REFLECTIONS ON EXPERIENCES
As you reflect back on the items you listed in sections IV. A. and B., tell us about particular satisfactions that you have experienced and why they were meaningful to you.

This summer, I had the opportunity to lead a special one-week expedition for girls from inner-city Philadelphia. This pilot program, co-sponsored by the Ellis Foundation, Philadelphia Futures, and Longacre Expeditions, was designed to introduce a group of seventeen girls to the Pennsylvania wilderness. Our schedule was packed with activities, including a mix of adventures (rock climbing, canoeing, backpacking, hiking, and team-building initiatives) with some basic wilderness skills (how to pitch a tent, cook in the woods, get around in the dark, etc.). Upon reflection, both of my two co-leaders and I agreed that this was the most rewarding trip we had ever led. I choose to reflect on this week here, because this is when I realized I was ready to be a teacher. Coming at the tail-end of a whirlwind summer, this expedition served as the capstone of the year’s adventures. In one week, I realized that the joy I found in working with kids was not a singular sensation, but rather a path I wanted to pursue full-time.

The adventure started on the first day when the girls began testing us, like any group does. They are accustomed to an environment where they could not trust anyone, even each other, and we were asking them to trust us—three white, nature-loving, college graduates—as they headed into completely unfamiliar territory: rural Pennsylvania, a place without hip-hop, night-lights, or the comforts of home. Faced with this sometimes exhilarating and sometimes scary prospect, the girls pushed us to find out what we were about, how competent we were, whether we meant what we said, and if we could stand up for ourselves. Unlike other groups I have worked with, this group did not pull its punches. They said what they meant, which was refreshing, but sometimes bruising and frustrating. They complained a lot—complaints were a way many of them expressed fear—but managed to complete every activity in style. They hiked, canoed, learned to deal with bugs and with the dark and never let it get the best of them. I wish you could have seen the girls wandering around our campsite in the evening, organizing dinner crew and tent setup while wearing glamorous PJs, silky slippers, bandannas to keep their braids from getting mussed, and headlamps atop it all—an incongruous but wonderful combination of the cosmopolitan with the practical.

For me, the satisfaction came not because it was easy, but because we pushed each other to be honest and to try new things. In my case, this was not only a leadership challenge, but an opportunity for an eye-opening, cross-cultural experience. I got to be the "minority" for a week. I loved learning about the girls’ culture—adolescent, hip, urban, black, Hispanic, Asian—and being reminded that although there despite differences of experience, expectation, and background, we all have so much in common. I was proud of my ability to help create an environment that encouraged such spirit and fun. I have never laughed so hard, or felt so trusted as I did that week. I was honored to be a part of such an inspiring trip.

Identify a work situation that was difficult and indicate how you attempted to deal with it.

One evening of another Longacre trip this past summer, my group of 12-year-olds was having a tough time settling down for the evening. We had all had a rough day—it was our first day of kayaking—and everyone was tired and edgy. The kids had tucked in, but the chatter continued. Issuing a mildly stern warning, I headed into my tent to sleep. I had just settled in to my sleeping bag, when the gossip began again. I turned to my co-leaders, but they were already asleep. Sighing, and cringing as the noise level rose, I got up. Just as my hand hit the zipper, I heard a "thunk" and a quiet yelp. Oh dear, I thought, this does not sound promising.

One boy, fed up with the teasing, had tossed his half-empty plastic water bottle towards the group in the dark. By some stroke of fate, the bottle had hit another boy in the head, and gashed open his eyebrow. Seeing the blood (those head wounds tend to gush!), I woke my three co-leaders, sent two of them off to the emergency room with the patient, and settled down with the third to deal with the now nearly hysterical offender, a boy named Wright. Wright was appalled with his behavior, distraught that he had caused another injury, and nearly hyperventilating. I sat with him for awhile, soothing him, and eventually he was able to sleep.

When we returned to our tent, my co-leader complimented me on how I had calmed Wright down. He was impressed that I had seemed naturally to know how to stop the hysteria. I confessed that I too was amazed. When I had first realized Wright was not going to rest easily, I had panicked inside and briefly wondered what we would do. Then, from some deep inner reservoir of heretofore untapped insight, I suddenly seemed to know what to do, what to say, to calm our friend. I patted his back, gave him a hug, helped him to concentrate on his breathing, and even used a simple mantra. I am not sure why, but it worked. It felt creative and wonderful to be able to help Wright that way.

The next evening, the entire group sat down for a meeting, as was our usual custom. By agreement, we leaders opened a discussion about teasing and asked the kids to consider the preceding night’s violence. Capturing that discussion is beyond the scope of this essay, but I am proud to say that it was one of the most thoughtful conversations I have ever had the privilege to hear. I was awed to watch these 12-year-olds—who ten days before were uncomfortable sitting still and shy about speaking up about real feelings—really listening to each other. We asked them to deal with the teasing directly, and they did.

In sum, I feel that I dealt with this situation by drawing on my instincts and my experience and by working closely with my co-leaders.

If there is anything you would like to add about yourself, your experiences, or your work that this application has not given you the opportunity to cover, please do so.

As you can see from my resume, I have been in exploratory mode since college. Somewhat of a homebody at heart, I am proud that I have pushed myself to expand my horizons by taking an unconventional path. Graduating from Williams with a religion major, I went off to be a case-writer at Harvard Business School. Many people found this to be an incongruous transition—however for me, it was very natural. I became a religion major because I wanted to study how communities dealt with powerful ideas. HBS is an institution dedicated to a very similar purpose. Working with the HBS faculty who teach leadership, I discovered tremendous parallels between today’s corporations and religious institutions throughout history. In both situations, I learned about how ideas can be effectively (or ineffectively) passed on from generation to generation. The most successful communities and enterprises were able to foster leadership, learning, creativity, and compassion from within.

After two years of academic research, I was ready to get my hands into something less theoretical. I stumbled into a small startup, where I spent six months designing a marketing campaign and learning about entrepreneurial ventures firsthand. While I enjoyed the creative work tremendously, I realized that business was not my calling. I finished the project I had agreed to do, and took time to consider my goals. I dedicated the month of February this year to thinking about what I wanted in life. The month was filled with a lot of productive thinking, but led to no immediate conclusions. Since no lightning bolt had struck, I decided to step off the beaten track. I felt that it was time to have an adventure.

This is the same impulse that had led me to try selling folding bikes, but taken to the next level. I joined a team of women who rode across the country to raise money for breast cancer. Cycling nearly 2,000 miles from Key West, Florida to Minneapolis, Minnesota was an eye-opening experience and whetted my appetite for physical challenge and activities with purpose. When the trip ended, I found myself unexpectedly with the opportunity to work with kids. I have written extensively throughout this application about my experience this summer with Longacre, because it had a profound impact on me. For the first time ever, my work started to demand my full self. My kids and co-leaders challenged me to be honest in a way I had never been before, while also bringing tons of laughter into my days. Suddenly, life itself became my work, which inspired creativity I had never imagined in myself, in my colleagues, and in the kids. The experience left me hungry for more.

I set up a brief internship this fall with a new expeditionary based high school, which quickly fell through. In two short weeks, I had reached the limits of an informal internship. I wanted thoughtful guidance, excellent training, inspired peers, and the ability to work with kids while I figured out how to teach. Basically, I wanted a master’s program, not an internship. So, in mid-October, I collected my thoughts and came down to see Bank Street. You have an incredible program that seems tailor made to my interests. Hence, my application. I look forward to hearing from you.