Category: Article

As I find myself grinding through the fall semester I ponder where I’m at in my life, how far I’ve come thus far and what my future holds for me. I suppose these are questions typical college students would ask themselves while on their path to earning a degree. Maybe they aren’t, I just suppose they are. 

I’m not what one would consider a “typical” student though.  The label I believe for students like me is, “non-traditional”. I’m 54 years old and I guess that distinguishes me as such. I don’t mind the label at all, in fact, I’ve worn it before. And while I ponder these questions I stop myself and ask a better question instead, “how are the classes I’m taking this semester enriching my current life?”, and in that moment I realize just how much my perspective about college has changed since the last time I attended - yes, as a non-traditional student back then as well. I say “changed” but perhaps a better word to describe would be “evolved” - an evolved perspective because now I bring to class with my life experiences and lessons learned outside of an educational institution.  

Thirty seven years post high school, romping through life, meeting countless challenges along the way; while starting companies, working in corporate America in strategic roles, creating and selling art, raising a child as a single parent and moving to several states has provided me with a Swiss Army knife filled with proven processes, life hack skills, fortitude and the knowledge one only gains by rolling up their sleeves and figuring sh*t out. I’m a great example of  “learn by doing”. 

To say I did this all without any formal education would be a lie, however, the truth is, I never finished earning my college degree. I can almost hear the *gasps* as I type these words. I know they’re out there because I’ve shared this with some of my closest friends and each time I did, I received the exact same response…first the hand-covered-mouth *GASP*, then the question - ”how did you ever get a job?”  “Sheeeeesh, I really don’t know” I would say, with a slight giggle, but I’m super excited to finally finish my degree now. And so I am again studying for midterm exams.

With all my life experience do I value a college education? Absolutely! Will I finish my degree? Absolutely! However my education today means something entirely different than it did when I first returned to school many... okay, many, many, many years ago. Back then it was just about racking up the credit hours and maintaining a 4.0. Now it’s about adding to what I’ve already learned with the deliberate intention of enriching my life.

I’m a different student now. Not only do I bring something to the table for myself, I’m able to give to others as well. Most of my classmates are barely out of high school and have yet to venture into their first “real” job, meaning one that requires a professional resume. I admire their naivety, wonderment, and ability to instantly become inspired. It renews me. I find myself joyfully sharing my grown-up knowledge and information about technology and processes I’ve learned from being in business. And I’m always more than happy to review someone's project idea and provide feedback because I genuinely want to see them succeed.

Thirty-seven years ago I would have been too wrapped up in my own projects and grades to worry about others.  I didn’t understand the value of giving then, as I do now. 

I guess you can say that my lessons learned in life are now enriching my lessons learned in class and hopefully those around me as well. I find this to be an interesting twist.  I know the overall benefits of returning to school at my age - they are numerous. Learning today keeps me relevant. And if that’s all I got out of it then it would be well worth it. 

I look back on the classes I took so long ago and realize how out-of-date that knowledge is today (I’m just thankful those classes still count towards my degree). It also allows me to interact with young students who are the faces of our future.  I’m learning more about what motivates them, what they are most passionate about and the technologies and media they utilize the most. As a seasoned marketing professional this holds a ton of value for me in the work I’m doing today for my clients.

Yes, I’m quite a different student now. I read the syllabus - mean the whole thing - and my professors don’t need to remind me when assignments are due. I don’t miss deadlines and I always ask questions when I know the answers will help me write a better paper or be a better student. I’ve also learned that staying up until 2 am to cram for a test doesn't serve me well at all, and it’s better to get a full night's rest instead. And when I’m tempted to stress about a grade I gently remind myself that school is not my life, it is an enrichment to my life.

While it can be challenging at times, I like being a student just as much as I like being a professional. I haven’t taken a conventional journey with my education however, I have continuously kept myself in a learning space. A degree is an accomplishment but also a static marker in our lives. It’s not a stopping point, it’s a stepping stone to continue learning, always learning more and staying relevant. There is no question in my mind as to the value a college education adds to my life, however, I cannot discard or deny the value of the education I’ve earned through living my life either.

I’m 54, and I don’t know the exact date in which I will earn my degree (although I know it’s close) but I do know this, I will always be a student, constantly learning and becoming better along the way at whatever I want. Beyond a degree, whether it be in life or in a classroom. I will always be a student.

I didn’t want to turn 30. I didn’t want to be old, and I did not feel like an adult. Yet, this marked the end of my youth. Worst of all, I haven’t made it yet. So I decided to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain on the African continent and the tallest free-standing mountain in the world. Every year about 1000 people are evacuated from the mountain, and approximately 10 to 30 people die. I was going to turn 30 on the roof of Africa or die on my way up, in my twenties. I meant it.
In Tanzania, at the foot of the majestic cone towering above the vast African savanna, I met my Tanzanian guide, Zawadi. The two of us would mostly be alone for the next 8 days. The moment he heard that I was from South Africa his eyes popped and he lowered his voice: “Do you know any Boers?” he asked. I sighed. “Yes...” I paused. “I am a Boer.” I didn’t elaborate because I was tired of defending myself against assumptions based on my heritage. He looked at me strangely, and up we went. 

