Faith Deconstruction: Blazing Your Own Trail Toward Purpose and Peace.

Today, on the treadmill at my gym, with a unique book in my hands—a daily ritual to wake up my body and my mind—I found myself absorbed in Heather Gay’s story of faith deconstruction. In today’s pages, she described friends who had distanced themselves from the church, sharing their own journeys of self-discovery: “It’s really difficult when you’ve lived your whole life trying to fit into an idea of who you are supposed to be, even when that idea rejects the best parts of who you are.” Her words struck something deep in me. Like Heather, I’ve spent years pulling away from paths laid out for me by others. But now, I’m on a new path to help others find their own way, to show them that their best self can exist far beyond those predetermined trails. 

Sunset Overlooking Utah Valley to the Southwest

My journey to self-discovery started long ago with a yearning to break free of the boundaries I was born into and discover what’s hidden beyond the borders of both religion and region. Growing up in Utah, I’d often dream of distant landscapes—paradises I’d seen only in learning games and books. One vivid memory is of an old computer game, Eyewitness learning, which let me wander a lush, stationary image of the rainforest. There was a distant waterfall framed by dense greenery, animals like tapirs and toucans quietly peeking from behind branches, hinting at secrets yet to be revealed. It was a world entirely out of reach in my desert state, but one I couldn’t stop exploring in my mind. 

Secret Waterfall

Years later, that fascination drew me off a particular dirt road in Montana. This uncharted path brought a sense of adventure and just a small pinch of danger. I used the slope of the land and the sound of a trickling stream as my compass. As I moved between pine trees and over fallen logs, a hidden waterfall appeared—a magnificent cascade that carved out a cool grotto, draped in wildflowers and moss. In that quiet, warm morning air, it felt like the world had held its breath just for me, revealing its beauty only to someone willing to look beyond the obvious path. It wasn’t a struggle, nor an escape; it was pure discovery, a connection with nature that felt as spiritual as any Sunday school lesson ever did, if not more. 

Moments like these remind me of what true trailblazing means. When I step off someone else’s planned path, I feel a sense of rebellion, and act with courage to claim my right to explore, to find beauty in ways no one else has defined for me. It’s the ultimate reminder: life is made for each of us to navigate, beyond the imposed boundaries of another’s experiences. 

Back in Utah, and back in 2022, I revisited one of nature’s ultimate playgrounds—Goblin Valley. It is undeniably otherworldly, as if painted in a palette reserved for Martians and their saucers. The landscape of hoodoos is a dusty, burnt orange, punctuated with sandy beige patches, chalky white sediment in higher sections, and small, scattered red pebbles that made me feel like I was exploring the red planet. In the near distant south of the park, a giant dirt mound stood out like a sore thumb. It was something different: a dark, warm brown, ancient pile of dirt. I pictured one of those sandbox scoopers blown up a thousand times in size, where a giant playing make-believe had poured dirt from miles around just to create this mountain for me to climb one day, thousands of years later. Thousands of light years away in spacetime. Once at the summit, I noticed three—maybe four—footprints from ages past. The footprints seemed to tell their own story, weathered and preserved: while my path to the mountain was mine alone, a precious few kindred spirits had followed their intuition to share in the spectacle I was now beholding. It was humbling to think of my own fresh prints beside theirs, now added to the short list of those who dared to trailblaze themselves—soon to be shaped by rain and snow into part of the mound’s silent history. 

The air was thick with August warmth, no wind to cool or distract me. I don’t often spend time where a single step could be my last, and here, a misstep on that narrow ridge might well have been. One of the moments when I looked up to locate my drone, I felt a sudden wave of vertigo—the height and the sheer drop reminding me just how far I’d come from the very first visit to the goblins some 20 years ago. I quickly steadied myself, fixing my gaze on the ridge and grounding myself in each cautious step forward. I was not going to make it all this way, just to have my ending come out of nowhere. 

Then, in the quiet sacred silence, came the moment I’d waited for: my voice rang out, “I GET TO BE A DADDDDDDDD!” I drained the air from my lungs as the impact of my words deepened in meaning. But it wasn’t just my shout; it felt like the collective voice of a hundred men who know what it is to face a fear so strong that, once conquered, the love waiting on the other side becomes something powerful, something that simply has to be shared. My words carried through the valley, full of the pride and reverence for this new life I was about to enter. 

