CAMP WILDLING

Every summer as a tween and teen, I attended 4-H camp. I was a camper and then in my teens, I was a counselor. Camp was always set for the hottest month of the summer. Usually we were nowhere near water and cabins were not air conditioned. The food was basic cafeteria camp food and the shower situation was iffy. Despite all the sunburns and bug bites and general discomforts of camp, I always had the most fun. There were water balloon wars, prank battles, and sneaking out after curfew shenanigans. We sang silly songs around the campfire and we formed bonds with our bunk mates that seemed like forever bonds. Everyone cried at closing ceremonies because we did not want the fun to end, we did not want to leave these new friendships.

This was Camp Wildling.

For those of you wanting to know what adult summer camp looks like, it looks just like the above except with a swimming pool full of floating devices and a package of yoga and meditation wrapped in a self care ribbon. We floated in the pool. We did yogad. We crafted. We star gazed. We bonded. We laughed (I thought Kelly was going to choke on her veggie burger) so hard and we cried so much. We saw each other. We heard each other’s stories. And it was FUCKING AMAZING. At closing ceremonies, we went around the circle and shared what we got from camp and almost every single one of us started with “I didn’t know what I was getting into when I signed up for this.” None of us knew what to expect from camp, but almost every single one of us ended with “this was so much more than I could have expected.” And the gratitude for what each camper experienced was immeasurable.

I came back to work on Monday, still drunk from the Kool-aid that was summer camp and fell right into a bucket of freezing cold water. Re-entry to life was a breathtaking shock to my system and when I peeked over to Facebook, I noticed that I was not the only camper struggling with a return to this life. I think it is because all of us at camp shed the mask of ourselves that we wear for the general public. Camp allowed us the freedom to be our true authentic selves. We each brought an extra bag of grief, strain and worry with us and we each took turns to help carry each other’s extra bag so that we could have moments without so much of the weight, the heaviness that comes with grief. I don’t know about the others, but I found that when I tried to replace that old general public mask, it no longer fit quite right. Even though I know how right it feels to be my true authentic self, it also feels a little bit scary and a lot vulnerable. Though, I’m not scared or vulnerable enough to stop this version of me that has emerged from this camp.

I came back from camp a more confident Cindy.

These next two days are going to be a blur of work and packing. We leave Wednesday early early to head out west. I promise to return from those adventures with some stories to share.