Several years ago, my children’s primary school was fundraising for a new school hall. It was a mammoth undertaking, but fortuitous timing led to a lucky break that enabled the school to reach its goal sooner than anticipated.

At the point when fundraising was being pursued in earnest, a student teacher was teaching at the school. She informed the staff that she had a well-known relative who might be able to assist them in their efforts. She contacted this man, and he confirmed that he would be happy to help. The school was delighted, and plans were drawn up for a huge fundraising function―a sumptuous dinner, followed by an auction of celebrity-donated items. The draw-card for the evening, however, would be the guest speaker―the student teacher’s obliging relative, Sir Edmund Hillary. It was also decided that on the morning following this function, Sir Ed would visit the school and attend a special assembly there, enabling the staff and the children to meet him and thank him for his help.

At that time, I was periodically writing personalised poems, which were being recited and presented to the subjects of the poems, as a ‘gift’ on special occasions (birthdays, weddings, etc.). The news of Ed Hillary’s impending visit to my children’s school sparked an idea, and I promptly set myself a challenge. Firstly, I outlined my idea to the school principal, as it required his permission (and this was readily given). What was my self-imposed challenge? To write a poem about Sir Ed, and recite it to him in person at the special school assembly he would be attending. Why? Firstly, I am goal-driven, and this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do something truly memorable. Secondly, and most importantly, I saw it as a fantastic role-modelling example for my children―seeing their mum demonstrate “I want to do this, I can do this, and I will do this.” I want to instil in them a strong sense of self-belief, and leading by example is an effective way of achieving this.

No goal can be achieved without effort―I had some work to do. I borrowed books from the library and researched this extraordinary New Zealander. Once I had helpful notes to refer to, and a ‘picture’ in my mind, I set about composing the poem. Typically, the ‘birthing process’ for a poem would take a couple of days, and once the ‘baby’ was fully delivered, I’d feel drained, but intensely satisfied. (Unlike actual childbirth, I find the writing equivalent rather addictive….) The school principal was consulted, gave his resounding approval, and then it was just a matter of waiting a few weeks.

When the time came, I was fortunate to be invited to attend the fundraising dinner/auction, as the companion of a philanthropic friend who has great admiration for Sir Ed. It was an amazing, memorable evening, and we both remarked afterwards that we had felt an indefinable ‘something’ in the atmosphere there. We recognised that we had been part of something very special―an experience we’d each carry with us for the rest of our lives.

Seeing Sir Ed speaking at the dinner did make me rather nervous, as the enormity of my situation suddenly hit me. The next morning, I finally faced him, in person. The assembly was held outdoors, and I vividly remember standing on the school field on a sunny day, microphone in hand, surrounded by a large arena of students, teachers, parents and local media representatives. However, I was only aware of three people at that point. Firstly, the man himself, seated only metres in front of me, watching me as I looked directly back at him whilst reciting the poem. As I spoke, my thoughts were also with the two children in the audience who were watching Mum prove to herself, and to them, “I want to do this, I can do this, and I will do this.”

I did do it too, and I did it for them.

Afterwards, I presented Sir Ed with a copy of the poem. As I did so, his wife looked at me with a huge, warm smile, and said with evident delight, “That was amazing.” The memory of that moment, and those words, has stayed with me ever since. It is one of my proudest achievements, secondary only to the births of my actual babies!

I have a copy of my poem, signed by Sir Ed, and some photographs of that day―treasured mementoes I will keep, and eventually pass on to my children. The experience itself has left a lasting legacy, and any mention of Sir Ed has had special significance in our household ever since. When the news broke of his death, I phoned my children from work. I also emailed my philanthropic friend whom I accompanied to the dinner/auction. In his reply, he said that attending the fundraiser was, and is, one of the highlights of his life.

The point I want to make is that my friend made that experience happen for himself, just as I set myself a goal, and made it happen. Sir Ed constantly challenged himself, set huge goals, and achieved them. If he wanted something, he made it happen. His death is a huge loss for his family, and for all who have benefited from his lifelong desire to achieve, and to help others. Words are inadequate to describe how grateful I am, that I grabbed at a chance to pay respect, personally, to a Kiwi whom we should all strive to emulate.

As single mothers, we face many Everests, on a daily basis and also long-term. We can scale them, if we believe in ourselves, and by doing so, we pass on an invaluable legacy to our children―the conviction, “I can do this, and I will.” Recognise opportunities and grab them. By doing so, you will live a life that is filled with moments of gratitude, not regrets.

Finally, and fittingly, my thought for the month is a quote from Sir Edmund himself:

“It is not the mountains that we conquer, but ourselves.”

Yours single-mindedly,
Julie