Making Change One Student at a Time

I taught the Financial Management and Fundraising class for the second time at the University of Denver's Graduate School of Social Work this month. It was an "intensive" version of the class. What is normally 33 hours of instruction over 11 weeks was crammed into 24 hours on two Fridays and two Saturdays. Oh, and did I mention that I adopted new textbooks?

After researching new developments in the field, reading the textbooks, redoing my lecture notes and lesson plans in their entirety, and planning the class exercises and handouts, I was ready. I didn't really know what to expect, though, and I was dubious about teaching the course in this format. I wasn't sure how much the students could really absorb in such a short amount of time. They'd have to learn a new language. I'd have to build their skills in reading and interpreting financial statementes, creating budgets, and evaluating development marketing collateral. It was a tall order.

We outdid ourselves. The students were committed, energetic, and smart. I chose the right things to focus on and the right way to teach them. I saw their confidence grow. I got goosebumps at least a dozen times--that's what happens when I'm 100% in the moment and making a connection with the students. I fell in love with teaching all over again. It was amazing.

I'll be grading assignments for the next three weeks, and I can't wait to see how they apply what they learned to the nonprofit organizations they're interested in. I am empowering them to make change, and I am honored to have the opportunity.

My Fan Club

I have a little ritual when I go on an interview. I picture my friends, family, and supporters sitting around me. They don't speak. They just sit quietly and read the newspaper or calmly watch the proceedings. Once in a while, one of them catches my eye and smiles at me or gives an approving nod.

It's my fan club--they're only in my imagination when I'm in an interview, but they're very solid in real life. And boy howdy, am I grateful for them.

For years, some members of the club have proudly and loudly proclaimed that they'd vote for me for president of the United States if I ran. The first time someone said that to me, I was more than a little surprised. Me? The president? That's when I realized I have what they call moxie. Personality. Verve. Spirit. Courage. Know-how. Energy. Initiative. And all of that translates into the ability to inspire, lead, and push the envelope.

I know that I will put my moxie to use in a nonprofit organization again. The universe is, for now, teaching me humility and patience. I thought I had learned those lessons, but I am happy and willing to be a student once more. As long as I have my fan club by my side.

Reflections on Communing with Nature

Bug spray on top of sweat on top of dirt on top of sunscreen on top of sweat on top of bug spray—a modern girl surviving in the forest

There is absolutely nothing like the constant sound of a babbling brook to set your mind at ease.

When I was a kid, I climbed huge boulders on the sides of mountains and threw rocks in streams to see how deep they were. I still do that.

It takes a few days of being away from civilization for the mind to quiet itself.

We have some things to learn from dogs, like when to lie on the dirt and take naps in the sun.

In the mountains, you must be prepared for fifty degrees of temperature change in one day. In July. No kidding. Really.

“Three-season tent” really means “You’re going to freeze, so you better have a really good sleeping bag and a hat.”

Flexibility and balance come in handy when putting on your long underwear while standing on the tops of your shoes.

Wildflowers are the best, most beautiful flowers of all.

Impressions from a Forest

“Is it sad to camp in a grove of dead trees?” I ask.

“No,” he says, and he means it.

We think we see a specimen of the dreaded pine beetle, the one that’s done the dastardly deed. Whatever it is, it flies with its legs hanging straight down like one of those spacecraft on My Favorite Martian. Its antennae are a little bit longer than its body—creepy--and they remind me of curved, serrated knives. A whole lot of weird in a small package.

One lands on the table next to me. I slide my pen tip up under its head to see what it will do. I don’t really want to share the table with it, but I don’t want to hurt it either. I am in its space after all. Nothing happens. I slide the pen out. I think. It waits. I wait.

I slide the pen back over to its side of the table and gently touch one of its front legs. OK, that did it. It leaves, but it doesn’t just fly away like any other self-respecting bug. It takes a few slow steps toward the edge of the table and then lifts its wings and launches itself in the air, flying in its awkward, slow way over to the next little stand of almost-dead trees.

I guess we know who’s king of this jungle.