Goblin Valley Mound(tain)

And as I looked down again at the faint footprints of strangers, I felt a quiet transformation. It struck me that I was part of something far greater than just a rare adventure. I was part of a legacy of fathers—men who dared to step forward, who left behind old fears to give their best selves to their children. Standing alone on that ridge, I felt connected to all those who’d taken on the uncharted territory of fatherhood, who had seen the love on the other side and claimed it for their own. Here, in that surreal landscape, I wasn’t just shouting for the joy of it. I was honoring it. 

Ever watched Alone or Naked and Afraid? Don’t worry, you don’t actually see their dingo's and kiwis. These shows drop people into all different wilderness landscapes with nothing but their instincts and experience to survive—and the occasional pocketknife or machete. I remember an episode from Alone that was set in the cold, damp coastal forest of Washington state. One of the contestants had to hack his way through a daunting bushwhack of hills, underbrush, and thick, unforgiving rain. He looked absolutely miserable (and confirmed as much himself) during every soaked and shivering step without a trail. A true test of endurance. I watched him push deeper into a place where, quite literally, no one had ever set foot, with no camera crew or safety team, just him and his own raw experience. For the first time, I was grateful to be sitting on my couch, realizing how much that kind of trailblazing requires.  

Today, back on the treadmill, reflecting on Heather’s journey and my own past trails, I found myself drawn back to the kind of discovery that fuels me—not necessarily in untrodden wilderness but in living as my truest self. I’ve always strived for originality, to stand in places where few have been. My love for the outdoors, for pushing past the ordinary, pulls me toward that feeling of being unbound, connected to Earth and the unconditional love that she offers. And this begs me to continue my wonder: Could I ever find a hidden waterfall, an untouched mountain meadow, or a secret cave that no human eyes have ever seen? 

It’s an alluring dream. But as I think about it, I realize that some of the most important trails we blaze aren’t found in nature. They’re the ones we carve within ourselves. The magnetic pull of untouched landscapes reflects a deeper call to explore beneath life's expectations and experiences—to uncover who we are beyond what we’ve been taught or conditioned to believe. Maybe, after all, it’s less about discovering places no one else has seen and more about creating paths no one else can forge but us. The quest to uncover untouched land is a reflection of the deeper desire to explore who we are beneath all the expectations and experiences life has handed us. Of the billions who have walked this Earth, no one has faced life with quite the same blend of heartbreak, joy, and self-reckoning that I have. If that is true for me, it seems like it’d be true for all. Maybe the trail worth blazing—the one I’ve felt pulled to discover—is the one that transforms what’s within into something I can offer others; a path toward hope and metamorphosis, a hidden oasis in what may feel like a vast desert. 

Ultimately, whether I’m searching outwardly or inwardly, the dream remains the same: to walk a path that is uniquely my own, leaving behind a legacy others can follow to find the beauty that’s theirs to discover. So I look inward. 

What is this trail that only I can truly blaze? Is it faith deconstruction? Is it shame liberation? Fear decimation? Or some combination of it all. My combination—the one that, regardless of whether anyone else has walked them, are worth walking myself? The challenges I’ve faced with infertility, growing up with one testicle (thinking I’m less than), being the only boy among five sisters who must pass on the family name, and living in shame through decades of struggle are all things that, together, make my path unique. They’ve shaped me into someone who can lead others who feel like they’re wandering through endless wastelands with no hope of finding an oasis. 

This is my journey, and I’m meant to it: a new trail that inspires others on their way through their own deserts to the hidden oasis of peace and contentment. Because at the end of that journey? There’s a sweetness that’s as real as any natural wonder—a feeling of heaven on earth when you’re with the people who matter most, in a place where your true self is welcome. That’s the trail worth blazing. 

I’m endlessly grateful for the influences that have guided me here—Heather Gay’s rebellious spirit, the support of my family, friends, coworkers, and mentors who’ve each left a mark on my journey. Members of my past-religion and those of the others. They’ve all helped me realize that, though no one else can see the world exactly as I do, I don’t need them to. We each walk a different path. But by sharing what I’ve found on mine, I hope to help others see the beauty in their own unique potential, to find the trail that’s theirs to blaze, and to follow it to a place of genuine connection and understanding. 

Wherever you are in your journey—whether you’re navigating familiar trails or pushing into unknown terrain—remember that the path you carve has meaning, not just for you, but for those who may one day follow. Each step, every hard-won moment of courage, shapes the landscape of who you are and opens doors for others to explore their own depths. The world may feel full of well-worn trails, but the truest paths are the ones we create within, a legacy of resilience and love we leave behind.

That!. . .is a trail worth blazing.