Zawadi was 35, married with four kids, and was doing a great job at being an adult. He provided for his family by being a mountain guide and he spent his days engulfed by the beauty around us. To me, he had it all and I felt a jab of envy. 

We chatted all day and arrived at the campsite by dusk. There were people from all over the world, Netherlands, Italy, America, and Scotland. I don’t know why I had the expectation that I would be alone. I was a bit bummed about that.

The toilet was a hole in the ground with a U-shaped wooden structure around it. The floor was wooden slats nesting together from the entrance to the hole. It smelled horrific and for some mysterious reason, the floor was always wet. 

At high altitude, you pee a lot. In the middle of the extremely cold winter’s night, my brain refused to let my body out of the warm snuggly sleeping bag. Eventually, through the interrupted sleep, my bladder declared victory and I tackled the cold. Struggling to find the flashlight, gloves, shoes, dealing with a stubborn tent zipper, swearing at the anomalies that tripped me, freezing, disorientated, why are the slats wet, where is my tent again? Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Dawn. 

The porters slept with four to five people in one tent. One morning, I was up early to watch the day arrive. One of the porters crawled out of his tent with a big basin full of liquid. He slumbered over to the toilet and aimed—from outside!—trying to follow the path of the U-shape toilet, to get their nightly bodily fluids around the corners and into the hole. The basin is their make-shift chamber pot. They were not brazing the elements five times a night. Now, I knew why the floor was wet. From that point on, I went in the bush not caring who saw my naked butt.

Five days later, we arrived at base camp and started to prepare for the summit. By this point, breathing has become a bit of an achievement. Many people have turned around and one of the seasoned porters had to be carried down on a stretcher. Altitude sickness does not ask for a resume. I was worried, but giving up was not an option. 

At 11:00 p.m. Zawadi woke me to start the summit. I was cold and tired and not impressed. The aim was to get to the summit for sunrise. It was the most numbing experience I have ever had. The landscape was alien, nothing but darkness, gravel, and random piles of ice and snow. Dark boulders and rocks were aimlessly scattered and showing indifference to my existence. The 8-hour climb was at a varying 35-degree angle in gravel. Google says on winter nights it can be -20 ºF. I wouldn’t know, but the cold came, parked in my bones and put the clamps on my joints. 

At one point there was this very soft-looking flat rock. I went to have a laydown and Zawadi nearly had heart failure. “You have to keep moving,” he said. “No,” I replied. He tried again but I closed my eyes. “I just want to rest for a little bit,” I mumbled. This was a very boring conversation. “You have to get up!” he raised his voice panickedly. “Just 10 minutes please,” I begged while telepathically trying to hit his snooze button. Then softly, in a matter of fact way, his voice reached my brain. “You will die if you don’t get up.” I suddenly thought of all the idiots in the movies that didn’t listen to their friends and died of exposure and hypothermia just because they wanted to sleep for a bit. I don’t like being an idiot. I got up and trudged on. 

After seven hours of slogging gavel, we reached Stella Point at the dawn of my thirties. The rising sun tinted the African plains stretching below the clouds. The continent felt at peace. Then, my water froze as if the thermal insulation wasn’t even there. Zawadi saw my alarm and offered that we could go down. “You will get a certificate that you summited Stella Point,” he said. “Nope,” I stated. “Uhuru Peak is the highest point.” 

We set off, calve deep in snow on the ledge of Africa. I could see the Netherlanders in the distance, but no one else. They either turned around or peaked at Stella Point.

Reaching Uhuru Peak, 19,341 feet above sea level, Zawadi sat me down on the snow and drew a big heart around me with his heel. He sang Happy Birthday in Swahili while he danced around the universal symbol of love and clapped his hands to the rhythm. I cried. I cried because my new friend gave me a very special birthday. I cried because I was exhausted. I cried because I missed the people I loved. I cried because the surroundings ice glaciers were overwhelmingly beautiful. I cried for the porters and guides who have to go through this ordeal bi-weekly to make a living. I cried for myself, my country and my continent. Zawadi knew the ice cap was melting. He grew up in the valley and has done this for many years. He is afraid that when the ice cap is not there anymore the money that feeds his family will disappear with it. He didn’t know why it was happening. Our arguments back home were his reality.

Decent was torture. Same gravel, same 35-degree slope but it was fast and it was hard. Every single step was like somebody took a bat to my toes. Took a bat to my knees. Took a bat to my back. I lost six toenails. Probably half-way down my body collapsed. Memory has its own truth. I remember collapsing into the gravel and it felt like half of my body was engulfed in it. I sat there in complete astonishment: So this is what it feels like to hit 100%. 

