This photograph is what it looked like on the trail at sunrise the day prior. Beautiful. Green. 58 degrees. An occasional deer bounding through the woods. Clear skies. I will say that last one again: Clear skies.
I had a solid plan and a backup plan for beginning my summer staff retreat the following day. Plan A was a morning hike together on this friendly trail that was less than two miles long and with no elevation. I had assigned hiking partners determined and even a topic of conversation (your childhood), all as a lead-in to a larger conversation that I intended to convene afterward on how we can better cultivate a sense of belonging among the college students we serve. It was a good plan I believed. The weather promised to be a little hot and sticky since the hike would be a few hours after sunrise, so I even had the foresight to recommend an extra pair of shoes, possibly a towel and some deodorant, maybe a change of clothes if desired. And on the off chance that a rain shower would cancel the hike entirely I had a fun game prepared as Plan B. I thought I had thought of everything.
After I brushed my teeth the next morning and walked out of the bathroom, my wife mentioned, “We just had a rain shower.” That was unexpected. I looked outside, and in the short time I was in the bathroom a pretty good shower had fallen that left the earth nice and wet. I checked Apple Weather on my iPhone again, and there didn’t initially appear to be (any more) rain in the forecast that morning, but when I looked more closely it did say there was a 20% chance of rain during the middle of our scheduled hike. I’m pretty good at math and figured that meant there was an 80% chance of it not raining, so I simply decided to keep an eye on it and continued the work of preparing for the day ahead.
My staff arrived on time in their chosen hiking outfits, and after I had assigned partners and explained the conversation topic, we headed out toward the trail. I noticed a bit of a troubled sky as we started our walk, but nothing serious, so off to the woods we went. My walking partner was Katelynn, and we led the way and began a nice conversation of our respective childhoods, learning more about each other as intended. Occasionally I peeked over my shoulder and noticed that my wonderful colleagues were paired up and deep in conversation, too. At some point it occurred to me that it was not as hot and sticky as I feared, which was a pleasant surprise — I wasn’t even sweating! Maybe I wouldn’t even have to change clothes after the hike!
And then, about two-thirds of the way through the trail, Katelynn and I felt the first rain drop. And then the second. And then the third-fourth-fifth. And then a steady rain shower began pelting us all. I looked over my shoulder again, and my wonderful colleagues were still walking along, sharing with one another, getting wet. I thought, maybe it will be another brief shower? Instead, it started raining harder. It occurred to me that umbrellas might have been a nice suggestion, too. Because I am bald, the rain had no effect on the appearance of my hair, but because I forgot the hat that I meant to wear, it also meant that the rain was pouring down my face with nothing to stop it. I looked back over my shoulder once more, and my kind colleagues were sopping wet but still in conversation, although now I wondered if it concerned what moron had the idea of taking everyone on a hike today.
There was no place to take shelter, so we just kept walking. My staff is incredibly patient and resilient (student affairs folks are quite adaptable by the very nature of our work). We never broke out in a run (what would it have mattered since we were completely soaked anyway?), and we eventually made it to the end completely drenched. Not everyone brought a change of clothes, but I found a bunch of towels and offered a bunch of bathrooms, and before long everyone was ready for the larger conversation that I intended on how to cultivate belonging. Somehow we still had a great conversation, which included someone graciously pointing out that we would remember the hike much better and much longer because of the crazy rain!
A few days later, after repeatedly thinking about the fact that I am an idiot who obviously lacks the capacity to think of everything, another more helpful thought came to mind: Even solid plans can be unreliable when you get outside of your normal way of doing things to try something that you believe is worth doing. The trick, it seems, is not to feel like a failure when you go for it and things go wrong, or not be willing to try it ever again, or let the fear of the unknown keep you from trying things in the first place.
The particular time that we live in has unique dangers and risks. We spend far too much time on screens and need to put them away and get outside much more often. We are accustomed to constant stimulation and need to rediscover the important practice of boredom. We join groups and causes and people in general far less than previous generations — particularly groups and causes and people that are not in our comfort zone — and we desperately need to reverse that trend. We live in a time when civil and human rights are under a particular kind of attack, and we need to put ourselves on the line and stand up for those in need of justice.
Every single one of those things will not be easy to do. And none of them will be comfortable. In fact, resisting the cultural forces all around us to try something out of the proverbial box will require significant risk-taking, and I would estimate that it is at least 20% likely to rain on our parade when we do. But after a good recent soaking, I say that we do it anyway. We’ll dry off, eventually, and I think we will look back and decide that it was worth the trouble.
I elbowed my way through afternoon L.A. traffic to begin a four-hour mountain drive that ended in a surprising thunderstorm and finally some peace and quiet. Early the next morning I drove the few remaining miles to my destination: Manzanar.
Starting to Look Up 