The Decision to be Happy

My summer at Waycross has come to an end. Things came to a close in a series of ups and downs. We held "staffirmations" (affirmations for staff). It's a big step up from my first year's affirmations. Even from last year's. Over and over people said they looked up to me, or that I was an inspiration to them. It touched my heart. And I realized that my relationship with my peers had everything to do with my change in attitude. After my freshman year, I decided to be happier and healthier. Last summer, due to that, my relationships were stronger. I wasn't as afraid to be vulnerable as I had been before. But I didn't really have it all figured out yet. Honest and kind living was new to me. I'd just come down from a tumultuous time. My heart was in repair. And I certainly won't say that I have it all figured out now. Happiness is a skill that needs tuned. I spent the past year spending time with people who lifted me up, doing things I loved, and getting my head on straight. Once summer hit, I pushed myself even further by developing my vegan lifestyle and by exercising. I firmly believe that my relationships with people this summer had everything to do with my intentional happiness. I don't really believe you can be happy while focused entirely on yourself. It's the most selfish people that are the most unhappy. I don't believe you can be happy if you focus on your conditions. What happens to us has little to do with our happiness--it's our ability to bounce back from those events that define our happiness. Once I began to embrace that, life became more exciting, and I genuinely believe I became a more accessible and better friend.

When we'd finished staffirmations, I ran through the rain, carefully holding my papers to my chest so they wouldn't get wet. The Main House was cold and empty. I wasn't prepared to let down enough to cry, but I sat in silence for a while, reading and re-reading what my friends had written about me. I was so overwhelmed. I talked with James a while then we all moved in scattered groups of two or three to the chapel. In a big circle reminiscent of staff training reflections we began our closing. We were supposed to say something we'd learned and would take home with us. I said my belief that people can change. Alex opened up in the most honest way I'd ever seen from him. Ben cried in front of us. Mallory exposed her hidden insecurities. Heather expressed her fear to leave. I'm not sure that we answered the question we were asked, but I think what was said was needed to be said. I hope everyone left a little lighter.

At dinner, Barb made us a feast. She used her mom's recipes and did most of it by herself. She made me a whole vegan tray full of things that probably cost her too much. The kindness nearly brought me to tears. Then James read aloud a letter from one of my camper's mother. She thanked us because he'd said Waycross was the first place he'd really felt at home since they moved. She said he talked about camp until he fell asleep and that he felt a part of something important. Then I cried. There had just been too much.

After that was bowling in clothes from the costume box and sleeping in the New Cabins... but I prefer to remember our dinner together. A labor of love on Barb's part and a moment of communion for us. And writing this now I'm crying again. I'm going to miss the hell out of those people. "Never to be created in precisely the same way again." I'm scared. I don't know what next year will be for me. I don't know if I'll still be a counselor or if I'll move up. I don't know if Sara will be there or who will be director. I've never felt this sense of insecurity regarding my future. It's never felt so immediate to me. I'm going to be a junior. I'm over half-way done with my college career, and all I can think is that I don't want to ever leave summer camp.

I want to get kids muddy, and hold their hands when they're homesick, and sing Love, Love, Love once a week for the rest of my life. My heart is hurting, but it was time for me to come home. I'm happy to be here. I really am. But a part of me will always mourn my second home--my sanctuary. My Waycross.

Love, love, love, love

 The Gospel in a word is love

 Love thy neighbor

 as thy brother

 love

 love

 love

 love, love, love, love

 the gospel in a word is love

 love thy neighbor

 as thy brother

 love

 love

 love

 love, love, love, love

 the gospel in a word is love

love thy neighbor
as thy brother.
Love, love, love.