I couldn’t dig deep, I couldn’t get my mind right, there was absolutely nothing I could do to make my legs move. “Must I get a stretcher?” Zawadi asked me. “No just give me a minute,” I half-whispered. “I will get a stretcher,” Zawadi now firmly stated. “No! Just give me a minute.”  I looked around. There was only stupid rocks and gravel in any case. As if reading my mind he said: “There are stretchers all over. We carry lots of people back into base camp.” I glared at him: “I will not be carried into base camp in a stretcher.” Zawadi got frustrated. “I will fetch someone to help me. You do not have to be ashamed, we carry men on stretchers into base camp too.” I rolled my eyes and laughed. “I am a Boer, remember. You do not carry a Boer on a stretcher into any camp.”
He gave me my minute. Or what felt like a minute. Somewhere my legs connected to my brain again. As we continued the torture, I asked myself; how much money must someone give to me to turn around and do this again? I tried to come up with an honest answer. Every amount I thought of wasn’t enough. So I asked Zawadi. He through on it for a while, also trying to give an honest answer. “$100,” he said. 

Back at base camp, as I collapsed in my tent, Zawadi stuck his head in wanting to know what I was doing. I just stared at him blankly. What did he mean what was I doing? “We need to leave now. We clear base camp for next group. We walk five hours to next camp,” he explained. “There is no way on God’s green earth that I am getting up,” I said to him very determinedly as I laid my head down. His brain raced, then he sighed. “OK, you can sleep for two hours.” 

True to his word, after two hours he woke me up. We packed up, but we did not walk to an overnight tourist camp, that was now too far away. This “camp” was just a clearing. It was only me, Zawadi, and five Tanzanian porters who didn’t speak a word of English. If you can speak English, you become a guide. If you can’t, then you carry heavy loads up and down the mountain. From inside my tent, I could hear them talking around the fire while they were drinking. More men that I didn’t know joined and drank and got louder as the night went on. I was petrified. I tried to be invisible and didn’t leave my tent. The next morning it was my turn to secretly discard the contents of my make-shift chamber pot.

The next day was bright and the greenery increased with every foot we descended. Now a party of seven, I asked if there was a place nearby to get something to drink. Zawadi changed our direction and after a while, this unsystematic structure built from branches and leaves appeared underneath a tree. Inside it was bigger than expected, and it smelled like dark rich soil, hops, and freshly cut wood. I could feel the eyes of the local people on me. This was not a tourist trap. I got us all a round of beer and we sat down to cheer our weary bodies up. 

I took a sip and looked at the people around me. Here I was, a female Afrikaner Boer, drinking with six Tanzanian men, in the middle of Africa. We were swapping stories and laughing. I was 30.0027 years old. Not only was I still alive, I was living. Zawadi went from being my guide and my lifeline to being my friend. He no longer saw me as an oppressor from the south, but as an ordinary, maybe too stubborn fellow human. There were no more preconceived prejudices on either side. We were just people, being together. 

At the start of this journey, it felt like my life was over. At the end of it, there was the promise of countless new beginnings. I learned that if I’m still able to move a body part, then I am not done yet. I now know that I will make it, and the definition of what that is is my decision, not society’s.

Zawadi in Swahili means “gift”.

On the morning of August 29, in an English Composition class at the Community College of Denver, students were tasked with answering a simple question. 

“What is the most important thing you’ve read.”   

Kevin Bates, a 38-year-old student’s answer was one that stood out. “The beginning of everything” by Andrea Buchanan was his answer. The class would soon understand why his enjoyment was a mixture of empathy and interest. 

On September 10th, 2000, Kevin was in a car accident. He was called lucky for coming out of it with a few broken bones. That was supposed to be the end of it. However, at the end of October 2017, Kevin started to have strong headaches. 

“When I say headaches, that doesn't really explain exactly how it felt,” Kevin said. “It almost felt like somebody opened up my head and put a bunch of fireworks in and closed it back up. That’s what it felt like.” 

At first, they would come and go. He convinced himself that it was nothing. “I thought it was a hangover and I told myself I was getting too old to be drinking,” Kevin said while laughing. When the pain persisted, he thought he was just tired from working all the time and just needed to rest. But, it got to a point where the headaches would get so bad that only laying down could make him feel better. 

It was January 2018, and Kevin was out of work, still experiencing severe migraines that required him to lay down to ease the pain. At this point, he knew something had to be wrong. After talking to his mother, he finally decided to go to a doctor. 

After being sent to a neurologist for some scans, Kevin was sent home because everything looked normal. But everything did not feel normal. 

Walking, standing, and other small tasks became difficult, his balance suffered. Kevin started stacking ER visits, one after another, resulting in the hospital thinking he was just another “junkie looking for pills to get high.” 

On a cold January night, after spending a couple of hours in the waiting room of an ER, Kevin started to lose his patience. When he approached the information desk, he was confronted by a less than helpful receptionist. He asked how much longer before a doctor could see him, her response was “You are just here for a headache, we have people with real problems. We’ll get to you when it’s your turn.” With his headache getting worse, Kevin asked for a bed where he could wait for a doctor. His request was denied, so he decided to lay on the floor of the waiting room. When he was told that he could not do that either, the situation escalated, security was called and escorted him out of the building. That was his last ER visit. 

