Somewhere between Viterbo and Vetralla, on the Italian Camino, I hit a fork in the road - literally and metaphorically
The sun was climbing over the hills, doing that overly dramatic golden glow thing that makes you forget how sweaty you are. The stones beneath my boots were the sort that had clearly survived multiple empires and were determined to outlast my patience. To my left: a steep climb up a ridge that promised challenge, pain, and probably an excellent view if I survived it. To my right: a gentle, smooth descent that practically whispered, “You’ve earned an easy day.”
There was no sign. No arrow. No friendly Italian farmer shouting advice. Just me, standing in the dust, trying to look like a serene pilgrim while internally debating my life choices.
And honestly, that moment summed up leadership better than most leadership courses ever could.
We like to imagine leadership as confident and clear - the calm captain steering the ship. But most of the time, it’s you at a crossroads with no signposts, a half-charged phone, and several people behind you assuming you know exactly what you’re doing. One path looks bold and ambitious: the other looks stable and safe. Both could work. Neither comes with certainty. And standing still isn’t an option.
I stared at those paths far longer than was reasonable. I checked my map (useless). I looked for footprints (nonexistent). I even considered waiting for another pilgrim to show up so I could pretend to have known all along. But in the end, I did what all leaders eventually must: I chose. Not because I was sure, but because leadership is often about having the courage to move, even when you’re not.
I took the ridge. Because of course I did. I told myself it would “build character” (which is code for “I’m too stubborn to take the easy option”). Five minutes in, I was sweating through my backpack straps, regretting every optimistic decision that led me there. My legs burned, my lungs protested, and at one point, I genuinely questioned whether I’d wandered onto a goat track.
But somewhere near the top, when the view finally opened and the valley stretched out below me, it all made sense. Not in a poetic “everything happens for a reason” way, more in a quiet, tired, “Okay, that was worth it” kind of way.
That’s leadership. You make the call, you deal with the climb, and along the way you question your sanity, your skill set, and sometimes your shoe choice. You’re not always right. Sometimes you take the long, hard route when the smooth road would’ve done just fine. But you learn, you grow, and you come away with a story, and perspective you wouldn’t have gained on the easy path.
Leadership, much like the Camino, doesn’t come with GPS. There’s no turn-by-turn guide to the perfect decision. It gives you values instead, your internal compass, and trusts you to walk with conviction, humility, and a touch of humour when things inevitably go sideways.
By the time I reached the next town, dusty and slightly delirious, I realised that the Camino, like leadership, rarely rewards certainty. It rewards movement. It rewards courage. And, if you’re lucky, it rewards you with a decent espresso at the end of a long, confusing road.
Because sometimes the best you can do is pick a path, start walking, and trust that the view, and the lesson will find you eventually.
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