Bring us Your Kids: I Believe in Summer Camp

I've had camp on the mind lately. I'm so pumped for the summer. I realized last night as I was falling asleep that I have a whole life to live before I can get sick on those familiar winding roads. I'll have finished the other half of this semester. I'll have sung in my concert and danced in the showcase. I'll have been to Paris and Berlin and back. I pictured myself doing all these things and I felt very alone. At ACA Midstates Conference I heard the term "nature deficit disorder" for the first time. I need to slow down. This is traditionally a really hard time of year for me. As some of you will recall, this time last year this blog was formed. I left behind Tbird's Train with all it's secrecy and darkness because I wanted a fresh start. I think thus far I've done significantly better. But this long winter weighs heavy on my soul. So many good things can happen to me before the summer comes, bringing the energy and community of Waycross with it. But I only see these days as an obstacle. Am I excited for the other things? Of course. I cannot wait to see Berlin again and to visit Paris for the first time. I love performing, and I'm excited for my shows. But... my heart is in a hammock strung between two trees outside a little red cabin. So, what can I do about it? I'm just going to have to tie the two together--camp and life.

When I come back from camp, I try to organize my life to look just like camp. Partly I'm holding on with desperate, sweaty fingers to the life I'm leaving behind, but partly I recognize the logic in a camp lifestyle. My bipolar mind requires structure. I need time for excitement and time for reflection. I need time for bonding and time for introspection. I need to get in touch with nature, and to turn off anything that requires a battery for just a while. I need breath. Simple. In. Out. When I come home from camp, I make myself a schedule as detailed, but not as dynamic and colorful as the ones I make for my campers. I hang my whistle by my door on a hook. I see it every time I enter or exit my room. It serves as a reminder. I am accepted--respected somewhere. And I'll be back soon. I want to recreate camp at school. Of course that isn't possible. Camp is a safe place. Someone got raped in the parking lot I always end up stuck in at 2:00 am on a Thursday night. Right? Camp is its own world. But at that conference I had another thought. Camp isn't a vacation. Camp isn't some trip you go on to get away from everything. In essence, you do, but not in the way we traditionally picture vacation. Camp strips away all the shit of everyday life to really give you the freedom to dig deep. Sure, it's fun. But who says self-discovery can't be fun? And if you dig really, really deep you may pull something to the surface. Maybe that something you find can change you on such a basic level, that when you leave that sacred place, you keep that thing--whatever it is.

We do a really incredible thing at camp. We give kids an opportunity unique to a camp setting in which to find themselves. Kids don't go outside anymore. They're far too entertained by what's inside. They're so overstimulated that they have learned to easily escape themselves. We let them push those things they hate within themselves to the very, very back of their minds. I say bring that shit up. Because there is nothing within a child that can make them unlovable. It's our job to show them that.  We teach kids to love themselves. I hate when people say, "how can other people love you if you don't love yourself?" Well. Fuck you, too. Not everyone has their shit together. Most of us don't. But everyone is worthy of love and compassion. That kid that is struggling the most--they're the one that needs love. For some people it just works the other way around. A kid needs to be loved before they know it's okay to love themselves. I will love the shit out of those kids

I will love the shit out of you.

Anyway. Here comes that wrap-up you've grown to know and love: Camp is a big fucking deal to me. And it should be to you too. Sending your kids to camp shouldn't be a matter of "if," but of "how." In an age of immediate satisfaction, depravity of nature, and real anxiety in children, one week of play, of meditation, and of unconditional love is golden and unseen. Bring us your kids. Because I believe that we can make a difference. I've seen it within myself. I've seen it within my campers. I believe in summer camp.

You've Got Mail and Oatmeal Cream Pies

I haven't blogged in a while. I just started my sophomore year here at ISU, you know. And I had a boyfriend. Had a boyfriend. It's funny how life happens that way. I was so over men, but some little part of my just wanted to belong to someone. And for the first time, I don't really want that at all. I'm about to honey badger all over the penis shit. I had to be hurt this way to see it, though.

I mean. I broke up with Kyle. I lived on that end, and it's shitty. Being Summer sucks. And Drew? I wanted him so, so badly. But I finally came to terms with the reality that he did not want me back--and time nor space would change that. And that broke my heart in one kind of way. It was a consistent throb that I became comfortable with; it began to feel normal. I was okay with the ache. It went from hurtful, to tolerable, to almost enjoyable... but with a little help from Ms. Beasley, I realized for the first time that I was being used. We were using each other really. I think a little more therapy will reveal the roles we played for one another. Who knows. But when I finally got there, I just kind of let go. One day I drove into town on a break, and I didn't text him the whole time. I didn't even think about it. It was kind of an epiphany. I was really over him.

