Seeing a three-way split in the trail ahead, I slowed, looking for a clue as to which one was ours. There was nothing—no sign, no discernible difference between the trails, no indication of which path was the one we wanted. Because my husband always knows where he is and I’m often on the verge of lost, I asked him which way we were supposed to go.
Today, from the comfort of my high-rise hotel room in the city, I can see that wasn’t a fair question. We were on a trail he’d never seen a map of, in a provincial park he’d never before set foot in, in a country he’d never hiked in. Still, when I asked, he looked the options, consulted his internal compass, and said, “This way.” And I followed him. I followed him because he has a solid history. He has a good record of choosing the right path, one made more credible by his ability to course correct when he finds that he’s chosen incorrectly. In short, I followed him because I trusted him and I trusted him because he’s proven himself trustworthy.
Click here to read the rest of this post about living a trustworthy life at AdveTough, a publication I’m honored to contribute to regularly.