A True Story about Legacy, the Alps, and a Pair of Sneakers

I didn’t expect to meet my childhood hero in hiking clothes.

And I definitely didn’t expect her to be wearing mine.

But life—especially the kind that winds through mountains and meaning—rarely shows up the way you plan.

It started in fourth grade.

The assignment: “Write about someone you admire.”

While other kids picked athletes or celebrities, I chose Dr. Jane Goodall. She wasn’t loud. She didn’t storm into nature demanding answers. She sat still. She watched.

She listened—and changed the world.

At the time, I didn’t fully understand what a legacy was. But I knew I wanted one like hers.

By fifth and sixth grade, I was a CARE kid—part of a school program for Conservation, Awareness, and Responsibility for Energy. We organized recycling drives, taught younger students about environmental stewardship, and spent our weeks walking trails through the local nature center. That love for the Earth never left me.

Fast-forward to the summer before my junior year of college: I was selected to attend a Young Presidents’ Organization Leadership Conference in Switzerland—two weeks of learning and living alongside students from around the world. My roommate Claudia, from Germany, became a fast friend. We bonded quickly over ideas, dreams, and a shared love of hiking.

And then one morning, word spread: Dr. Jane Goodall was there. She’d be speaking to our group.

My heart practically leapt out of my chest.

Claudia knew how much I admired her and made sure I had the chance to meet her. She walked up to Dr. Goodall and said, “My roommate Amy is a huge fan—would you take a picture with her?” She smiled and said yes.

As we stood together, she mentioned that she didn’t have any sneakers. I don’t remember how it came up, just that I offered her mine. And she accepted.

We walked together to my chalet. On the way, we spoke about the overwhelming beauty of the Alps, the programs she was working on, and some of the places she had been and was going. She didn’t speak much—but when she did, it felt like her words came from a place deeper than language.

Later that day, a group of us headed out on the trail. Dr. Goodall joined, wearing my shoes. She eventually turned back with some of the mentors, and I continued on.

That evening, when I got back to my room, there they were—my sneakers, placed right where I had left them. Claudia smiled and said, “Dr. Goodall brought them back herself.”

No note. No spotlight. Just a quiet act of return.

That’s the kind of leader she is. Not the kind who demands the stage. The kind who walks the earth—softly, powerfully, with reverence.

Dr. Goodall didn’t just study chimpanzees.

She helped the world see them. She showed us they make and use tools, grieve their dead, laugh, hug, and even adopt orphans. She gave them names—not numbers. She saw their personalities, their communities, their emotions.

And she made us realize they’re not so different from us.

But her work didn’t stop in the forest.

In 1977, she founded the Jane Goodall Institute, an organization focused on conservation, animal welfare, and community-centered environmental solutions.

She developed programs like the Lake Tanganyika Catchment Reforestation and Education Project (TACARE) in Tanzania to help villages grow sustainable economies, support education, and protect their local ecosystems.

She became a United Nations Messenger of Peace.

She mapped illegal logging.

She worked with locals to shift from survival-based poaching to forest stewardship.

And she kept showing up, well into her 80s and 90s.

In 1991, she launched Roots & Shoots—a global, youth-led program that empowers kids to create change in their communities through service projects focused on people, animals, and the environment. It now reaches millions of students in over 60 countries.

The goal?

To show kids that they don’t have to wait to grow up to make a difference. They already can.

And honestly, that’s what I felt like all those years ago in CARE. That I could do something. That even as a child, I could protect, teach, lead.

CARE may not exist anymore, but knowing that Roots & Shoots is out there makes me smile. It means that spark lives on. That the next generation has a guide.

In fact, my niece in Boston chose Dr. Goodall for her own fourth-grade “Who I Admire” project. My sister had told her the story of my hike, and I was able to send her the actual photo of me and Dr. Goodall together.

Watching that moment come full circle made my heart smile.

One small act now woven into two lives, two generations, and one big beautiful planet we both care so deeply about.

Legacy isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s just a quiet story passed down, a pair of borrowed shoes, and the hope that we leave the world a little better than we found it.

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