And right now I want to text him so badly.

That's just a sign of how unhealthy that whole business was. And then Jacob. We moved way too quickly. I was a rebound. And some shy part of my brain knew that a long time ago, but I was just so excited that I ignored all of that. I was so happy to have found someone I had so much in common with, who promised to love me despite my crazy, who said nice things, and who bought me flowers... I was so happy that I ignored the shit in my brain warning me to slow down, to read him better before I opened up. But I kept thinking that with time, we'd grow close enough that the speed wouldn't make a difference. It would just end in the same place: a relationship. I thought the road there wouldn't make a difference...

And it's not that I'm so sad about the relationship. No good relationship ends in a breakup, right? But, I've never been broken up with before. It kind of took me off guard. I expected we'd talk it out and keep going... but I sensed what was coming. I didn't want to be drug around. I just yanked it out of his ass. If I'm not mistaken, he'd expected to get drunk and make an ass of himself so I'd do it for him. I sure can pick 'em.

And this is what I said to Shannon earlier while we watched You've Got Mail, ate oatmeal cream pies and pretzels, and drank warm Jones Sodas, I said, "it's not that I have bad taste. I like good guys. I like smart guys. I like really cool guys! I just don't like guys who like me." And she nodded. Because it's true. Jacob isn't a bad guy at all. And even though I'm pretty pissed at him right now, I know that will pass, and it'll be easier to acknowledge that he's not bad. He just didn't really like me that much. I'm glad it was over before I could get any more invested.

So. I know I'm coming across as pretty healthy right now. Maybe I am. But I'm crying as I type this. And I'd been trying to sleep for an hour before I finally decided to write instead. My heart was beating fast, like I'd been running, and I felt a little like punching something, which would not actually make me feel that much better. So I decided on this instead.

Tomorrow I'll go to Waycross. It's brilliant timing. He actually kind of broke up with me by saying that someone else was taking him home. The first thought I had was? Wtf? Did he just break up with me? and then I thought camp it is then, motherfuckers. I'm still pretty overwhelmed. I'm going to try to sleep again anyway. I'll probably have more to say tomorrow.

So as a good night:
"No one will remember you, Joe Fox. And maybe no one will remember me either. But plenty of people remember my mother. And they think she was fine, and that her store was something special. You are nothing but a suit."
Also: Thank you Kelsie Jo, Cydney, Mom, Shannon, and Sara. You all are my saving graces. I don't know what I'd do without you.
<3 Chicks before dicks.

Facebook and Fanny Packs

For sorority recruitment, we all had to deactivate our Facebook pages. Whoah. My whole world feels a little different right now. And I'm really okay with it. I feel a little bit... free? I have to limit my Facebook usage! This feels kind of like camp--like a weight's been lifted from my shoulders.

I ask only that you guys share my posts to Facebook in my absence.

So. Now for the real post.

Katlyn sent me her Vera Bradley fanny pack in the mail today. She is so incredibly generous. You may think it's weird I'm so excited about this. But I think it's one of those camp inside jokes. Except there's not really a joke--it's just something camp people get. BUT IT'S CRAZY EXCITING. I can't wait for an excuse to wear it. I wrote her a thank you card. I've had so much fun with all my letters!

Kisses.

Met an old friend on the street yesterday...

So I freak out, then I remind myself to smile.

I need to keep my head on straight. Making lists makes me feel better. But just being should make me feel happy, you know? But transitions are hard. We all know that. GAHHH. So here's my list. Let's see if it makes me feel better.

• Buy school supplies
• Check to see if school books are posted for any classes
• Sort things to go to school.
• Lunch with Frau :)
• Meet up with Heidi
• Meet up with Sara
• The problem with the above 3 is that Mom doesn't have anything planned for the next week. I have no idea what my expectations are, so I can't tell them any dates. The time will come and go, and I won't get to see them.
•  Get a job
• Follow up on my applications
• Get organized on recruitment stuff--Call Jess
• Sleep

And now to make me feel better:

Anchor my ass!