A couple of weeks after that, Kevin met with a friend who noticed how bad he was doing. His friend was so concerned that he sent a message to Kevin’s mother, Karen. In the message, he explained that after seeing Kevin he thinks something is seriously wrong. “He told my mom: I don’t know if you know what’s going on with Kevin, but I am pretty sure he’s dying,” he said. 

After receiving the troubling message, Karen, who lived in Kansas, decided to fly to Denver with her sister to see her son. “I remember opening the door and seeing them both starting to cry when they saw me,” Kevin said. “At this point, I hadn't been able to eat, do dishes, or clean. If something fell over, that’s where it would stay. The pressure of bending down made it worse.” 

After seeing her son’s condition, Karen decided to take him with her back to Kansas City. 

Once in Kansas, Kevin was taken to the ER where more tests were ran. For one of the tests, he was asked to name as many animals as he could in 30 seconds, he came up with 2 names. He was then subjected to a hand tapping coordination test. The point was to sit with both hands on his lap and alternatively tap the hand still on his lap with the other hand. Kevin failed.  

After more exams, it was concluded that Kevin was suffering from a cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) leak. Another discovery was that he suffered from frontotemporal dementia, which was causing him to be forgetful most of the time. “At first, it was just keys, then it was more important things,” Kevin said. 

Kevin was told that he had the brain capacity of a 99-year-old person. Once again, he was called lucky. This time, for not having a stroke before being diagnosed. The doctors told Karen that had she not brought her son in that day, he probably would have been rushed in for a stroke in the next 36 hours. 

Being diagnosed was a relief for Kevin and his family. That meant effective treatment. Or at least, that’s what they thought. 

The doctors decided the best way to treat him would be epidural blood patches on his spinal cord. After the first blood patch, Kevin felt relieved. However, that only lasted about a day before the headaches were back. 

Back in the hospital, Kevin received a second blood patch, then a third, and a fourth. After getting the fifth blood patch, Kevin felt better for a week, which was a significant improvement  

Thinking everything was better, he decided to come back to Denver. 

On the day of his flight back, he started to feel the headaches come back. Met with disappointment, frustration, and mostly denial, Kevin decided to board his plane and just live with the pain. 

Back in Denver, Kevin’s pain was becoming unbearable. As he made his way to baggage claim, his headache started to get worse. He could no longer walk or stand. In the middle of a crowded terminal, Kevin laid on the floor, until a concerned bystander called an ambulance. 

Even then, he refused to admit his condition to the paramedics. He made them believe he was just having a bad migraine that would go away. He was still taken to the hospital. “I didn’t know what was happening,” Kevin said. “But I wanted to believe I was getting better because I had done all this treatment. I told myself it was just side effects.” 

When he was still experiencing headaches two days later, Kevin realized it was not a side effect. After talking to his mother, they were able to contact his doctor here in Denver, to ask for another blood patch injection. However, Kevin was told that it would have to be the last. The main concern was that making more than six injections to his spine could create some damage to his spinal cord. 

Just like the first five injections, the sixth one did not have permanent effects. The headaches returned. 

At this point, Kevin’s Dementia was getting worst. He went back to Kansas to be surrounded by family. For the most part, he did not remember anything happening. “Lucky for me, the dementia allowed me to not worry about that,”

Kevin said. “I couldn’t remember long enough that they said there was nothing more they could do to fix me.” However, his family will never forget, the good and the bad days. 

Although the hospital sent her son home to die, Karen did not give up. She spent most of her time researching CSF leak and ways to beat it. 

About three months into her research, she found a video about a doctor named Wouter Ingmar Schievink, a neurological surgeon known for his expertise in brain and spinal cord vascular disorders. 

In June 2018, Karen contacted Dr. Wouter’s office and sent them Kevin’s medical records upon his assistant’s request. It was a big relief that she answered her phone a day later, to find that it was Dr. Wouter calling. He told her he knew why the blood patches have not been working, and knew how to repair the damage to her son’s brain. All they had to do was travel to Beverly Hills, California. 

Since his headaches required him to stay horizontal, Kevin would have a hard time sitting for the duration of a flight. Instead, they opted for the train, where he could get some room to lay down during the trip. 

Once in California, they were able to get an appointment for Friday, June 29, 2018. Dr. Wouter believed that the leak in Kevin’s brain had been active for so long that his body developed a way to get rid of the misplaced fluid, his brain was no longer floating. Instead, it was resting on the back of his head, creating the massive headaches. Before the appointment, Kevin and Karen were told that there were only two options: the damage could be on the right side or the left side of his body. To find out, they had to perform a CT scan. 

After getting the first side of his body scanned on Friday, it was with disappointment that Kevin and his mother were sent home.The scan yielded no results, they would have to go back on Monday to get his other side scanned. 

