Personal Narrative-Home Outward Bound School

Never having been on my own before it was not surprising that I shook with fear when I was left alone at the Asheville Airport in North Carolina. I was in 8th grade and having said my good-byes to my family, I struggled into the airport with my luggage, completely alone.

With my right hand holding my North Carolina Outward Bound School identification card and my luggage hunched over my shoulder, I made my way through the airport to find the greeting area. I was met by two boys who I befriended, Chandler and Colin.

After chatting for a couple minutes I was relieved to find out that Colin was just as, perhaps more, nervous than I was. Colin was a blonde haired boy with big scruffy looking glasses that took up half his face. I would learn Colin was the stereotypical nerd who kept to himself and never spoke unless spoken to, muttering his one word, sometimes two word, answers before retreating back to himself. Chandler on the other hand was outgoing and persistent. He was knowledgeable and showed it, any

opportunity to express his ability and intelligence was taken with pride.
Once we met the instructors, we addressed the introduction and formalities of the trip before unpacking our luggage and stuffing it into massive mountain backpacks.

As the sun ducked under the horizon and clouds turned from a pleasant gray to a nasty coal black, we pulled our backpacks on and wobbled over to the vans. The drive lasted an hour or two before we made to the base of the Blue Ridge mountains.

It would not be long before it was dark and we had to scramble to find a suitable position where we would set up our tents for the night. A light drizzle started as raindrops plopped from above, adding to the acoustics of the forest before we found a campsite and began to set up. Colin and I struggled to tie knots we had just learned under an hour ago, meanwhile Chandler, who had split away, was halfway done with his tent. Unable to withstand the remote possibility of having to sleep during a thunderstorm without a tent, Colin abandons me and joins

Chandler.
I, alone, would fuss around with the string and tarp, tweaking the lengths and loosening the knots for about an hour until I gave up, or came close to it. Little light remained and I angled a flashlight on the ground, becoming scared and aware of the consequences should I fail. Throughout this, Chandler would ask me if I wanted his help, each time met with the same “I can do this on my own” reply. I soon realize my stubbornness prevents me from accepting help but at the same time keeps me engaged as I get drenched, failing time and time again. My hands shake and shiver in the cold, and with one last struggle I slip the string through the hole and tighten it, praying it will hold.
And it does.
My heart races and I jump for joy, celebrating wildly. This celebration is shared only by myself, however, as everybody else is in their tent, unamused by my seemingly insignificant achievement.
The first night was met with thunderous booming and jagged lines of lightning illuminating the sky. There is nothing more terrifying than sitting in a tent made up tarp, string and sticks, as the sky explodes with thunder and rains like hell. I remember that night clearly, the sense of accomplishment still very real. College, no doubt, will have it’s thunderstorms and lightning. The tent appearing again and again, more challenging than the last until it seems to reach the brink impossibility, only to surprise us once we attempt it and succeed. I realize now the victory was not that I had built a tent, but rather I triumphed in the face of failure and uncertainty.