Sing a song for the good times that still lie ahead.

I had an excellent last two weeks of camp. I found myself in ways I've never before been able to do. I've felt the shaking body of a sobbing girl in my shoulder--truer tears than I've ever been entrusted with; than I've ever been responsible for catching. The tears from the loss of an uncle to the sensitive words of Michael, Oh Michael. Those words have played the strings of campers' and counselors' hearts for years.

"Some folks look back on a lifetime of yesterdays thinking of what might have been, while others they dwell on the thrill of today; they don't care if they lose or they win."

A fourteen year-old boy who has seen hardships I'll never know held my hand and cried. He said to me, "it doesn't matter that I'm going back to camp Sunday... A camp, Sunday... it isn't Waycross. Waycross is different. I'm not ready to go." And holding back my own tears I said, "I'm not ready either. But we've got next summer, and the next, and the next. That's what matters."

I brought Bri to Waycross. On the way home she said, "This has been the best summer of my life." That's it folks. Waycross has the arms to cradle the hearts of the hundreds who have danced to "will the circle be unbroken!" and swayed to "both sides now." It's a warmth we hold; a power we posses. We are One Body. We each make Waycross what it is: a haven for anyone willing to be vulnerable enough for that body to feel the genuineness in their hearts, to accept them and rejoice in their strengths.

I broke Friday night. I cried and cried. I just broke. During serenades I was useless. I didn't want to sing because I had no voice left anyway. But even more than that, I felt that lump in my throat. I knew that if I tried to make noise, my voice would break, and I would cry, and I wouldn't be able to stop. And that's what happened. I just sobbed. I kept thinking, "I'm just not ready. I can't do it yet." Things at home aren't awesome right now. My family is struggling with the loss of a parent, the metaphorical (and alarmingly possible) loss of my brother, and the intensity of my family's work. At Waycross, I was comfortable with my vulnerability to those matters. But I was safe there. At home things kept happening, but camp kept going--camp was still magic. I'm starting to learn that all those things are really all the same. Those little upsets are all the exact same. I can still live in a bubble, reflecting those painful things back to where they came. I can deal with them on my own time. And happiness is nothing more than a deep breath of sanity away.

Met an old friend on the street yesterday, got to talkin' bout days gone by. The summer camp stories we told made us laugh. But a campfire song made us cry.

We lead exciting lives... I think.

