Camp Camp Camp

I spend my summers with my head in a great big happy cloud - the Camp cloud. I spend my whole year from August to June wishing to be back in this cloud - I decorate my room with Camp memorabilia, fill out my returner application just as soon as I receive it because I'm so eager to be there, spend time with/run into Camp friends and talk about how much we love it, and dream about my campers, wishing as hard as I can to be with them.

I am always excited for Camp, except for the month or so right before I go. The cloud of excitement and pure things that Camp is turns into a cloud looming near me that won't leave me alone. I get so anxious before I go because what if any shimmer of good-counselor-ness I had in my past years has dissipated? What if no one on staff wants to be my friend? What if the campers won't try new things? What if I can't sleep and then I'm too tired to walk? What if we never have chicken fingers for lunch and then I'm so sad that I run away? What if a camper gets hurt and I could have prevented it? What if I'm not the best counselor ever? What if something goes wrong?

Because I am nervous, I feel resistant. I get agitated when I realize that I need to go to Walmart for supplies. I start to commemorate all of the last things I do before I go - the last time I wear makeup (last Thursday), the last time I hug my mom (tomorrow), the last time I get to sleep in (today), the last time I eat my dad's grits (yesterday), the last time I wear shoes that are not Chacos (yesterday), the last time I use my electric toothbrush (today), the last time I see my college friends who are in Clemson for the summer (last Tuesday). 

It's always hard to go to Camp, but once I am here, I don't want to be anywhere else. And soon enough the summer will be over and I will be sad that I'm gone from this place where people are kind and fair. Then I'll be commemorating all of my last things at Camp and wishing to no avail that it could always be summer and I could always be here.

And I know this, but still, every summer before it's time for me to go, I pout over what I will miss. I won't get to sleep in and babysit my favorite three-year-olds and write a lot of words and drink a lot of coffee. But this is a job of sacrifice, and I know that. It's why I keep coming back, because Camp is where I am second and where that is a good thing. 

Last week was staff training, and tomorrow campers come. Staff training was great. I was nervous and grumpy before and I cried when I hugged my brother because it was time for me to leave. But I drove over to Camp even though I wanted to go back to bed and, just like always, it was wonderful. I was reunited with old friends and I made new friends. I look so forward to having campers with us, because they are why we all made the decision to give up selfish things to be at Camp, handing out pieces of our hearts. 

On Thursday night while watching last year's staff video, I realized two things - 1. That I am lucky to get to be at Camp. There are people who can't be here who are heartbroken over missing these seven priceless weeks. These people would not complain if they were here. They would be so joyful. 2. I can't stay forever. One day I may have to really grow up, to go to the real world where no one raises their hand at lunch to celebrate with all of Camp a fifty-six year-old woman blowing bubbles in a three-foot-deep pool for the first time ever, where the boys don't form huge dance circles to let the girls eat first, where I don't get to do the jig with my best Camp friend every Sunday night and Saturday morning, where the majority of my time is spent with people of my general age group and ability level, where there is air conditioning nearly everywhere, where nobody needs me to hold their hand while walking, where I don't get to wear a wooden name tag, where no one wakes me up in the middle of the night because they need to go potty or are scared. 

Instead of sulking in what I am missing, I choose to celebrate what I am getting - the chance to do life with people who simply love it. I am getting shown what real love looks like, and it looks like it hurts but it's worth it. I am getting growth, and growing hurts. 

I don't go to Camp because I want to be comfortable. I go to Camp because I want to help give this environment of safety and acceptance to people who don't have one but deserve it more than anyone. I go to Camp to give the most special week of all time to the most special people I've ever known. I go to Camp because I like getting to cheer on old ladies when they're shooting bows and arrows. 

I am aware that the whole world is up to other things without me and a lot of my friends have better-paying or longer-sleeping summer situations. I am here to be a friend, to be a counselor, to be at Camp. 

Love,
Lauralicious