What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to?
If I were a younger man, I might try to cross a desert. But I’m not, so I’ll settle for something more realistic — the Larapinta Trail in Central Australia.
It runs 223 kilometres from Alice Springs to Mount Sonder, one of the Northern Territory’s highest peaks. It’s one of the great walks of Australia, alongside the Bibbulmun and the Overland.
I love the outback. Its beauty is stark and honest. The silence has weight. There’s a sense that something beyond you is present there. I’ve always been drawn to that feeling — the way the land holds its own kind of wisdom. I’ve also come to see that First Nations people understand this in ways that Western thinking can’t. Their bond with country is deep and ongoing.
Walking the Larapinta Trail isn’t without risk. The heat can be dangerous. Water is scarce. The terrain is rough and uneven. People have been caught out by exhaustion and under-preparation. The advice is to walk with others, plan carefully, and respect the conditions.
But the greater risk, I think, is to live always within your comfort zones — to avoid the edges where you might be changed. There’s something about the desert that strips away pretense. It asks for attention, humility, and patience.
Maybe that’s why I still want to go — not to prove anything, but to listen. To slow down enough to let the land speak. To feel small in a good way.
For now, it’s a risk I haven’t taken. But I keep the map folded in my mind, waiting for the right time — a reminder that some risks aren’t about danger. They’re about making space for wonder, and finding the courage to go where life feels most real.
The Afterword 
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