In my own way, I had been as powerful as that raging river when I needed to be. Little things seemed important too, like: I had made it through the night on my own; I could carry a heavy pack; and I could do what I needed to do. It didn’t matter what other people thought.

Deep down inside, I finally knew that I was not a loser.

I kept walking and watching the Missouri River flow. I thought about how the snow way up in the mountains melted into little rivulets that became streams. I thought about how all those streams joined together to become a river, and different rivers came together to become this huge river. This river didn’t come out of nowhere. It was made from something. And so much depended on the river—the fish, the animals, us. In a strange way, all of us depend on those little patches of melting snow we saw back at the beginning of our trip.