Toubkal: The Final Peak

I watched the tiny lights flicker with each step. Their silhouetted backs getting further and further away. I fought the tears as I watched the rest of my team forge ahead up the mountain toward the peak while I remained doubled over in pain. I couldn't tell what hurt more — not being able to see all my students bright and excited faces having made it to the summit or the cramps in my stomach.

It was a long way back down to the refuge as I fought off illness from the altitude, altitude medication, and possibly, the water. But lying in my bunk trying to ground myself while the room spun, waiting for the others to return, not knowing where they were or what they were doing...that was true spiraling. I struggled to regain control physically and mentally.

How could I come to terms with not making it to the final peak after six months of work?

It took time.

And healing (physically and mentally).

But most importantly, it took a perspective shift — a revelation really. I finally realized that I'd been so caught up in making every lesson, every classroom activity, every hike happen that I hadn't stopped to consider what each one had meant. I considered each one carefully in theory when we first laid out the program, but never evaluated each little success we had along the way.

In that quiet bunk, I finally gave each moment its due and, in doing so, began to see all the accomplishments my students, counterparts, and I had along the way. I began to realize how narrowly focused I was on strictly getting everyone to the top of Mount Toubkal. We set that as the capstone of the program, the final test, so I set that as my pass/fail bar. I put all my worth as a leader in this program in seeing each of my students touch the metal marker at the summit.

It took a large step back (or perhaps setback) for it to hit me that, subconsciously, I was thinking of this as my program. I had it in my head that I needed to get each one of my students to the top. I needed to reach down and pull them up that last stretch.

I was so selfish.

This was never my program. It was always theirs. It was always about them, for them. It was about me helping young people develop the leadership skills to get themselves and each other to the top of Mount Toubkal. Perhaps, the capstone was me letting go and them spreading their wings. The "final test" became one not of physical endurance, but of leadership, teamwork, and faith.

It took a long time, but I came to terms with not summiting with the rest of my team. They succeeded on their own with the help of our official guides and my counterparts. Every one of them made it to the top, all it took was me getting out of the way. As each one walked through the door, I saw the sheer exhaustion, and joy, on each of their faces. They had done it. They learned, they grew, and they accomplished a huge feat.

In that moment, I knew we all succeeded.