Later that same day, after we crossed the treacherous waters hiking to the Tierser Alpl,  I made it to the summit.  I was first to the top and I was met by a cruel wind.  It was lonely and cold, and I found myself wishing I’d slowed down, enjoyed the view, and taken time to have more conversations.  Rather than stopping and waiting, however, for people to catch up, or to simply enjoy the view from the top, I snapped a few photos and I quickly faced into the wind to begin the descent to the Tierser Alpl, the Alpine hiking hut where we would spend the next two nights.  Not only did the wind howl around me, but the snow was hip deep in places from the drifts, and no longer working hard to go uphill, my body wasn’t producing heat the way it had been.  I cursed the wind and the snow and myself for being weak. It was cold and lonely at the top!

My thoughts began to wander and I began to see this sojourn as representative of my life.  I love a good challenge, I love climbing to the top, I love pushing my limits.  I rarely stop to admire the view from the top, to revel in my success, and never do I enjoy the unknown of the descent.  I am always looking for my next mountain to climb.  I have found it is often lonely and isolating at the top.  In my family, I was the first to go to college, and I didn’t just go to any college, I went to Yale, yikes!  Everyone saw me as someone who was perfect, who had it all together, and I couldn’t bear the thought of letting them down.  Going to Yale set me apart and made me different yet again.  When I finished Yale, all my friends from college were going on to law school and med school or starting Ph.D. programs and I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do, so I trained and ran a marathon.  I didn’t wait long before I ran another and another and another, and finally set my sights on qualifying for Boston.

I’m not writing this to brag about my accomplishments, but as I climbed down the mountain in that deep, deep snow, and let my thoughts swirl with the wind, I realized I keep setting myself apart, isolating myself, never stopping to appreciate the journey,  always fighting to recover from my missteps quick enough that no one might notice, never stopping to enjoy the success of achieving my goal, and I never, ever run down the other side of the mountain with reckless abandon, allowing myself to enjoy a little time coasting.  I don’t think I’m alone.  I think many of us fail to be still and to enjoy the journey, to revel in our accomplishments and to call them enough, to call ourselves enough.  Instead, we are always making ourselves busy with the next conquest, striving for the next success.  If we don’t slow down, will we ever take the time to learn the lessons, to appreciate the journey, to savor the view from the top, and to allow ourselves the time and grace to be human?

In September, I had the opportunity to go to the Italian Dolomites to help facilitate the course, Leading with Emotional Intelligence, offered through the Albers School of Business at Seattle University.  As an MBA student at SU, I had taken the course before.  It was quite an honor to return to the Dolomites as a facilitator.  The first time around, due to unfortunate circumstances, the class did not have the opportunity to summit the Schlern.  On this trip, we made it to the top and I learned a few things about myself that resonated for both personal and professional reasons.

This year, as we set out to hike up the mountain, the rain turned to snow and we found ourselves trudging up the mountain paths in less than optimal conditions.  I was leading the group and while I had made this part of the journey before, the snow made the trail nearly invisible.  At one point, we made it to what is normally an area where water flows down the rocks and must be traversed carefully.

The path ahead was completely obscured by the snow.  I remembered this place from my previous trip, but couldn’t remember how we’d crossed and couldn’t see the trail for clues on which direction to go.  I started leading the group up the rocks rather than simply across.  This proved nearly impossible and I was struggling for direction.  I was also frustrated with myself for not knowing the answer, the easy way to help the group.  Finally, one of the students with rock climbing experience made it up the rocks and found the trail was down below. We were able to correct the mistake, but I felt foolish for taking several students up rather than simply across.  I had failed to see the “easy” though obscured way, and instead set out trying to conquer what felt impossible.  Later, these same students thanked me for the adventure, but I could not forgive myself nor could I shake the feeling of failure.

In hindsight, there are lots of lessons in this moment.  We too often fail to see the adventure that comes from taking the harder option. We too often hold ourselves to an unfair standard and even when reassured others didn’t see the fault and can give us grace, we fail to give ourselves the same grace.  Too often, we think we need to get to the top on our own and don’t operate as a team, to simply acknowledge our faults and failures, and express gratitude for the member of the team that saved the day.  In reality, we were all in it together, and each of the students I was leading had nearly the same experience hiking this trail as I did, especially in the snow covered landscape we found ourselves in that day.  In reality, each member of the team should get to have their time in the lime light, their moment of glory.  In reality, our successes aren’t usually our own alone, but rather the compilation of many pieces.  We got to the top together and no one saw me as lesser for stumbling, but rather I became more human that day.  Hopefully that is a lesson that sticks – in my stumbling and vulnerability, I am truly one of the team and that is leadership, too.