This summer I turned in my electronics and spent a weekend in Northern California playing games and doing cartwheels. It was absurd.
Image courtesy of Dan N. Johnson and Camp Grounded
I never liked summer camp as a kid.
I spent eight weeks at an all-girls sleepaway camp when I was younger, and all I remember is feeling totally overwhelmed by my emotions and fears. At age 24, I decided it was time to replace those anxious memories.
So I went back.
Nestled among the redwoods of Northern California, Camp Grounded is marketed as both a digital detox and as a weekend-long "summer camp for adults," but that doesn't entirely sum up what it is. The food is all vegan- and vegetarian-friendly, the activities are optional, and you get to decide your own bedtime. The weekend is whatever you want it to be. You're asked not to use your real name or mention your age. You're forbidden from talking about "the w-word": work.
This isn't a place for networking. This is a place for pure, unadulterated fun.
Image courtesy of Dan N. Johnson and Camp Grounded
The hardest part of the three-hour ride from San Francisco out to the redwoods is the anxiety that seems to be sitting directly over my stomach. Campers around me rehearse a song to sing when we get into camp, and I worry that I've made a horrible mistake. I don't know any of these people. Who will I hang out with? What if no one likes me? Am I too cynical to truly allow myself to buy into the whole "hippie" ethos?
Hours later, I'm sitting around a fire pit next to my bunk. The camp has taken my phone from me, and my company, usually a sea of computer monitors at my office, has been replaced with a cozy circle of 12 women. I wonder what these women, some older than my mother and some younger than me, will be like; I wonder who will be the loud one, who will become overly eager about all the group activities, and who will be the quiet rebel. I have a feeling the last will be me, as it usually is.
Our introduction games end in laughter, and everyone opens up like we've known each other for weeks. When we discuss our intentions for the weekend, many of the women mention wanting to recover from the constant time crunch of their lives. Some say they feel like they've lost track of who they are because their jobs are so overwhelming. A few feel as though they don't have any space to truly be themselves. Right then, I realize how much these people need this weekend. I decide immediately that I want to honor their space to feel what they want and need. Even if I don't end up feeling anything at all.
"This is going to be one of the best weekends of your life," Fidget, the "camp director," tells us. My eyes roll to the back of my head. Part of what makes camp so fun when you're a kid is that you're unaware of how great things are. You don't experience things with a lens of nostalgia. But as an adult, you become so aware of living in your own memory; and I find myself frustrated with the idea that they would possibly be manufacturing memories for me. Can you create that type of intimacy in such a short time?
Well, Camp Grounded sure as hell tried.
Hunnybear, the leader of camp morale, starts us off with the most intense game of rock-paper-scissors I've ever seen. Everyone plays with one person, then each loser becomes the cheerleader as their opponent goes head-to-head with someone else. Whoever wins that round wins the followers and the ability to continue to play. It's amazing how quickly people get into it. Screams fill the air and everyone chants as the camp splits in two, everyone backing their opponent. This is clearly a group that is going to go all in this weekend. Their energy seeps into my veins.
The whole weekend is filled with these types of seesaw moments. One minute I'm all in, drunk with energy and excited about what is going on around me. Other times I feel like I just don't get it, and I want to pull away from what's happening. Saturday morning is one of those times: I spend the day lying in a hammock by myself and watch people participate in classes and do yoga on the lawn.
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