So. On Saturday after the campers left, my parents and grandma picked me up. After some time in Nashville, IN, we made our way back to Blueberry Cottage, the legitimate name of the cabin they'd rented out. It was cute enough, but after three weeks sleeping on a cot or on the ground, I was given one of the four couches. Somehow, it was still better though, so I wasn't even ready to start complaining. I also hadn’t slept in air conditioning for a while, and there was some comfort in requesting blankets. Mom spent a lot of time talking about harvesting basil. I spent a lot of time talking about camp; something I've learned will fall on deaf ears. I think we both tuned each other out. No one at home understands Gollywop language and Boogaloo. And I know nothing about gardening. (I need to go water the plants, now that I think about it. Give me a minute…)
Speaking about gardening and growth and such… I took care of a spider for Mom! That’s me, Official badass of the Bush-Markle-Thompson-Webster-Dunahee-Collings family. Need a spider taken care of? Call me and I’ll eat it. I’d drive to Centralia just to eat a spider. My heart swells with pride at the sight of disgusted looks. I’ll eat that spider, but I won’t eat a hamburger. I just realized that. Whatever.
When we settled into Blueberry Cottage, we snuggled into a few of the couches. Jim and Grandma were watching Road House. Jim likes boy movies, and Grandma gets all hot and bothered ‘bout Patrick Swayze. And Mom wouldn’t stop bitching about it. We shot her some looks, because she always gets to watch what she wants. Jim deserves Road House after all the episodes of Project Runway he’s sat through. But Mom kept with the resentful comments like, “I just don’t like all of the senseless violence,” and “this is so predictable… I could write this shit.” That’s her famous line. And I took a long-avoided shower just to escape the nonsense.
When we were all presentable, we tripped our way out the door.  We were all geared up to go to Indianapolis to the Cannoli Queen. Oh, my god it was so good. I suggest you go, especially when you’re having a bad day, because she’s super adorable and hugs your heart with her smile. But just as I got my new ear buds in and started to listen to some Chris Bathgate, there was a whole bunch of honking. Apparently, the car alarm system had been tipped off. It thought we were trying to steal it! I thought the whole thing was hysterical, because when you’re a camp counselor, you learn to laugh at disasters—it makes life a lot nicer thing to live through. And it also kind of reminded me about that scene in Little Miss Sunshine when their car horn keeps going off… that’s my favorite part in the whole movie! It’s such an Irving-esque way to remind you how desperate and ridiculous the whole situation is. But Mom and Grandma started yelling and Jim started shaking his head.
And Grandma was yelling all kinds of panicked orders, and Mom was yelling at her to stop freaking the fuck out… neither got their way. Grandma wanted to call everyone who had ever touched a car in their life, and Mom wanted Grandma to change a major part of her personality… at the ripe age of 72. The two of them were cat fighting. I actually know what that means… because I have cats and they fight. So I’m kind of an expert. And it looked just like that. Mom was saying intentionally hurtful things, and Grandma was taking anxious to a whole new level of irrational. I thought I was going to crawl out of my skin. At least cat fights end quickly. The alarm stopped sounding as we drove, but the blue light by her steering wheel was beating to the time of the music I’d turned up only loud enough to drown out their screeching and hissing. I wanted to smash that little, taunting bulb. It’s a good thing Jim’s the driver.
Meanwhile, empty clouds teased the city with a drop or so. We still have no creek, by the way. L The sound of thunder makes me bitter now. I hear it night after night, and I still live in a creek-free reality. I would growl back at the thunder if I didn’t think the thunder was a honey badger.
I did come out of Nashville with goodies on a way less depressing note! I bought myself some art and earrings from a cute little store called The Purple Fig. And I received Philosophy Body Wash that smells like PINK ICED ANIMAL COOKIES! You wonder, hm? How does this work? And I suggest you take my word for it, because it’s beyond your comprehension. I also got some eye-shadows for every day of the freaking week. Like, they’re titled different days, and the best part is the cute little descriptions that match each color. And then the box they came in. That was pretty cute too. I don’t want to get rid of it. Pencil case perhaps? AND me Mama and Papa got me ear buds with OWLS on them. Try to top the cuteness of that. Just try.
Then I came home and got in a bunch of fights with my parents and cried a bunch. But not before (actually, that’s a figure of speech. We fought before and after) I got to enjoy their new little yummy creation involving home-made pesto, local cheese, and artisan bread. Okay. It has a name. It’s bruschetta. But I’m going to pretend my parents invented it, because somehow that makes it taste better. It tastes like genius.
And because we have really exciting lives, we noted that Baby Kitty had been out for a while and that was worrisome. We wondered if she ate mice out there. We acknowledged that Maybeline is not nearly as glamorous without the fur they shaved off her due to fleas. Grandma brought up a bunch of depressing subjects that we groaned at. “Let’s talk about Darren…” actually Grandma… let’s not. We chatted more about things we found interesting despite the fact the rest of the table didn’t. We at 1111 Vine just like to talk, I think.
Today, Kelsie and I took pictures of ourselves on my webcam. They’re super cute. You can look at them here. Then she left. Then I got a cherry-coke Icee from Burger King with Kyle. We usually go to McDonald’s with Jacob to make fun of Fox News, but somehow without Jacob, it’s just depressing. He’s way better at witty than I am, and I can’t just watch Fox News without getting sick to my stomach. Making light of it is the only way to handle the piles of stupid they feed their viewers. I couldn’t handle that, so I opted for BK.
This post is getting really boring. I’m gonna stop now. I’m sorry if you fell asleep and now you have a bunch of Js and Qs on the Word Document you accidentally opened when your head hit the keyboard. Sorry. But if that didn’t happen… actually I’m still sorry.
Peace

