides warned us not to look for the summit.

"There are lots of false peaks," they explained.

"The real summit is somewhere up in the clouds."

The climb was relentless.

Steep mud-covered trails.

Slippery tree roots and many a fallen tree across the path.

Humidity that seemed impossible to escape.

Tropical rain that Forrest Gump would have described as the "big old fat rain."

There was nowhere to stop.

No opportunity to catch your breath.

We simply had to keep climbing if we wanted to reach camp before nightfall.

By the time we reached our lunch stop, we'd been climbing for ten relentless hours. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. We'd been on the track since six that morning, and I wasn't in a good place.

My heart rate refused to settle.

Every breath felt laboured.

I still had another two hours of climbing ahead of me.

For the first time, I genuinely wondered whether I'd finish. My thoughts quickly shifted from reaching the summit to wondering how I was going to justify the helicopter extraction bill to my wife when I got back to Sydney.

The Question That Changed Everything

As the minutes passed, I found myself completely fixated on my watch, willing the numbers to fall. It was then that one of the trek leaders from another group walked over.

He asked a simple question.

"Why are you doing this trek?"

Looking back now, I recognise it as brilliant coaching.

At the time...

I wasn't particularly interested.

With more than a little frustration, I replied,

"What do you mean why? I'm trying to finish it—just like everyone else."

He didn't argue.

He didn't correct me.

He simply asked again.

"Why are you doing this trek?"

This time, I paused.

I stopped focusing on my circumstances and started thinking about my purpose.

I spoke about my grandfather.

About honouring those who served.

About wanting to stand on Kokoda for ANZAC Day to honour my grandfather and the countless Australians who served alongside him, before him and after him, and to take part in what I believed would be one of the most emotional dawn services of my life.

About raising money for people I'd probably never meet but whose lives might be changed because of what our team was doing.

He listened patiently.

Then he smiled.

"Good," he said.

"Now stop thinking about the end."

"The journey that brought you here is just as important as the destination you're trying to reach."

"Every journey is completed the same way."

"One step at a time, one foot in front of the other."

The Weight I Didn't Need to Carry

Then he did something I'll never forget.

He took my watch off my wrist.

Packed it into my backpack.

Handed my backpack to one of the porters.

And told me to keep walking.

Suddenly I wasn't measuring my heart rate.

I wasn't worrying about how much further I had to go.

I wasn't carrying nearly as much weight—physically or mentally.

My only responsibility was to take the next step.

And then the next.

And then the next.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped surviving the journey...

...and started experiencing it.

Over the following days I walked through some of the most breathtaking landscapes I've ever seen.

I stood where extraordinary courage had shaped Australia's history.

I experienced the privilege of sharing hardship with a team united by a common purpose.

Ironically, the greatest burden I carried that day wasn't my backpack.

It was my obsession with reaching the summit.

Leadership Is No Different

Looking back, I realise that question changed far more than the rest of that trek.

It changed how I lead.

It changed how I coach.

It changed how I approach almost every meaningful challenge.

So often, we become consumed by the destination.

The promotion.

The next opportunity.

Growing the business.

The perfect strategy.

The finish line.

We're so focused on arriving "there" that we miss what we're becoming "here."

I've coached countless leaders who arrive feeling overwhelmed because they're staring at the whole mountain.

They're trying to solve next year's problems while standing at today's trailhead.

One of the first questions I often ask them is the same question that changed me all those years ago.

Why are you doing this?

Because once purpose becomes clear...

The next step usually becomes obvious.

Leadership isn't about conquering the whole mountain today.

It's about faithfully taking the next step.

God Rarely Shows Us the Whole Mountain

One of the things I love most about Scripture is that God rarely reveals the entire journey.

He told Abraham to go before revealing exactly where.

He invited Peter to step out of the boat without explaining everything that would follow.

Psalm 119:105 says,

"Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path."

Notice it doesn't say floodlight.

It says lamp.

Just enough light for the next step.

I believe that it's intentional.

Because if we could see every challenge ahead, many of us would never begin the journey.

Instead, God invites us to trust Him with today's step.

Then tomorrow's.

Then the one after that.

A Question Worth Asking

What mountain are you facing today?

Is it a new leadership role?

A difficult conversation?

Starting a business?

Changing careers?

Repairing a relationship?

Whatever it is, stop staring at the summit for a moment.

Instead, ask yourself:

Why am I doing this?

Then ask...

What's my next step?

One Step at a Time

Seven days later, I finished the Kokoda Track.

Not because I was the strongest person on the mountain.

Not because the journey became easier—it didn't. In fact, it became even harder.

I finished because someone reminded me that every great journey is completed the same way: one faithful step at a time.

Leadership has taught me that the same principle is true long after Kokoda. The leaders who leave the greatest legacy aren't the ones who race ahead—they're the ones who faithfully take the next step and invite others to walk with them.

After all...

The summit may inspire you.

But it's the next faithful step that gets you there.