Dear Friends of Boundless:
Someone needed to be in the city last week to prepare a group of really nervous young women and soothe their nerves before their upcoming adventure at Boundless. My colleagues reached deep into the dregs of their canoe barrels and pulled me out—decades past my prime—to get the job done.
The idea for the trip is to have the young women earn a credit; but really, the goals for this group are loftier: to build a support structure, reduce isolation, and create the conditions for resilience.
I figure you could be a mosquito on the windowsill and hear this awkward tale. Your donations fund these gals, so please make their acquaintance.
I arrived at a school in a quaint downtown Toronto neighbourhood where the aroma of shawarma blended exquisitely with the scent of spring, and encountered ten diffident girls sitting around rectangular tables in a drab classroom. Some were shrunken in shyness, while others were braced for battle. Two teachers/social workers stood behind me, outside of the rectangle, content to let me run the show.
There was a clear alpha personality who outshined the others. Upon seeing me, she quickly donned her headphones—the monstrous, noise-cancelling kind. She was flanked by her two deputies. The three were chatting away. The decibels of their gossip peaked at the exact moment I started addressing the group.
To my immediate left was an older teen, clutching her tummy, who interrupted my intro by asking what happens if she gets a panic attack on the river. “Can I call my mom?”
An angel sat to my right. I’m guessing a newcomer from East Africa, who was nearly frantic with worry because she’d failed a swim test and thought she wouldn’t be allowed to come.
The three energies converged on me all at once. I wasn’t ready for it.
The others remained largely silent, seemingly accustomed to these interruptions. Shit shows, it seems, are the norm. But not for me. I got flustered. I tried valiantly to stick to a clumsy script, but the focus stayed scattered and the alpha was clearly enjoying it. Then the questions came—in a flood.
“Do I have to share a room with someone I don’t know? I don’t want to come then.”
“Why can’t we have our phones?”
“What’s the deal with no weed or vaping?”
I looked behind me, hoping to engage the two school staff for some form of support, but they looked more entertained than ready to intervene.
I persisted. Yet every time I tried to answer a question, I was drowned by more.
I blurted out, “Sorry to interrupt your interruptions, but I can’t get a word in. I’m not continuing. If the cell phone, weed, or any other policy bugs you, don’t come. Boundless is offering you something beautiful. I won’t be treated with disrespect.”
The Alpha, who finally identified herself as Bree, picked up the pin that dropped and said, “The guy’s right. I’ll listen now.” And then came the pièce de résistance. “I’m sorry,” she said. She took off her headphones.
I quickly responded, “When someone says they’re sorry like that, my heart melts.” On hearing this, her heart melted. The magnetic field of the planet reversed itself. Oxygen flooded back into the room. For everyone.
I realized this group was way too self-focused and ADHD to sit through a presentation. I decided to stick with the Q&A banter. Information flowed, unimpeded.
Immediately after the session, I approached Bree and asked,
“It’s Bree, right?”
“Ya,” she said.
“When I see you at Boundless, may I call you the Breeze?”
Contemplating what was probably a novel interpretation of her moniker, she replied, “That works.”
Later that day, I called Kevin, our ace pitcher for trip-leading (among other things), to give him a heads-up—to talk about Bree, about the group’s anxiety, their feistiness, their reticence. All the polarities.
“Good luck,” I said. “You’re gonna have your hands full. Win them early, and it’ll be the most dynamic trip of the summer. If we fail to earn their respect, it’s gonna be a long five days.”
The trip starts Monday. Wish us luck, dear friends.
Steven
Attached photo is AI-generated