Top 50: You know you're a Waycross counselor when...

year 2

1. you know there's more than one bible.
2. you have a go-to boogaloo.
3. you've done something that could make other people vomit.
4. you know what a Camp Kid is.
5. you know playing guitar is worthy of a pay raise.
6. you seriously wonder if life guarding is worth the pay raise.
7. at the end of meals you feel compelled to put all the silverware in cups.
8. someone wants to make an announcement and you want to sing a song about it.
9. air conditioning is too cold.
10. you sing the mail song on the way to the mailbox.
11. Oreos are directly associated to a certain chaplain.
12. you have eaten a bug or kissed a toad.
13. you own a watch.
14. you know all too well what Barking Spiders are.
15. "Go to bed," is way more than a request: it's a plea of desperation.
16. you are equally terrified of and thankful for cinnamon roll hugs.
17. Waycross eggs are very fine eggs, but Springfield eggs are better.
18. Michael Oh Michael never gets old.
19. makeup and hair are a waste of time.
20. you accept that showers are a privilege not a right.
21. you groan if you hear "OOOOOOHHHH!" before a meal.
22. the thought of The Austrian makes you tired.
23. you know the difference between a creek hike and a rock hike of 2012.
24. when someone says "that's my favorite song," and a little voice in your head says, "it's my favorite song TOO someone!"
25. Rise and Shine makes you want to go back to bed.
26. coffee is a legal addictive stimulant invented solely for our job.
27. burn bans actually affect you.
28. you've made tea from sassafras roots.
29. camouflage is more than a pattern.
30. serenades aren't just singing; they're a spiritual experience.
31. "say what?" "ohhhh."
32. the ability to french braid is more than a talent.
33. having half a beard makes you cool.
34. you can take someone seriously at staff meetings with a uni-brow and creeper mustache drawn on their face.
35. if you have been identified as a character both from the Harry Potter series and from Wet Hot American Summer.
36. donk.
37. you've witnessed an hour long debate over fanny packs.
38. you can describe your day as a sandwich with all the seriousness of an important staff meeting.
39. you can actually recite the contemporary Lord's Prayer.
40. you know the significance of Page 18.
41. seat check means nothing.
42. you are proud of bruises.
43. you put up the Birdman Block when someone says your name.
44. you know better than to leave your stomach or thighs unprotected.
45. you know alternate lyrics to Both Sides Now.
46. you have seen a Gollywop.
47. you accept that getting drenched is never a choice; it's a reality.
48. you throw up your spoons if someone is in danger of falling.
49. you laugh maliciously at the words Romans and Christians.
50. camp is on your mind all year.

war and peace

Man is made of dreams and bones.

Spirit gnome

And it began. First, with staff training; a well-designed method of the development of chemistry where none should have existed before. The frat-rat and the nerd, the queen bee and the philosophy major.

It began with late nights talking to Sara about finding ourselves, liking ourselves, and overcoming the palpable fear that no one will like the person we find ourselves to be. We talked about the validity of feelings, regardless of their origin--one we still haven't settled, I think. But something I didn't think about until the conversation had passed was that I know that despite the issues I've had with my dad in the past, and despite the pain I feel when I watch as my brother self-destructs... despite all of that, I think my most impressive heartache has come from overcoming a very real self-hatred. Internal battles tend to leave us far more broken than those things that happen to us.

Alpaca

 It began with unshaven legs and accepting that no idol is perfect--except Wonder Woman. I learned lessons. I learned that going without a shower for a while can make you feel human in a way that a civilized kind of life denies me. No one smells good all the time. Everyone farts (although apparently not everyone has the weird urge to smell them even when they don't want to). Girls are just as nasty as boys. Mud pits are the great equalizer. Not everyone can sing well, but absolutely everyone can sing. There are few places safe enough to discover all of this.

