Guest Post by Maren Morsch, Director of Operations & Logistics
It’s midafternoon on Wednesday during Summer Bridge. I am in the middle of Day 8 of 11 days at work in a row. Things are happening all around me – the radio chatters, the wind blows, and participants are moving from place to place, talking with friends and interacting with the space in myriad ways. I am concerned about the weather, monitoring the air quality and heat index, wondering if we will have to change the schedule based on the forecast. I try to organize information about indoor spaces and staff needs in my head as I move around, observing.
But then the busy dashboard of my mind clears because I see something that dials in my focus. A participant in line for her turn on the zipline is clearly very, very anxious. She walks to the platform, then asks the staff member in charge a question. She watches as several other peers take their turns zipping across the lake to the other side. She gets the courage to step up the ladder and works to stand on the platform. Her knees and voice wobble up there. Fear wins, and she asks to be unhooked from the cable and climbs down the ladder. Her tears are visible, even from my spot many yards away.
Defeat. She stands for a minute, head hanging, crestfallen. Watches several more peers take their turns.
Staff at the platform invites her back. She hesitates, then climbs the ladder again. The staff member on the platform talks with her. Validates her feelings. Expresses that she, the student, is fully in control. That by standing on the platform, she has already succeeded. But, there is still hesitation. There is still fear. Her peers offer loud encouragement from the other side of the lake. She steps forward, then backward. There are several more minutes of patient conversation, gentle encouragement, and validation. And then… she steps off the platform.
The group absolutely explodes in cheers and shouts. The participant zips down the line, hanging onto the lanyard with her peers chanting her name.
In just seven seconds, it’s over. I start moving toward the crossing, getting ready to check in with her. Before I can even start up the staircase, the formerly-hesitant zip rider is back, trolley in hand, with a huge grin on her face. “Are you going to go again?” I say, probably a bit incredulously. “IT WAS SO FUN!” she shouts back. I smile and high-five her, tell her to enjoy the ride, and that I’m proud of her for giving it a try.
I walk far enough away where I am pretty sure no one can see me, and then I wipe a few tears away, too.
::Several hours later::
Afternoon activities have wrapped up, people have eaten dinner and moved on to the evening block. This night’s schedule includes a Participant Choice session, where students choose an activity based on their own interests and hobbies, for workshops offered by the staff and this year’s Leader-In-Training cohort. I pop my head into bracelet making, watch the basketball crew head off, dribbling down the driveway as they make their way to the court. I start to have a conversation with another staff member when, again, something out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. The lights are on in the building where the dance elective is in session. Through the window, I see the group working to master their choreography. I can tell by the smiles on faces, that, even though I can’t hear what’s going on, people are having real, analog fun together. I sneak inside, trying to see if I can snap a few photos without being disruptive.
As I approach, I realize what I couldn’t see from the outside – the class isn’t just being supported by our Leaders-in-Training…they ARE teaching it. Full stop. There, in the front of the room, is an LIT who is absolutely crushing the choreography, and getting everyone in the room to do so, too. I try to play it cool in the moment rather than gushing in front of an audience and make a mental note to acknowledge their effort later. I take a few photos, thumbs-up the group, and slip away back to my office. I’m not there but a handful of minutes when a call comes over the radio for me. “Can you come back to film our dance? We’re ready!”
I guess I wasn’t as subtle as I wanted to be – but I guess they didn’t need me to be, either.