Dear Diary — I mean, Mirror,
How do you know when a risk is worth taking? One of my government classes has spent the past few weeks pondering this question. Our discussions about probabilities and gambles have forced me to reflect on my life, and a weekend trip to the Scottish Highlands in October of 2023 keeps coming to mind.
If you take away one thing from this Editor’s Note, let it be this: Do not wear white high-top Vans on a hike after a Scottish rainstorm. It was a damp day in Glencoe, and our tour guide had promised us a “brief hillwalk” up to the Lost Valley, located between the Three Sisters mountains. He hadn’t, however, told us we’d be hiking before we got on the bus that morning, though it wouldn’t have mattered either way. It wasn’t like I had packed a pair of hiking boots for the weekend.
The subsequent two hours were some of the most harrowing I’ve ever experienced outdoors — and I’ve hiked the Fifty. My classmates and I lacked cell phone service, food, water and appropriate hiking gear. At one point, we had to climb a seemingly vertical surface, clutching the spindly roots that stuck out of the ground so we didn’t fall off the side of a cliff into the ravine below. Of course, there were no guardrails, and, unsurprisingly, my shoes had zero traction. When we finally stumbled upon the Lost Valley, we joked that our next challenge should be hiking the Pemi Loop — about 32 miles in the White Mountains — wearing dress shoes.
Flash forward to last Monday, when I went skating at Lake Morey in Fairlee, Vt., with three of my friends. Like the aforementioned Highlands path, the skating trail around the lake does not have guardrails. With nothing to hold onto, I was nervous about breaking a wrist, chipping a tooth or falling victim to any number of other miserable fates, so one of my friends found a trash can for me to push. As the children of Vermont skated in circles around me, I wondered whether I had become too risk-averse since starting college.
During my last semester of high school, I became a pole vaulter for our track team, despite having no prior experience. The ensuing weeks found me with purple and green bruises on my inner elbows from smashing into the crossbar, and I occasionally finished close to last place at our meets. Despite these frankly embarrassing performances, I kept showing up to practice, and I slowly became able to clear higher heights.
At Dartmouth, taking a comparable risk feels much scarier, and I think it’s because I lack, in this case, metaphorical guardrails. If I had broken a bone while pole vaulting, my parents and hometown doctors would have been there to help me. Here, if something bad happens — like this weekend, when all of the scary dashboard lights turned on in my car at once — resolving the problem rests largely on my shoulders.
I’ve also realized it’s almost easier for me to take a risk when I don’t know the potential consequences. Expecting a leisurely walk, I happily accompanied my classmates on our in-hindsight-unsafe hike; the first few times pole vaulting were less nerve-wracking than my vaults after I learned how it felt to hit the crossbar at top speed.
I’ve always been a cautious person, and this reflection has hardly convinced me to rush headlong into all risky situations. But for my remaining months at Dartmouth, I think it’s time to expand my tolerance for risk. Rather than focusing only on the worst-case-scenario, I should open myself up to more of the potential benefits. After all, I eventually learned how to pole vault, we made it to the Lost Valley and I left the trash can behind and skated the last few meters of Lake Morey unharmed. And if nothing else, at least the gambles that don’t pay off often make good fodder for these Editor’s Notes.
This week in Mirror, our writers highlight some of the Upper Valley’s more unique winter activities. One writer spotlights the College’s ice and fly fishing classes, while another talks to wild skating aficionados. A third writer takes a sleigh ride at Billings Farm & Museum, experiencing the farm’s community along the way.
If the Week 4 doldrums have gotten you down, never fear. Mirror is here to brighten your day. And if you find yourself near the Lost Valley — or staring down whatever the “lost valley” is in your own life — heed my advice. Sometimes, a gamble might not be the worst thing in the world. See you next week.
