Against The Odds

Editor-in-chief Kindra Roy reflects on personal and team growth through unforeseen challenges.

By Kindra Roy

My eyes were heavy and my body felt like it was going to collapse. I dropped my bag, which seemed to weigh 50 pounds, and climbed into bed, ready for the day to end. The lights remained off in my room hour after hour, my family occasionally peeking in, only to receive no response. Every couple hours I would wake, a feeling of disgust and unease lingering, an unsettling beating of my heart chasing me back to sleep. My sophomore year passed by like a foggy dream in which I could only watch from the outside.

Each day left me so emotionally exhausted that I slept almost any time I was not at school, often missing meals and hardly conversing with family. I was constantly afraid. Afraid that I was not enough, that I would do something wrong or let someone down. I emphasized perfection to a degree in which I was always left disappointed. Both my mental and physical health were at an all-time low.

I found myself afraid to reach outside the box and challenge myself because if I let others down I would plummet again. I did not believe in my ability to overcome fear, so I avoided anything that might distress me. My unhealthy relationship with stress felt like an obstacle I could not push past.

When it became obvious that my emotional health was in such an uncertain state, I tried anything to return to my true self. I tried multiple anxiety medications, which only seemed to heighten my nerves or further disrupt my sleep schedule. I then quit the medications and turned to therapy, which is one of the best decisions I have ever made. However, therapy was just the first step as I tried to find myself, and my voice.

One of the ways I did that was through the Miller Integrated Nature Experience (MINE). The step to join the program, a combination of journalism and outdoor leadership, meant going out on a limb. For someone who had previously had a toxic relationship with pressure, I put a lot on my plate. However, it was an experience of personal growth like I never could have imagined.

The MINE program is incredibly unique because, while it offers a challenge and replicates real-world models, community building and support are at its core. The program merges experiential learning with outdoor education and journalism. The hands-on style of working as a production team and the bonding that comes with outdoor exploration create meaningful personal connections and a sense of belonging. I found myself in a learning environment different than any I had previously encountered.

My first major experience as part of MINE was a trip to the coast, one of the several adventures taken throughout the year to help team members connect and find roots in the outdoors. Still very new to the group, I was nervous to put myself out there with people all older than me who had worked together for much longer. However, the trip allowed me to be the most vulnerable I have ever been, sharing my emotional struggles. By the end of the trip, I had a support system that allowed me to take a risk and publish my first story, a personal narrative that addressed the tribulations of my childhood and many of the largest imperfections in my life.

The following year, just months after my first story was published, I was voted into the role of editor-in-chief. It was my second big step, taking on all the responsibilities and pressure of leading the program. I had fears about making mistakes, but my perspective had completely changed. I knew that there were people who had my back and that I did not have to be perfect to be good enough. I knew taking on the role would be difficult, but I was ready to take that step. Yet, the year held more challenges than I had ever expected.

----------

On March 17, I closed my overheating laptop with a listless sigh and flopped onto the bed. My email inbox was flooded with messages from teachers, principals, and colleges. The initial school closure due to COVID-19 was just extended. No one knew when or if we would return to school.

It felt like our dreams were down the drain. We had big plans for the year, a 128-page magazine, stories and spreads that surpassed anything before seen from a high school journalism program. Now, my half-written story on extinction felt impossible, almost as impossible as working up the courage to tell my team a global pandemic couldn’t get in our way.

When I first joined MINE, our adviser, Ivan Miller, encouraged me that no challenge was too big. He assured me that I could get through anything. That I already had.

He encouraged me again when I chose to become editor-in-chief. I sat, half propped up on the desk in his office. He looked at me, seriousness in his eyes, but a daring smirk on his face, like he never doubted for a second. “You have to promise me you won’t quit,” he said. I promised.

Fast forward to seven months later, as we, as a nation, waited on the edge of our seats for news of when we could see friends, family, or teachers again. Every news station agreed: COVID-19 was the only thing going on in the world.

Questions arose, from whether face masks really worked to how people were going to pay their bills as businesses closed. MINE journalists, editors, photographers, and designers all had their own questions. But we had one in common: “Can we still do this?”

----------

I, too, was uncertain. I wondered if I really had what it takes to lead. I questioned if I could take the pressure, the extra workload, and the responsibility of making everyone happy. Yet, when I looked around at the team, I knew each person had something to contribute. It was a class of gogetters, of unique talents and determined minds. If anyone could do it, it was us.