They both knew that this was the last chance for Kevin to get the right treatment. They spent their weekend hopeful but scared. 

“I remember having lunch with my mom and my sister on that Saturday,” Kevin said. “They were having a good time. But I was just watching not saying anything. My mom saw and asked if I was alright. Out of nowhere, l asked am I going to get better.” 

At that time, his pain was so unbearable that even the Dementia did not get Kevin’s mind off what was happening. 

On Monday, July 2nd, Dr. Wouter was able to find the origin of the leak and Kevin was rushed to surgery. He and his mother were incredibly relieved. Although the expected recovery time from his surgery was 36 hours, he started to get certain functions back within 12 hours. 

“Had they not found it, I don't know how much longer I could have held on without looking for other types of exit.” Kevin later admitted. 

During the first two days after surgery, Kevin’s brain was working very hard to get back to where it needed to be. The extra activity caused more headaches and lack of sleep. Five days later, he was doing a lot better and was able to get out of the hospital. 

During his recovery, Kevin thought about his life a lot and one question that kept coming back to him. Had he not made it, what legacy would he have left? This made him rethink several decisions he made in his life. One of them is not going to college. 

Less than a month after his surgery, he decided to enroll in the Community College of Denver. A decision that left his mother shocked, yet, pleased. 

On August 21st, 2018 Kevin sat in a classroom for the first time since graduating from high school in 1999. “I hadn’t been in a school setting for 20 years, I was nervous, but it blew me away how much fun it was,” he said. 

Kevin is currently enrolled in his 3rd semester at CCD, finishing up a degree in business. Although his goal is to work in the sports field, Kevin would also like to raise awareness about what he endured. “The beginning of everything” by Andrea Buchanan helped him realize that knowing other people survived can make a big difference. “It was hard to read but it was almost like I could put my name in there,” He said. 

Kevin is currently toying with the idea of writing his story someday. His goal is that someone in need of support reads it and knows not to give up because it does get better. 

David describes himself as “a very enthusiastic kid”. He loves sports and has a knack for athletics. David especially loved basketball and at his young age, he dreamed of becoming a professional basketball player. 

David recounts his experience saying “one day I was fine the next I was nearly blind with complete vision loss in one of my eyes and 80% vision loss in the other.'' 

He had suffered a severe stroke at the age of 13 and had gone blind and had even lost the ability to speak. He describes this as feeling “subdued” and “frustrating” and even saw it as an incident which stripped him of his identity. 

He could no longer do what he loved and he was confined to the sedentary existence of a hospital bed. It was a rather slow and arduous recovery. David had to relearn English and was kept out of class for months but still, he kept a positive attitude about the whole thing even amidst his ongoing identity crisis. 

Once he had mostly recovered, David went back to school only to find himself “restricted to Special Ed classes” this made him feel alienated from the rest of his peers like he was taken out of the game and put on the bench for an undisclosed amount of time. This feeling only grew larger because while recovering and reintegrating into school, David had started being bullied. Not only for the way he looked but also due to the fact that he was in Special Ed classes. David was consistently met with resistance when he tried to join other kids for basketball games. “Go away lazy eye” they roared in a condescending tone. 

For David, this was middle school. A time of missing identity, loneliness, and frustration.

Eventually, the bullying stopped and David grew less and less frustrated. He was still in Special Ed classes and had just sort of accepted that as his fate. One day, however,  his teacher approached him about exiting remedial classes and David agreed. 

“I was told no a lot of the time and people always believed that I couldn’t do stuff,” He said. David was initially nervous about it but still persevered. 

He got into photography and discovered a more creative side of himself that he never knew about, and he loved that. Showing his more creative side was not the only thing David was involved in at this stage of his life. He was also apart of a nonprofit organization called the Epilepsy Foundation of Colorado (EFCO).  

This organization specializes in giving kids with epilepsy a space to really be who they are while introducing them to others like themselves. David first went to the EFCO as a camper shortly after his surgery. “I thought I was the only one in the world living with epilepsy and then I went to this camp and everyone around me had it and I felt like I wasn’t so alone in the world anymore,” He fondly said, remembering his time at the camp. 

David went back as a camper for a few more years until he aged out and became a camp counselor. As a camp counselor at the EFCO, he sought out to mentor the campers. He could empathize with them on a deeper emotional level because he had actually been in their shoes before. As a result, he provided a lot of support and became a role model for many young campers.

 David cites the EFCO as an important time of growth in his life. “It’s how I regained my identity… through public speaking at EFCO fundraisers with crowds of 600 to 800 people I was able to help others and heal my lost identity,” he said. 

 David has been going to CCD since 2011 and has loved every second of it. Despite all of the roadblocks that were placed in front of him, he maintains a level of infectious optimism that I for one admire. 

