Emily Galloway: Becoming Worthy on the Road that Built Me
The National Collegiate Landscape Competition is known for bringing together the strongest landscape students in the country — students backed by established programs, industry mentors, and years of preparation. But for me, reaching it meant something different entirely. My university had no landscape program, no industry ties, and no built-in support system. Before I ever stepped onto the competition grounds, I had already spent nearly two years trying to build something from nothing. And in the middle of that long, uncertain climb, one question kept circling back to me: Why are you doing this?
The answer was simple: because I am the 2024 Kevin Kehoe Student Leader of the Year.
Kevin Kehoe was a consultant, entrepreneur, and co-founder of Aspire Software whose influence reshaped the business side of the landscape industry. He spent decades helping companies operate with more discipline, clarity, and courage — the same traits he wrote about in One Hit Wonder. His legacy continues through the National Association of Landscape Professionals Foundation. The award that carries his name recognizes students who embody that mindset: students who take initiative, step into uncertainty, and lead with purpose, no matter what their starting point looks like.
That title isn’t just an award. It’s a responsibility. If I was going to carry his name, I had to live up to the philosophy behind it.
So I started climbing.
For the first year, my world revolved around one goal: proving why this competition matters. The groundwork was slow and unglamorous—researching, pitching ideas, organizing meetings, and trying to convince people that this competition mattered. Before any funding ever appeared, the road threw one of its steepest climbs at me: a massive catch‑22.
I needed a student organization to raise travel funds, but I couldn’t form a student organization without students willing to join—and no one wanted to commit without guaranteed funding. I spent nearly a semester stuck in place, wheels spinning on gravel, trying to solve a problem no one at Lander had ever needed to solve before.
That’s when I returned to Kevin Kehoe’s chapter “Build A Door.” He rewrites the old saying “When one door closes, another opens” into something far more honest: sometimes there is no door. Sometimes you have to build one yourself. And if I was going to carry on Kevin’s legacy, then I needed to lead the way he would—by creating the opportunity instead of waiting for one.
So I started knocking on every door I could find.
A professor sent me to the Dean of the College of Business and Technology. That door collapsed instantly. I regrouped and went to the Vice President of Student Experience and Quality Assurance. That door crumbled too. Running out of options, I went directly to the President of Lander University. For the first time, the road leveled out. The President’s Office sent me to the provost.
Only after all of that—after the catch‑22, after building my own door, after climbing through every level of the university—did the funding conversation finally begin.
It was one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever navigated, but my door held. The Provost asked for a detailed write‑up: what I wanted to accomplish, what it would cost, and how it aligned with my Break‑Away project — the Honors College’s capstone experience that requires students to step beyond the familiar and create something meaningful on their own while utilizing what they have learned from their studies.
Then came the waiting. It felt like being stranded halfway up a steep incline, unsure whether the road would continue or drop out from under me. At the end of the summer in 2025, the news finally came: I had secured funding for one student to attend the 2026 competition—if I could find two more students to travel with me.
Success. My hand‑built door had opened. The road stretched forward again, and I started building the team. Yet even with momentum on my side, the journey was still defined by the grind. The setbacks didn’t disappear; they just changed shape. Whenever the road felt too steep, I found myself returning to a piece of Kevin Kehoe’s advice from Inside Personal Growth Podcast 912:
“Narrow your stuff down to today, right? Because that’s what you can control.”
Some days, the only thing I could control was how fast I walked toward the next task—or where I allowed myself to cry before getting back up. The road was messy, uncomfortable, and absolutely not one I’d wish on anyone. But it was mine.
The road had one more twist.
At Lander, students almost never travel without a faculty member. Yet somehow, both the College of Business and Technology and the university were perfectly comfortable with my teammate and me flying halfway across the country—completely unaccompanied. Suddenly, I was responsible for every travel detail for two upperclassmen. No pressure.
I found myself working side‑by‑side with the College secretary to book everything we needed. Normally, a faculty sponsor handles all of that. To say the situation felt abnormal is an understatement. But as Kehoe writes in his chapter “Showing Up,” quoting Woody Allen, “Eighty percent of life is just showing up.” So that’s what I did. Day after day, I showed up to the red tape, the state policies, the endless questions no one person at Lander had ever needed to answer before.
Walking into class during that time felt surreal. I’d spend my mornings buried in logistics and compliance, then sit in a lecture hall as if nothing in my world were different. In reality, I was living in an in-between space—still a student, but carrying responsibilities that usually belong to faculty. The weight of it followed me everywhere, yet each day I showed up again, determined to see the journey through.
As deadlines closed in and my goal remained unmet, I realized I needed to take a leap. Kehoe’s advice to throw yourself “in the deep end of the pool” echoed in my mind. So I created a moment where I had no choice but to swim. I pushed through every barrier: securing funding, navigating state compliance laws, and escalating the process all the way to the CFO—a level no student had ever reached. Suddenly, my name was known at the highest levels of Lander University. I had to rise to that visibility.
Only after navigating that maze—after the hotel was secured, the registration approved, the rental car advancement processed, and the flights cleared—did everything finally click into place.
Failure was no longer an option. “The Emilys,” our team nickname for the two Emilys competing, was officially on its way to the 50th Annual National Collegiate Landscape Competition.
Looking back, the road to the competition was never straight. It twisted, stalled, and doubled back on itself. But every mile mattered. Every setback sharpened me. Every moment of uncertainty forced me to grow. And when I finally reached the competition, it wasn’t just a destination—it was proof that I could handle whatever the road threw at me, no matter how steep, uncertain, or unpaved.
And that is why I did it.
Because carrying Kevin Kehoe’s name isn’t about perfection or theatrics. It’s about grit. It’s about showing up when it’s uncomfortable, pushing forward when it’s inconvenient, and choosing the harder path because it’s the right one. Kevin wanted a legacy that lived in the way people worked, led, and treated others. He wanted others not to wait for permission to make something happen.
I wasn’t given his name to be impressive. I was given it because others believed I could live up to it. In the beginning I was not convinced I had earned the ability to carry such a heavy name, but after everything this journey demanded, I know I carried it the way he intended—quietly, steadily, and with the kind of determination that doesn’t need an audience.
And in the end, I proved to myself that I was worthy of the name I carried.
Oh, and — one more thing. While I was there, I had the rare privilege of watching the 2026 Kevin Kehoe Student Leader of the Year be named. The winner was a friend from Auburn University, and I congratulated him knowing I was the only person in a room of thousands who truly understood what that honor feels like. Sharing that moment with someone else who carries it too felt like the road had come full circle. Wearing Kevin Kehoe’s name for life is more than an award; it’s a responsibility, a reminder, and a bond.
Emily is a Business major at Lander University graduating in May 2026. She completed her Break-Away project in March 2026 after two years of development and implementation. After Lander, she plans to pursue graduate school on her path toward becoming a Business Professor.