I’m panting, sweating, and cursing my way up this seemingly gigantic mountain in the arid Icelandic climate. The wind is howling around me and the black volcanic sand surrounding me seems like it’s about to swallow us all up. I hear a stumble and turn around. I see my boss, co-leader, and friend collapse to the ground clutching his chest. My heart stops. I started Georgia Tech with a clear plan: I was going to graduate in 4 years, be a leader in numerous organizations, and have a 4.0 GPA all while being surrounded by a myriad of friends. Reading the headlines of many news articles stating “Georgia Tech is the 5th most stressful school in the world” only made me snicker. I had been an athlete my whole life, of course I knew and understood what stress was and how to handle it. In fact, stress was the only emotion I knew. I had trained myself to have no empathy and to never show vulnerability in order to be the best athlete I could be – and it worked. Turns out, my plan was not working out as I had expected: here I am crying in the basement of the Biomedical Engineering building printing out forms to drop out after having been a student at Tech for only two years. I can’t do this anymore. Not only am I now on track to graduate in 5 years, but my grades have plummeted, and I have a hard time making friends. Just as I am about to finish completing the forms, I get a message from my boss at Outdoor Recreation Georgia Tech. “Come to my office now.” Yikes. I find myself slowly walking towards the Campus Recreation Center dragging my feet as if they each weighed a thousand pounds. Outdoor Recreation Georgia Tech (ORGT), is the only thing that brightens my day and I don’t think I can handle another single day at this Institute if I lose that. ORGT is my home away from home. I had had opportunities to whitewater kayak in Ecuador, mountain bike in Utah, and backpack in the-middle-of-nowhere Alaska all while surrounded by like-minded people. “Sit down.” My hands are sweating and as I am franticly wiping them on my pants I look up and meet my boss’ kind gaze. “Will you lead a 10-day backcountry expedition to Iceland for incoming full-ride scholarship recipients? I will be your co-leader” I am speechless and am having a hard time not bursting out in laughter; I don’t have the skills to lead such a trip, let alone facilitate leadership and personal growth! Why on earth would he ever pick me to lead such a high-profile trip?! To my utmost surprise, I say yes. Flashforward to Iceland; before he evens touches the ground, I am sprinting down the
mountain towards him trying my best to avoid the treacherous rocks. Luckily, he’s still conscious when I get to him so I start performing the protocol I learned through my Wilderness First Responder training. I check his heart rate. 180bpm. Shit. Ohhh shit. Suddenly, I see myself stand up and gather the group. It feels like someone is controlling my body and actions and I get to sit back and watch. I hear myself comforting the group, assigning people roles, and sending them towards camp to ensure the group’s safety. Once they’ve left, I turn back towards my fallen friend. I check his pulse. 178 bpm. I cover him with my own layers, make him drink the rest of my water, and start doing something that my Wilderness First Responder training did not teach me: I start talking. I tell him about my first time drinking as a 14-year-old and how I have made terrible decisions. I tell him about the first time I had feelings for a boy. I tell him about the post-traumatic shock I was suffering from due to my recent near-drowning experience. And I tell him about how much I hate college. I check his pulse. 82 beats per minute. My words are helping him, but they’re helping me too. It was in that moment that I realized the growth I had experienced in the last two years. I had grown into a confident leader and into someone who started to understand the value of emotion and feelings. If I could do that in two years, imagine what the next three will do. I am not dropping out.