I know others who, given the same circumstances would have responded with anger and frustration and would have remained in a pessimistic state. It is easy to respond to a life-changing event with negative emotions, it is much more difficult to reach a place of acceptance and compassion. David is proof of that compassion. It is easy to live like you’re the center of the universe, especially in our individualistic cultural climate but this way of living stifles our growth both as a culture and as individuals. Reaching a place of understanding with others is work, but positive work worth doing. 

We’re all stumbling through a vast network of people all figuring out what to do, where to go, and how to do it. Amidst all that chaos, we sometimes forget some details and distort our perceptions. We do not consider or empathize with strangers as much as we should and when faced with a difficult obstacle like David, we tend to think of ourselves and perpetuate our apathetic behavior rather than accept that we are fallible and move forward in a healthy way. 

Behavior is learned but it is also chosen we choose how to act by choosing apathy over empathy we feed the never-ending cycle of anger, hate, and toxicity. By breaking this cycle we are called back to reality, realizing that everyone has a story that deserves to be told. 

John Koenig sums up this concept in more concise terms.Sonder: The realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own – populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, and inherited craziness – an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk. – The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, John Koenig

I don’t view myself as a very athletic person. I don’t see exercise as very exciting; I don’t focus on my diet; I don’t hit the gym with my friends to gain muscle. I do, however, think of myself as a person who loves being outdoors and someone who can be very passionate about things out of nowhere. One such thing would be mountain biking. 

I came to Denver a little over 2 years ago for school. I wanted to start a new life after high school. This past January, my parents followed me west. They had been moving around our native New jersey for a little over a year and finally relocated to Colorado, a dream come true. My dad has always been athletic, from lacrosse in college, to running and mountain biking, as well as CrossFit to stay active. He exercises 5 days a week. My stepmom has always been a runner, boasting races that crossed multiple state lines in a week. I have never been much more than a kid who went to school, hung out with my buddies, and liked video games. 

Colorado changed something in me though. When I came out west, I was immediately in awe of the beautiful mountains the state so proudly boasts. I’ve been snowboarding for over a decade. However, snowboarding in Colorado for the first time made me want to be better at it, and conquer these mountains for all they’re worth. I started to spend more time outdoors, and it taught me some wonderful things. 

The best thing that I’ve gotten from my outdoor adventures is a better relationship with my father, through mountain biking. It wouldn’t have happened without the culture and opportunities that Colorado and the Rockies have to offer. My dad has been mountain biking for over 30 years now, and he’s seen cutting edge technology come and go for many reasons. He’s always been a very hands-on person, and mechanic work is in his blood. He’s always taking things apart to see how they work, just to rebuild them. This was something I had always envied in him. He was always my go-to for mechanical questions when I just couldn’t figure things out.

Because of mountain biking, I’ve found a love for bike repair. Over time, I have come to know many things about bike repair and diagnostics. The main reason why I came to appreciate this skill so much is because it gives me more reasons to spend time with my dad. In our basement bike shop, we’ve spent hours working on our rigs, preparing them for our next battle with the Colorful Colorado trails. We found something we have in common, that’s not just a hobby but a passion, and we developed a strong bond over it. My dad had a similar relationship with his dad when he was younger. They would work on cars at the gas station that my grandfather owned before his passing. This connection lead my dad to own a car repair shop and got him started as a mechanic early in his life. 

I feel a very special connection when I work on a bike with my dad. He shares his knowledge and experience in the same way his dad did with him. He enjoys being able to teach me and I love being able to learn from him. These moments in our basement bike shop are moments I would not have without moving to Colorado, and I couldn't be more thankful for what I’ve gained since moving here.

With my dad, I’ve traveled the state and a bit into bordering ones in search of thrill, making out bond even stronger. There are always injuries expected and a day isn’t done unless we’ve fully pushed our body beyond belief, but every ride is followed with smiles and good memories. I’ve learned a lot about control while going over 20 miles per hour over rock gardens on a steep and narrow trail with switchbacks lurking everywhere. I’ve watched my dad sent himself off of things that I wouldn’t want to do even if I knew it was safe. I’ve seen him take mean falls that put him out for a few days. Through all of the emotional onslaught that mountain biking brings, I can always count on him to cheer me on.

Although we have had many hardships in our family and he’s had to make some giant sacrifices for me, when we’re on the trail none of that exists. The past isn’t something on our minds; if it was, we’d fly off a trail and into a valley. The only thing we have time to think about is ripping, and rip we do. 

Neither of us is in any way competition ranked or really even capable of placing on a podium for a local race. But, the feeling we get on the trails make us believe we are. I’ve never really been much of an athlete, but I can recognize when a little bit of a workout is worth the memories that are associated with it. 

I’m not lazy enough to pass on spending time with my dad and create new adventures. Especially knowing we might not have much longer, as we might end up moving again or my dad might just not have the time. 

Experiences like the ones I’ve had on the mountains are the reasons why I love this state and that I’m happy that my life has brought me here.

My heart was beating so fast. I could not believe I was standing in front of my favorite artwork, “The Starry Night” 1989, Vincent Van Gogh. 

