When I first saw "Survivor" last spring, a haunting feeling washed over me. It was eerie. The island on which those 16 castaways were foraging for food and shelter looked strangely familiar. The names and faces at the tribal councils were unknown to me, but as I watched them interact with each other, I was convinced I had been there before.
Was it a dream? Or a memory? In the recesses of my mind, I saw myself eagerly arriving in a new and unexplored location with a group of people who were convinced they had what it took to achieve what others thought unthinkable. We were all in this unthinkable thing together.
At first it was euphoric. Almost like a honeymoon. How grateful I was to arrive in this beautiful sanctuary, unlike any place I had ever seen. Against incredible odds I'd survived the process of being selected. The powers-that-be had chosen me.
I was ready to prove I could stand up against the challenges that were sure to come. Discomfort and deprivation and disagreements. Sleepless ...1