When we signed up for this wild ride, there were varying levels of uncertainty. Some questioned if we would live up to the success of previous years, whether it be gathering the funds for giant backpacking trips or turning out professional-level stories. Some wondered if they had signed up for too much work. Some wondered if we were crazy for thinking a class of 27 kids from a low socio-economic school in Springfield, Oregon could really compete on a national level in the world of journalism.

We came into the year as a group of amateur journalists, aside from a handful of us who had written a story or two for last year’s issues. It started with pitching various roles, from editors to designers, photographers and field reporters. We were each directed to follow a passion, or branch out and try something new. Trying something new is exactly what most of us did.

Most students had never even written a 500-word news story. Our design team had to learn Adobe InDesign from scratch. Photographers did their best with the few cameras we had. As a group, we committed to learning from mistakes and bettering our products with each draft.

The process of revision proved effective. First-round stories and designs suddenly blossomed into feature writing and professional-looking spreads. Each assignment went through a process of edits and revision until it was polished, and then it was polished again until it was the best it could be.

When we received our first magazine, Sonder, there was a state of awe at the accomplishment. We pulled off what seemed impossible, but the biggest challenge was still ahead: Backcountry Review.

----------

Because of our roots as a nature and outdoor journalism program, our signature magazine, Backcountry Review, is entirely dedicated to the coverage of outdoor stories. But not just any outdoor stories. We go big. Big art and even bigger profile subjects. We pitch wild adventures and dive into the world of high-level backpackers, rock climbers, and authors. We push the limits of high school journalism. The whole year builds up to creating this magazine, when everything we learn is put to the test. But this year, that challenge was even greater.

Our pitches for Backcountry Review included big-name stories like Rickey Gates, Cooper Teare, and Heather “Anish” Anderson, leading us on the path to tackle indepth reporting. We already had a few mock designs on the board. The team was ready to produce the best issue of Backcountry Review to date. Then, everything we were accustomed to, everything we had planned on, was stripped away.

Our ability to meet and communicate face-to-face was gone in an instant. Access to design programs was left on the computers in the school we were no longer allowed to enter. Interviews and photo shoots were canceled. Most importantly, life for each member of MINE changed drastically.

----------

I laid on the cold hardwood floor of my closet, tears streaming down my face. It was just two days after the extended school closure was announced, and doubt in our ability to produce a magazine seemed to spread like wildfire. Above all, my team was hurting, and I had no power. My worst fear going into this was that I would let them down, and even though it was not my fault, I was crumbling at the thought of them being unhappy.

We wanted to keep going, to prove that we could. Yet, at the same time, designers and reporters were under immense emotional stress. Senior year suddenly ended. We were unsure of our graduation status. We were not going to see most of our peers again. Students were providing child care for siblings all day, or losing energy worrying about their older relatives’ health. Some of the magazine staff was working overtime as essential workers at grocery stores. Everything felt uncertain.

I was torn, trying to be a leader and a friend, trying to make things easier without giving up. Some were ready to throw in the towel given the circumstances, but many of us, including myself, had worked too hard to see it all end. So we decided it wouldn’t.

We had no idea if the work would pay off, but we were willing to try. Upon reading the first-round stories we had completed, there was a moment of epiphany. We could do it.

The hurdle of how to design the magazine remained, but the creative team was not willing to give up either. Over half of our designers chose not to continue, but those who remained committed to taking on more work, drawing out designs on paper until getting access to design technology.

The first design was mocked up. Then another story got added to the mix. Suddenly, there was a feature section. We passed 64 pages, the usual length for Backcountry Review, and more pages were coming in. Designers stepped up again and again, writers made stories longer and deeper. We counted the pages: 96.

----------

Imperfection was something I had feared for years. It was a fear so heavy it weighed me down every day, flaming up and hindering my ability to see the possibility of beauty and growth. MINE took that fear and peeled it back layer by layer, each time showing me I could accomplish more, I could be more than how anxiety defined me. Each challenge became a chance to redefine myself.

This year, MINE had more obstacles than it has ever had before, and with them came growth for each of us. We had to be okay with imperfection more than ever. We looked uncertainty and chaos in the eyes and said, “you can’t stop us.”

The resulting accomplishment proves immense. We will never be perfect, and we do not have to be. Even with our fears and flaws, we can achieve things beyond what we ever imagined.