One goal I had as a teen was going to New York City and explore the city. When I turned twenty-one, I made a lot of changes in my life, like being active and working out, being healthy and caring for myself. One of the biggest changes I made was cutting my hair. All through high school, I let my hair grow and it was down to my knee, little by little throughout the years I would trim it. In the summer of 2018 however, I cut it down mid-back. I felt like a new person. A powerful woman that could do anything, and following my dream of going to New York was on top of my list. Therefore I booked my ticket for August. 

As the day got closer, I was both excited and nervous to fly out to a new place. My close friends that have been there would scare me saying it was dangerous and I should pay attention to everything I was doing. I know they meant it as a reminder, and I always try to be careful and safe. 

I like traveling and small details that come with it; following directions at airports, drinking coffee before my flight, and of course getting lost and confused. However, getting to my gate was smooth and surprisingly I was not sitting by annoying people. Throughout my flight I slept and woke up within fifteen minutes of arriving. Once at the J. F. K. Terminal, I felt lost. The first thing to do was to get my MetroCard reloaded. I had one because my brother gave me his. I put money in the card and managed to get myself where the subway is at. I did not mind waiting for the train to arrive because I was trying to focus on what was going on and getting on the right line. When my train arrived, it was exactly the way I expected it to be: crowded.

 I do not remember the stop where I got off, but it was seven in the morning a rainy Thursday. The city was still quiet and small business were getting ready to open. I looked for my hotel and hurry to check-in. I stayed 5 minutes from Times Square, which I thought was a good deal for the nights I would spend there. 

Later that morning, I explored Central Park and was in awe of the beautiful scenery. When all the walking made me hungry, I decided to browse around for something good to eat. I settled on breakfast near a fountain, where a yoga class ran its course. At this time in the day, there was a lot of things happening. I heard sirens, people chatting, cars honking, birds chirping. I took the moment in. 

My next stop was the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA). It felt surreal seeing all the Art I’ve seen in many art books and talked about in classes. Having them right in front of me was amazing. The colors are vibrant, and the sizes of some of the artworks surprise me. I had no idea how large or small, in some cases, they really were. I began to analyze and meditate on how the artists felt while making the pieces of art, the struggles of being misunderstood during a specific art movement, and the frustrations and statements the,y as artists, wanted the public to see. 

After being in the art museum I headed back to the hotel. During my quite long walk,  I marked interesting places to check out during the night. Back in my room, I took a nap then, shower and headed out for some late-night exploring. 

I walked down Fifth Avenue and saw the Flatiron Building. After checking out a few other places, I decided to head back to the hotel as it was getting late. Not up for the walk, I hopped on a train. 

The next morning, the first thing I heard was cars honking and ambulances. My first stop of the day was the World’s Trade Center, then walk down Broadway and Fulton street. I did some shopping here and there and ended up walking to Brooklyn’s Bridge and taking the subway back. 

I got off from the train and without knowing a direction I kept walking. I stumble across a pink wall that capture my sight and for my luck, it was a juice and coffee shop called “Joe and the Juice”.  I thought it looked aesthetic and went in. The day was hot, and my hands were tired from carrying heavy bags most of the morning. “Joe and the Juice” was just what I needed to take a break. They made the best juice I ever had.

Being in a big city made me feel concern for myself. I was having fun and making mistakes of getting lost, not knowing what was going on. This adventure gave me a lot to think about, concerning my life. As I started to walk to the hotel, I noticed the different styles and colors and felt like I belonged. 

My last day in New York I felt nostalgic. I decided on one last adventure before heading to the airport. Wearing 3-inch platform heels,  and did not consider it a bad idea at the moment, I head to see my ultimate favorite fashion designer store. 

After about 4 hours of walking, my legs were non-existing. Heading back to the hotel to gather my belongings for the trip back home, I really start to regret my shoe decision.

 Transportation to the airport was not heavy and got there with plenty of time. Waiting for my flight to depart, I felt like my heart was breaking. I fall in love with places a lot more than I do anything else. I did not want to go back home. 

Bright and determined Reydesel Salvidrez was on the point of despair eight years ago when he realized he couldn’t continue his studies or go to college being an undocumented student.

Rey, as his friends call him, came to the United States from Chihuahua, Mexico with his parents and siblings at the age of ten in the early 2000’s. 

After graduating from Denver East High School in 2011, he wanted to study criminal justice at the Metropolitan State University (MSU) Denver, but he was not eligible for in-state tuition, and his family could not afford to pay the full tuition. At the time, his father was a construction foreman, and his mother was a housekeeping manager. Eventually, Rey was forced to drop out and work alongside his father. He was deeply depressed about giving up his dream of getting an education.

Distressed, he thought of ending his life. Rey was only 19. But, the thoughts of the consequences it would have on his younger siblings, two brothers Luis, 16,  and Rafael, 11, and sister Jennifer, 9, altered his momentary negative decision and gave him strength. At that moment, his new purpose was to always be there for them. 

