Illustration by Erin Crowell
Louis DiPaolo ’15 changed his life’s path at Geneseo. The courage it took to do so continues to shape his future.
By Louis DiPaolo ’15
As I traversed the switchbacks of Mount Whitney, I could feel the air getting thinner as I ascended. The cold mountain wind challenged my balance at each turn, stinging my face with every gust and, sexiest of all, causing my nose to run like a faucet. The voice in my head alternated between two different mantras. The first one was “Keep going, you can do this!” and the other was “You should turn around, what are you doing?” Perhaps, looking back, the mantra I should have listened to was “Pack extra tissues,” but I digress.
It was June 2022, and my boyfriend and I were 60 days into what ended up being a 144-day epic thru-hike of the Pacific Crest Trail, commonly referred to as the PCT—and it was Mount Whitney day. Since Mount Whitney is technically considered a detour on the PCT, we’d had a lot of discussion about whether we should spend a whole day completing a side quest. When you’re backpacking, an extra day means using more energy and dipping into your scarce food supply. Do I climb the mountain, or do I continue along the PCT, admiring the peak from afar? Mount Whitney stands at a whopping 14,505 feet, so I knew it would be an arduous task.
I took a deep breath and remembered that I had decided to hike the PCT to find out what I was made of, so what was another mountain to climb?
Two months earlier, I had stepped away from the hustle and bustle of New York City and my dream career in Broadway casting and set off to hike the PCT because I felt burnt out and spiritually lost. I had my dream job, so why was my inner voice telling me that I needed to leave? And why did I want to listen? I wasn’t sure, so I decided to trust my gut and leave everything I knew to chase this bucket list dream of mine.
The first time I really felt spiritually lost was during my freshman year at Geneseo. I entered my first year as an elementary and special education major, intending to launch myself into a life of notebooks, lesson plans, and shaping young minds. I grew up spending my summers assisting in my aunt’s special education classrooms and knew from those experiences that I had the right temperament and attitude. It felt natural and logical, as if all signs were pointing me in that direction.
About halfway through my first semester, I felt something shift. At first, I chalked it up to classic first-year blues, but I began to think that despite having all the right experience, teaching wasn’t the direction I wanted my life to take. I spiraled into an existential crisis. Who was I? Was teaching really my dream? Is my gut trying to tell me something?
Another passion I had been nurturing since high school was singing to me loudly,making it harder to ignore: musical theatre. I found myself at a crossroads between following the teaching path I felt was laid out for me and the path that I wanted to make for myself.
The teaching path looked easy, like a flat meadow filled with daisies and butterflies. The path to musical theater looked like a harrowing mountain covered in snow. Cue existential crisis number two. Could I really make a career for myself on Broadway? Was I being reckless? Would my family be disappointed in me for chasing this dream instead of choosing the career that seemingly fit like a glove?
I chose to climb the mountain and face the unknown. As I navigated the rest of my freshman year, I had my first dose of “Keep going, you can do this!” and “You should turn around, what are you doing?”
That decision was the first time I would climb a mountain. Of course, a figurative one, with the summit being my successful career casting for Broadway shows. I had no idea that years later, my dream career would have me questioning everything all over again. I feel my risk-taking at Geneseo was my first training day for hiking the PCT 10 years later, trading my figurative mountains for real mountains and my Manhattan apartment for a little yellow tent.
It’s hard to describe the elation you feel after you accomplish an enormous task like summiting a mountain, but it instantly erases all the aches in your body and the doubts you have of yourself. (Though if we’re being candid, I wish it helped keep the snot in my nose.) The “Keep going, you’ve got this” mantra won out on Mount Whitney.
I felt literally and figuratively on top of the world. I felt that my whole life had culminated inthat very moment because the universe gave me one more reward. I happened to summit at the same time as a former contestant from my favorite show, Survivor. I have been a Survivor fan since the show first aired in 2000, so at first, I thought I was hallucinating as a side effect of the thinner air. But it wasn’t a hallucination. The Survivor contestant was staring out at the beautiful view, just like I was. It wondered, what was his path here?
I sincerely believe that if I hadn’t chosen to climb that first mountain of changing priorities at Geneseo, I wouldn’t have had the courage to climb the next mountain in my life, or the mountain after that. And I certainly wouldn’t have challenged myself to Mount Whitney or had that serendipitous Survivor encounter.
When I returned home, I felt stronger in every sense. Ironically, though I had just completed the most physically taxing endeavor of my life, I couldn’t have felt more energized and ready to tackle the “real” world. I was fortunate enough to step back into my career, this time with a newfound peace that I could only have found from taking a big risk.
If I could share one message with my freshman self, it would be to climb every mountain and follow your path because you never know what—or in this case, who—is waiting for you at the top.
Louis DiPaolo ’15 lives in Manhattan and is working in his dream job as a casting associate for Broadway shows. He has learned that taking risks pays off and has learned a lot about himself by taking them.