HOW TO BECOME A LEADER

As a child, I felt called to the Southwest. As a teen, I was selected to attend the Sangre de Cristo Mountains Girl Scout Roundup.

I was privileged to visit Bandelier Mountain beauty, Puye Cliff and Mesa Dwellings, the Santa Clara Pueblo, known as the Kha’p’oo Owinge of the Santa Clara people. In the first days, my heart heals.

We climb among ruins, mesas and kivas. Every pore of my being is satisfied. My eyes wide with vistas, mountain friendship, and ancestral whispers. It is the highlight of my journey.

Our time of beauty goes quickly; thick red rock colors enter my soul. I keep a pottery fragment on my Puja table. I carry a shard in my medicine pouch.

On the last night of our gathering, Girl Scout Executive officers arrive. That day we’re divided into groups of four, with little instruction, to trek the mountain and then return to base camp, sharing our leadership experience.

Nancy and I emerge as group leaders. We watch each other out of the corners of our eyes. Later, we whisper: “Do you know where we’re going?” “Nope, not a clue.” The other girls follow us, oblivious.

Nancy and I provide confidence through humor and encouragement. Five hours later, it’s clear we’re lost. Nancy sees a paved road. We laugh as we hop the fence to reach our destination. Until I spy the bull.

A shrill gasp catches the bull’s attention. Head down, he moves fast. We help each other over the barbed wired fencing, mere seconds from being gored.

In “never say never” leadership, Nancy and I wipe away sweat and blood and stick out our thumbs. We need directions. Ignored, we form a human chain across the road.

Instead of looping back to camp, we discover we’ve missed our trailhead. We came down on the wrong side of the mountain, miles from camp. It’s too late to double back. We ride in our rescuer’s truck bed, heaped with unmentionables. It’s another reason I became vegetarian. http://consultingforpassion.blogspot.com/2014/07/confessions-of-vegetarian-day-i-heard.html

We arrive at camp, bloodied and hungry, our blouses ripped. Worried adults meet us. Realizing we’re not seriously injured, terse voices inform us we have fifteen minutes to put on clean dress attire. Adult leaders cast meaningful glances to Executive Officers; they glower at us.

Dauntless, we hatch a plan. In a huddle, we commit to the outrageous, hoping to not be kicked out. We quickly gather props and costumes. I pull my scout cap over my eyes. My shirt hangs out. Cindy wears her badge sash backwards over pajamas. We pull pockets inside out. We hold bug spray. Girls move away from us as we sit down for vespers.

After witnessing other girls’ somber portrayals, our foursome stands, heads held high, bumbling our way to the head of the campfire. With perfect authority, we parody our story, mocking our leadership. Nancy throws a shoe at a bug. Linda sits, arms crossed, back turned from the audience, refusing to move. We spray her with bug spray, yanking her up. We misquote Girl Scout slogans.

“A Girl Scout never prepares. She makes stuff up as she goes.”

Transformed as actors, we command amusement from girls and officials alike. Nancy and I act out our sham, leading the way, as more laughter erupts. With the “bull” onstage, we push and shove one another, climbing over imaginary barbed wire fencing. We bring the house down.

It’s my best leadership lesson: Situations pending disaster can shift through humor, honesty and engagement. I’m reminded of my last Equine Lesson, only days ago: There are no mistakes. Only learning.

So, Reader, what experience led you to greater authenticity and connection?