Outdoor Leadership

I delivered this as a speech at the Morehead-Cain Finalist Weekend in March 2017:

Over a year ago, I was notified that I had become a Morehead-Cain finalist. I legitimately had no clue what that meant except that I would be visiting the university for an interview. I have to be honest, at the start of the college application process, I would have never imagined ending up at Carolina but thanks to the Foundation’s incredibly enticing mail campaign, I began to fall in love with everything about UNC and the Morehead-Cain. I was sitting right where you [the finalists] are when everything began to click. As each scholar went up to speak [at my Finalist Weekend], I could not believe everything they had accomplished. Their passion, humility, and dedication resonated deeply with me. I realized how boundless my experience could be at Carolina and it was at that very moment that I knew UNC was the perfect match.

Upon receiving my acceptance packet, the Morehead-Cain became something tangible.

I eventually came across a folder with a list of possibilities for my Outdoor Leadership summer. Through two different organizations, Outward Bound and the National Outdoor Leadership School, I had to choose from a bunch of courses ranging from backpacking in Wyoming to sailing off the coast of Maine. It felt impossible to just pick five, but after some thought, I selected NOLS Alaska – it was the most radically different experience available. I ended up using three of my options to ensure that I would somehow end up in the "Last Frontier."

On June 13, 2016, after months of anticipation and planning, I signed off of all social media and took off to Anchorage. I was taken out of the bubble I had grown so comfortable in. I would no longer be surrounded by the ocean and skyscrapers but by mountains and tents. I was placed in an unfamiliar world, with people I had never met.

From the bus to the trailhead and into the mountains I went. 28 days and 140 miles later, I can honestly say those were the most incredible weeks of my life.

So what exactly did this course entail? I lived in a tent and slept in a sleeping bag. I somehow managed to cook and eat meals like salmon mac and cheese and backcountry pizza. I trekked through all kinds of terrain: I boot-skied down slopes, side-stepped across snowfields, feared for my life as I climbed up an incline made up of loose rocks, waded in marshes by lakes that dramatically slowed down my pace and worst of them all, propelled through intense bushes that left me with plenty of cuts and bruises. I endured Alaska’s ever-changing weather and learned to appreciate the days that started with near-freezing temperatures and ended in dire heat, and those that began with a downpour and finished with blue skies and a pretty sunset. I had the opportunity to wake up every day surrounded by snowcapped peaks, rolling hills, and rushing creeks. In essence, every piece of the environment was an untouched gem – I constantly felt like I was seeing parts of Alaska that no other human had ever set foot on.

There were plenty of unforgettable moments, but the most profound part of my trip occurred on the Summer Solstice. As a way to celebrate this holiday, one of our instructors approached each of our cooking areas and whispered to us that we would be climbing a peak that night. It was only day seven so we all looked incredulously at each other and agreed to his crazy idea because we thought he was joking. As 9 PM rolled around, our instructor hollered at us and we recognized that we were actually going to summit a mountain. After a couple of minutes of haphazardly packing our bags, we took off. It was not an easy climb, the steep incline left my legs shot early on and the dramatic changes in temperature and terrain left me panting with each step I took. After a couple of hours of climbing, we reached the first peak. It was a surreal experience because I could see the world – the mountains and lakes, the sun and the moon. I understood how far removed I was from everything but found comfort in that. As the night progressed, we climbed two more peaks on that ridge, reaching the last one right at midnight. We howled, had starburst jelly beans, and felt very accomplished.

More important than all the fascinating things I witnessed, were the people I met. My group of closest friends adopted the name of “Tarp Talk” because we would spend our nights huddled under our cooking tarps, talking about our lives and everything we had experienced so far, all the while drinking incredibly sweet hot drinks. I would have never guessed that being thrown out into the wilderness would have brought me so close to people that were strangers at first.

With all of these special moments, it was impossible for me to be upset. Despite the blisters, strenuous hikes, confrontations with wildlife, and truly dangerous situations, I found a way to savor every single aspect of it.

But what did I get out of this? I learned about tents, tarps, knots, backcountry cooking, environmental ethics, and leadership, but the most important thing NOLS taught me is to live simply. I learned that living simply does not mean to live without complexities but rather, it means to live with purpose.

This lesson may have come a bit late in my life, but it was exactly what I needed before heading off to UNC. I got on the plane back to Miami a little teary-eyed but invigorated for the future. I found myself at the crossroads between the end of one stage in my life and the beginning of another. My Outdoor Leadership summer taught me to champion the journey by navigating obstacles, learning from my imperfections, and beginning to value the path just as much as the achievement. It pushed me to be more optimistic by keeping a smile on my face and appreciating the little things. It helped inspire self-discovery. I learned this and so much more in just 28 days without any search engine or textbook, just the mountains, and great company.

Reflecting on my final day in the Alaskan wilderness, I wrote the following in my journal:

July 12, 2016, 12:50 AM

Descending from the mountains, I was humming “Down in the Valley” by Head and the Heart. I was leaving my home for the past month and I was quite distraught. As I reached the base of the mountain with my group, we began approaching the first semblance of civilization – the road. The mountains began to shrink and the signal towers became giants. As we passed under powerlines, dividing the last portion of shrubbery before the road from a pine forest, I felt like I was leaving a force field, my haven.

Thirty days earlier, I had seen my life and the bubble I live in to be a safe space. I felt quite uneasy about stripping myself from fresh clothes every day, an endless supply of food, and a roof over my head. I was most concerned about leaving the comfort of my everyday life – the routine.

After living a month of adventure, simplicity, introspection, and pure euphoria, I have come to realize that it is not the wilderness that we must fear but rather the things that make us comfortable. We must fear the routine of everyday life, complacency, ignorance, and violence. These are things that truly scare me for their impact is far greater than any bear or rainstorm can possess.

I cannot comprehend how time works because there is no way that much time could have gone by – it ended in the blink of an eye. It’s insane, time is insane. But I know that there are so many more adventures to come.

I will never forget Alaska, the people, or this experience.