We—me and five teen boys—sat around the table overlooking the cloud-kissed mountains of St. Kitts. I told them we could make a list a mile long about all the hard things on this expedition, but I wanted them to focus on something good or easy that they had experienced. As we went around the table, several of these lovable boys named the view of the lush green mountains reaching into the clouds that had served as our backdrop for the past few days. I asked if any of them had tried to take a picture of the view, and they shared that they had, but all the shots looked terrible. I had experienced the same. We talked about holding the snapshot image in our minds as the only way to truly capture the beauty nature painted before us. We couldn’t share it, but we could always hold it within ourselves. Maybe they’ll remember that someday—or maybe they won’t.

It was my turn to share, and each one of the memories included these beautiful humans before me. There was the night we sailed under a waxing full moon in rough seas, and my stomach said, "uh nope," and I lay splayed out on the side of the boat, clipped in for safety, and, well, puking. I quickly nudged Nick and asked him to take the helm, and he said, "I got you," and I knew he did. When I returned, I got a pat on the back from Anthony, offering me much-needed comfort. And then there was a moment the next day when the seasickness lifted, and country music played—much to the dismay of the boys—and there was dancing with Hannah and laughter—so much laughter.

Then, there was the moment after we completed this 4½-day passage that had gone two days longer than anticipated, and I was exhausted, spent, drained. Nick asked me to jump in for a swim, and I did, and I immediately felt refreshed in the salty sea. CJ and Alex joined us, and we laughed in the waves and had a breath-holding contest and a pull-up contest too! And there was a moment I got a little vulnerable and a few tears flowed, and one of the boys stood up and hugged me. Then, there was the time no one wanted to do mental health class, but Greg encouraged everyone else to participate—and they did! And there was the moment when one of the boys got vulnerable, and tears welled in their eyes, and I offered a hug, and two more boys joined in to offer their care and support too. And there was the time Asher asked to talk, and we sat on the catamaran under the stars doing just that.

Then there was the hug from Marcus, the talk with La’mya, the “waaa-kkkkeeerrrs” from Stephen, the funny voices the boys use to say “Whatever it Takes” and “Where the classroom meets the real world,” the letter CJ wrote to the Eleuthera Sailing Foundation, the conversation with Kevin about the future, the time Alex made me a PB&J, the way Justin helped me light the stove, and the time—well, I’ll stop now because the list is endless.

When I reflect on the expedition, this is what I see—beautiful young humans struggling to make sense of their chaotic lives, who show me, over and over again, that they have the capacity for love, care, compassion, kindness, self-reflection, healing, growth, laughter, and joy. They are brave, they are strong, they are survivors of so much grief and trauma—more than one should ever have to bear. And here they are, showing up for me and themselves, over and over again. Each one of them—a bright light capable of creating a life of meaning and purpose for themselves—testing all that is within them on this journey, and proving to themselves they are capable and worthy of all the goodness in the world.

We—me and five teen boys—sat around the table overlooking the cloud-kissed mountains of St. Kitts. I told them we could make a list a mile long about all the hard things on this expedition, but I wanted them to focus on something good or easy that they had experienced. As we went around the table, several of these lovable boys named the view of the lush green mountains reaching into the clouds that had served as our backdrop for the past few days. I asked if any of them had tried to take a picture of the view, and they shared that they had, but all the shots looked terrible. I had experienced the same. We talked about holding the snapshot image in our minds as the only way to truly capture the beauty nature painted before us. We couldn’t share it, but we could always hold it within ourselves. Maybe they’ll remember that someday—or maybe they won’t.

It was my turn to share, and each one of the memories included these beautiful humans before me. There was the night we sailed under a waxing full moon in rough seas, and my stomach said, "uh nope," and I lay splayed out on the side of the boat, clipped in for safety, and, well, puking. I quickly nudged Nick and asked him to take the helm, and he said, "I got you," and I knew he did. When I returned, I got a pat on the back from Anthony, offering me much-needed comfort. And then there was a moment the next day when the seasickness lifted, and country music played—much to the dismay of the boys—and there was dancing with Hannah and laughter—so much laughter.

Then, there was the moment after we completed this 4½-day passage that had gone two days longer than anticipated, and I was exhausted, spent, drained. Nick asked me to jump in for a swim, and I did, and I immediately felt refreshed in the salty sea. CJ and Alex joined us, and we laughed in the waves and had a breath-holding contest and a pull-up contest too! And there was a moment I got a little vulnerable and a few tears flowed, and one of the boys stood up and hugged me. Then, there was the time no one wanted to do mental health class, but Greg encouraged everyone else to participate—and they did! And there was the moment when one of the boys got vulnerable, and tears welled in their eyes, and I offered a hug, and two more boys joined in to offer their care and support too. And there was the time Asher asked to talk, and we sat on the catamaran under the stars doing just that.

Then there was the hug from Marcus, the talk with La’mya, the “waaa-kkkkeeerrrs” from Stephen, the funny voices the boys use to say “Whatever it Takes” and “Where the classroom meets the real world,” the letter CJ wrote to the Eleuthera Sailing Foundation, the conversation with Kevin about the future, the time Alex made me a PB&J, the way Justin helped me light the stove, and the time—well, I’ll stop now because the list is endless.

When I reflect on the expedition, this is what I see—beautiful young humans struggling to make sense of their chaotic lives, who show me, over and over again, that they have the capacity for love, care, compassion, kindness, self-reflection, healing, growth, laughter, and joy. They are brave, they are strong, they are survivors of so much grief and trauma—more than one should ever have to bear. And here they are, showing up for me and themselves, over and over again. Each one of them—a bright light capable of creating a life of meaning and purpose for themselves—testing all that is within them on this journey, and proving to themselves they are capable and worthy of all the goodness in the world.