Sun hats and our Sunday Best

 It began with tears I never thought I'd be capable of shedding in public. But it wasn't really public, I suppose. Reflections: A loud, a soft, and if my day were a sandwich… I cried for fear and helplessness--feelings I'm not as fond of expressing. And I earned myself a cinnamon roll hug. I felt so naked in chapel that night. I'd gotten lost that day. I was still recovering. But that day proved to me twice over how much my camp family is willing to do for me. Even if they can't understand the heartaches I have, and I cannot comprehend theirs, I know they will catch me if I fall, and I would do the same for them. Although, I know there are people with whom I can express my feelings about those things that have happened to me, and there are a different group of people with whom I can share those things I have done to myself. I learned that these people, of both ends, felt legitimate fear when I was gone for an hour and fifteen minutes--I didn't know I'd meant that much. I am vital there--as vital as anyone else. But without any one of us, this summer would suffer for it. We are one body.

Staff 2012 minus the brilliant Nathan Stewart

 It began with the sweet reminder that a single location can hold magic and comfort in hammocks, cots, cabins, and hills; in the International Birdman Society, EpiPens, slack-jaw-dance, and belly slaps hard enough to make you vomit a little in your mouth. In the sound of a cabin-mate's snores and the smell of Waycross cookies, I find comfort I have yet to recreate elsewhere.

Early Arrivals

My first week was a nice one. The ladies in my cabin were wonderful. I laughed a lot. Quotes like "I don't care if I hunger to death, I don't care if I thirst to death, I just care that I have my bunny!" and "I like myself as I am. I don't want to be a tree." still make me snort. And there are moments that tightened my chest and brought tears to my eyes. Confessions of a little girl without a daddy, with whom I couldn't help but relate to, and somehow the sight of Harry Potter books tucked in with teddy bears choked me up. Seven year-olds can teach you a lot about yourself and the world as a greater whole. Experience has taught me much, but age and arrogance has allowed me to forget some of the greater truths in life: that music and story books are significant methods of therapy, that saying what rests on your heart should not deny you any friendships—and if it does, you have chosen poorly, and finally that if you can learn to forgive yourself on a daily basis, then you can learn to forgive others as liberally. Everyone deserves the chance to change themselves.

Canoe Bruise

My second session was with some ten and eleven year-olds with the token 9 and 12 year-old. They really were a great cabin. They made me a birthday gift--a mason jar candle--that I used for reflections with them. I’ll have to post a picture sometime soon. They taught me that bullying exists and that children often lack the experience to see it. I learned that when kids are insecure, they will either make themselves into someone they think people will like, becoming all too comfortable with manipulation, or they will allow themselves to be used. The strongest people legitimately don’t care what people think of them—such a cliché, such a brilliant truth. My cabin took a hold of my heart. A little girl with a life more challenging than I can even begin to understand had the best attitude of any child I've ever met, and a girl who has had a history of bad behavior who "decided to be good," this year... nothing is more meaningful to me. I'm so proud of Waycross. I'm so proud that we can provide an environment where neither socioeconomic status nor history can deny a child the chance to be loved--to make friends.

Too perfect

 My third session was on support, which was dotted with its own miracles. It was defined by late nights talking, laughing, and sighing at those things which we cannot change. It was defined by Dark Angel in the Main House, grazing out of the serving bowls, forgetting the laptop at lunch, leading songs and skits, making mistakes into something amazing. I won't forget being a little proud of Sara for bruising me. I won't forget learning that Chantel has way more to offer than just Mama Bear. I won't forget when James tore off his toenail trying to hide from Natalie... and then ate it to make Sara throw up, (she didn’t by the way). I learned that putting basil in your water makes it better. I learned that Wagon Wheel will never get old. I met people from South Sudan and Brazil. They taught me about walking, they taught me about Gollywop relatives. Oreos, Reese’s, bath house steps, cinnamon roll hugs, little dots of light bobbing ahead of me held by tiny hands belonging to tear-stained faces, Zumba, (not) hoola-hooping, and Mr. Plum in the Rec Hall with the Climbing Rope…

Rainbow Connection

 I'll miss you, Waycross. Thank you to the land on which it rests, thank you to the Gollywops who let us keep it, and thank you to those who have made this year as full of magic as the week I first felt it when I was nine years-old.

Chanteezy