At the age of fourteen, I would have been able to show you how to do many things: dance the choreography to a silly song, make the best Italian soda, or even how to become ruthlessly good at Mario Kart Wii. But showing you how to handle being entrusted with a stranger’s three-year old child, teach it how to ski, and look like you know what you’re doing? Yeah, that sounds like a recipe for disaster, was the first thought that I had when I learned my mother had signed me up for the Alpental Leadership Program in Snoqualmie, Washington; a leadership course where I would be given the great responsibility of teaching a child how to ski and, ideally, learn how to become a proficient ski-instructor in the process. Immediately I was plagued with mixed feelings of inadequacy and fear of being relied on as a leader, as well as excitement to embark on a new adventure that would challenge me. And challenge me it did. However, despite its tremendous twists, turns, and downright failures, I emerged from the situation with the realization that a true leader is not necessarily someone with all the right skills and experience, but someone who possesses a certain quality of far greater significance.
When the first day of class arrived and I reached out to open the door of the instructor’s tent, I was flooded with nostalgia of the time I too was about four years old taking ski lessons in the same exact building. I remembered how the shy and overly-cautious me would refuse to look in the teacher’s eyes, rarely speak, and only use a snow-plow shape when going down the slope as other children raced past me. Perhaps that’s when it started, I thought. Perhaps I’ve always been less capable than others my age. Knocking the snow off the bottom of the my boots, I lumbered into the room which was full of the same children who used to pass me in ski-school, but all grown up.
I was introduced to my student soon after I arrived. Her name was Rowan. Even as I tried to act mature and collected, I felt guilty towards her parents: They certainly can’t be thinking that I am actually cut-out to teach their child, I thought. After all, I have no experience and everyone is fall more qualified. After introductions, the supervisors briefed us on how exactly how we were to safely handle the children: by letting the students hold onto a small handle as we skied backwards and to always grab them by the back of their vests when getting on or off the lift. I never knew a three-year old could be so heavy until I was on the slope holding out a pvc-pipe handle with Rowan, who discovered that she could simply free-load, limply holding on to it. “Try to hold yourself up, okay?” I said, trying to conceal how tired I was. Okay, this is good. I’m handling this alright, I noted. I might not as bad as I thought. However, as focused as I was on teaching her how to have good posture, I didn’t pay attention to where I was headed. In a somewhat comical moment of realization, I found ourselves in descending towards the parking lot! I realized we had somehow drifted off the slope onto a sub-trail and would have to hike back up in order to return to the slope. I heard the lunch bell ring in the distance. Great, I thought. It’s going to take forever to hike back up this hill and getting back late is not going to put me in a good light. Now if going uphill on skis wasn’t already exhausting enough, I soon found myself struggling to push Rowan, who was not nearly strong enough to push herself, up the entire trail and back to the slope. I sure hope my supervisors aren’t seeing this. They must think I’m a total idiot who doesn’t remember the way down the bunny hill, I thought in my fatigue and frustration. The following days brought new troubles for me to endure as a new instructor: wiping out in the powder while skiing backwards, falling at the magic carpet and causing it to emergency stop, and having Rowan consistently crying for her mother (which I meekly solved by whipping out a bag of candy and saying, “Want a gummy bear?”). Although nothing about my view of myself as an incompetent person and leader had changed, nothing terrible had happened because of it either. I was satisfied with the idea of simply surviving the program and promptly returning to my life as a person who was, perhaps, meant to stay out of the way.
About 1 month into the program, I had become fairly used to to the routine of loading Rowan on and off the chair lift safely. Therefore, one day, as we were riding the lift, I felt a spark of pride for what I had actually managed to accomplish. In contrast to my prior fears of the program, my inadequacy as an instructor had not caused any terrible accidents after all this time. Taking a deep breath, I relaxed my legs and watched my skis swing high above the ground. When it was time to hop off, I casually grabbed the back of Rowan’s vest and prepared to dismount when - fa-thud! My low hanging skis had caught in the snow on the platform and I immediately fell face down. Then - klunk! The chair I had been riding on suddenly hit the back of my head. Struggling to regain to my balance, I become terror-stricken as I realized I was alone. Looking behind me, there was Rowan sliding backwards, belly-first, and screaming towards the edge of the platform. My heart literally skipped a beat as I knew there was nothing I could do in time to save her. Moments later my supervisors, who happened to be sitting in the chair behind me, both started to yell at me as I stood helpless in shock. “Rebecca! Are you listening to me?” They said. “Get a hold of yourself! You need to do go down there and help right now. Just go down there right now!”
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry…” was the only phrase I was able to bring myself to say. Words cannot describe how I lousy and crushed I felt as a leader, or even as a person, in the moment I thought I had legitimately sent my three-year student off the edge of a cliff. If she’s seriously hurt, what am I going to tell her parents? I thought. Am I going to be humiliated by becoming the first person to be kicked out of the program because of my mistake? You will never be a leader and you cannot do ANYTHING correctly. I walked over to the edge of the platform and was relieved to find that Rowan had been caught by a safety net below. But this discovery barely numbed the pain of feeling purely humiliated for letting her fall, as I could barely look into my supervisors’ eyes. I retrieved Rowan from the safety net and proceeded to ski away, putting down my dark-tinted goggles to hide my tears. I led her down the slope as quickly as possible so that I could make it back to base before my supervisors, in case they decided to announce what had happened.
At the end of the day, I nervously awaited Rowan’s parents to pick her up. I worried if they had been told what happened and if they would request for a different instructor. Alas, her parents arrived, not upset, but smiling and cheerful. They greeted us with a wave and thanked me warmly for teaching their daughter. “Of course,” I answered hesitantly. “It was no problem.” Then they left, and the room became quiet again. Honestly, I never found out if Rowan’s parents were told about what happened on the lift, but in that moment, I realized that looking pitiful and being unforgiving to myself would not be beneficial in either situation.
As I went home, it occurred to me that all the issues I faced during the program were not issues having to do with me, but issues that could occur to anyone in the process of learning. It was not in the moment I had the best skiing ability or the least aptitude to mess up, but at the moment I humbled myself to the fact that failure is absolutely necessary to learn and improvement is a process that never ceases. Having an attitude that is self-forgiving and always prepared to make changes in times I fall short is what ultimately has made me an truly proactive, eloquent, and inspirational leader.
Uh…posting essays like this isn’t really a good idea if you don’t want your ideas used by someone else. In addition, colleges check to see if your essays have been plagiarized so this may come up…
This essay is FIFTEEN HUNDRED WORDS LONG.
How do I delete this off the website? I don’t want people to think I plagiarized
You got whacked down and your supervisors were yelling at you to do something rather than acting themselves? And then. you appear not to be concerned whether the parents ever knew? I’m not sure this essay (which, as #1 accurately points out, should not be posted in this way) actually portrays either you or the program in a good light.
crud how in the world do i take this off the internet?? worst decision ever -.- PS to AboutTheSame: lol yeah i know. well it is what it is btw, they couldn’t do anything to help because they were also on a chair. not like they could just jump out or anything
A moderator can lock it, but I’m not sure if they ever remove them. Life lesson.
Do you think it’s still worth it to enter the essay now that it’s up or should I just toss it?
You have a record here to refute any plagiarism issues. Save the link. Create a tiny URL if you know how.