Not ready to call it quits yet, Rey and his mother decided to talk to the guidance counselor at Denver East High School about his options. He essentially just shrugged his shoulders because, for undocumented students wishing to attend college, options were very limited. 

Extremely sad, but determined not to give up, Rey kept himself busy helping his father at his construction job. Until 2012, when vision changed after the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrival (DACA) program was announced, giving him the right to live and work in the United State. However, by that time, Rey was no longer set on becoming a detective. He decided to pursue a career that would allow him to help other students never feel trapped the way he did.  

When President Obama announced the DACA program Rey was able to apply for his paperwork. It took him almost six months to get organized.

DACA protects undocumented people from deportation and allows them to work in the United States. Because this new program, Rey was able to obtain a driver’s license and an employment authorization card, renewable every two years. 

When he had all his papers in order, Rey decided to talk to an advisor at MSU. He was advised to start at the Community College of Denver (CCD), then transfer to MSU, as it would be more affordable. 

 According to Rey, attending the Community College of Denver in the fall of 2012 was the biggest blessing he could have asked for. It was hard in the beginning because undocumented students have to pay out of state tuition, But, with low tuition and scholarships, he managed to step into his education dream.

                   Rey recalled that he didn’t have an answer as a child when people asked what he wanted to be when he grew up. His initial dream was to become a police officer or a detective – but even back then, he knew his immigration status meant that this dream would most likely be impossible to reach. 

“I had been brought to Denver from Mexico by my parents and in those days undocumented immigrants couldn’t even get Colorado driver’s licenses, leave alone jobs in law enforcement.”

While Rey was working hard to excel in school and stay on top of his tuition payments,  in 2013 a new Colorado law made it possible for him to qualify for in-state tuition. The bill is known as the Advancing Students for a Stronger Economy Tomorrow (ASSET) bill. This lightened Rey’s financial burden and allowed him to complete his program at the Community College of Denver and eventually transfer to the University of Colorado Denver.

Rey who grew up in a mixed-status family said the support system he received at CCD helped him build his confidence made him feel less isolated.

“One of the things I love about CCD is the community atmosphere and the feeling of family they gave me. They believed in me. I never had that kind of support growing up,” said Rey.“Being in that atmosphere and surrounded by people who believed in me gave me hope. I started enjoying being in CCD and not doubting myself.” 

        Another great thing at CCD which further boosted his success story is the Urban Male Initiative (UMI)  program, which gave him a mentor to support him up to his graduation. Rey is full of praise for the UMI program at CCD. This program helped him immensely. It assisted him to recognize unique challenges through mentoring and connected him with valuable resources teaching him networking skills. It was his foundation for leadership development. He began to step out of the shadows. felt safe to share his story. He finally felt free and relieved as CCD opened many doors for him. 

Rey also co-founded the Dreamers United at CCD a student organization to support undocumented students along with few other students in similar conditions as him. The organization has seen a huge success in CCD.

 “I want to give back. I want to learn the history of indigenous people so I can help them too,” Rey said. For him, it felt great to inspire other students, both immigrants, and American-born, and show them that they can go to college and achieve whatever they want.

After a while, United Leaders in Higher Education (ULHE) became the new name for “Dreamers United”. Rey explained that the term Dreamers United was no longer used because it did not represent the immigrant youth appropriately. “We changed this to leaders as that who we are. We are committed to redefining higher education here in our home state of Colorado,” he said.

     ULHE is committed to educate, unite and empower students. It strives to support student leaders across campuses to create attainable pathways beyond higher education. The three focal points of this organization are: raising funds, networking, and terminology to empower immigrant youth and make college more accessible to them, as immigrant youth face some of the toughest paths in higher education.

Rey graduated from the University of Colorado Denver earlier this year with a degree in communications and ethnic studies. He is currently the vice-president of United Leaders in Higher Education (ULHE). 

Although he holds a new diploma, his future is anything but certain. He is deeply worried that President Trump’s decision to end DACA will throw his life into chaos all over again and he may run the risk of being deported. He prays and hopes that Congress would vote “yes” on the Dream and Promise Act, which would give Dreamers a chance to stay in the country they love.

For Rey, the next goal is to earn a master’s degree in education and work as a school counselor helping underserved students. He positively believes the state of Colorado needs passionate educators like him and that there is a huge demand for teacher jobs that remain unfilled in the state.

Now with many awards under his belt including the CCD President Service Award which he received as a student leader, Rey is determined to help steer other undocumented students to progress. 

Working in higher education and working with students is Rey’s passion and main focus. “I know the importance of giving students good role models and a dose of encouragement because that’s what I desperately needed when I was younger,” said Rey.

 While Rey’s short term goal is to work in the education field, his long term goal is to be involved in politics and even run for mayor in Denver, one day. He knows that the changes he wants to see will only happen with hard work from state and community leaders, and he believes joining the group of people making all the decisions will bring him many steps closer to achieving all his goals.