The One With The Post-Camp Blues

Have you ever been sat with your friends or your family, maybe at work or in a lecture when somebody says something and it triggers a reaction in you... A reaction that may be a little unusual? That may cause you to be embarrassed or to look silly in front of everyone else? You stop yourself just in time before you say or do the weird thing you were about to subject everyone around you to. In the space where your reaction should have been there is silence and the silence presses down on you until it is the loudest thing in the room and you know, you know that you just missed a moment. A moment that everyone else around you is oblivious to but leaves you feeling just that tiny bit empty, that leaves you feeling like something was left unsaid? Maybe it was a sassy comment or a chant of support, maybe you were going to do a hand clap on the table, maybe you were going to burst into song. Maybe it was just a joke that no one else would find that funny. These people around you, some of whom you may have known forever, some of whom you may love so dearly, some of whom may know every last thing about you... Despite all that you just know they would have looked at you like you had lost your mind, or rolled their eyes, or got up and walked away. If you've ever been sat with friends, or family, or colleagues and you've felt the weight of a missed moment, then you know how it feels to be a camp counselor from August until June.

I have some special, amazing people in my life who have loved me for forever. They know my fears (there are so many), they know my favourite songs (there are SO many), they know my favourite things to eat (there is nothing, nothing at all) and I can be so open with them about so many things. Yet, there is still a tiny part of me that they will never get to know; the part of me that works at camp. They will never meet the person I become for those nine weeks of the summer when I'm surrounded by kids who I've watched grow up over the years, staff who I've seen change lives and moments, moments I couldn't earn enough money to buy. It's not that I don't want to be this person year round, and it's not that I don't want to show this part of my soul to the people in my "real" life, it's just not a possibility all of the time. Yes, camp has improved me and changed me in ways that I can express in my daily life and it has enabled me to grow, mature, and take great skills home with me, but for the most part, honestly? There is a magic that only happens when you step onto that pebble path for the first time that summer, that weaves it's way into your veins and takes root in your heart. A magic that turns you into the truest version of yourself. The version of yourself that can run on an hour of sleep, the version of yourself that LOVES plain rice and ranch dressing, the version of yourself that can turn clean up into a quidditch game, a piggy back into a hike up Kilimanjaro, the version of yourself that can sit on the porch of a bunk with a child who shows you their diary because they know you can help them write the next page of their life in the most positive and incredible way. Something happens when you hear the crunch of that pebble path, or when those kids step off that bus, or when they stand on their chair and ask you to shake your booty that just doesn't happen anywhere else in the world. It is a magic that allows you to dance without a care in the world, and sing at the top of your lungs even if you're tone deaf, and wear your hair in pigtails at the age of 25, and walk around with no make up on. Something happens when this magic takes root that stops you from worrying about people's reactions and stops you from feeling like all eyes are on you, or you stick out, or maybe you're being judged.

Like any magic, I can't explain it. I can't see it. I can't even really prove its existence but I can feel it. I can feel it in my bones and I can feel it when I unzip my suitcase the day I get home and the essence of camp is still lingering on my clothes. I can feel it when I get a postcard, or a Facebook message from the other side of the world or I look at the stars on a really clear night. I can't prove it but I know it's there and I know that I can't stand up on a chair in the middle of a restaurant and sing a song to tell someone I love them because they won't get it. It won't have the same effect on them as it would on my camp friends... It won't be a moment.

It's tough to be around a camp counselor in the off season. It's tough to hear their stories for the hundredth time, it's tough to see their posts on social media about how miserable they are to be home when you spent weeks missing them and patiently waiting to see them. It must be horrible to feel left out of something that clearly means so much to them; you're happy for them but maybe you don't fully understand it, or you can't picture it the way they want you to. I'm sure sometimes it can be a little difficult to hear all about their new friends and their adventures and their plans for next summer. So I want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I made you feel bad for all the times I've said "oh it's a camp thing", or "you wouldn't get it" and I'm sorry for not always making a big effort to be sociable as soon as I get home and I'm sorry for thinking I still have jet lag three weeks later when really I just don't want to face the real world. I'm sorry if I'm grumpy and snappy for a while and I'm sorry if you make a joke, or spill a drink or say something funny and I freeze for a second... because it took my mind back to camp. Because I almost jumped up on my chair and sang at you. Because I almost cheered. Because I almost started clapping like a woman possessed. Because I missed a moment, and it made me miss the summer and it made me miss 243 beautiful smiling faces and it made me miss the magic that became my core and without that magic, I'm just going to feel a little bit less like myself for a while.

If you've ever missed someone so much that you can't sleep or eat or concentrate...Times that by a couple hundred campers and a couple hundred staff and you know how it feels to be a camp counselor from August until June. If you've ever had to say goodbye to someone you adore and it's broken your heart, times that by a couple hundred campers and a bunch of lifelong best friends and you know how it feels to be a camp counselor as they head home from their adventure and try to get acquainted with their home life again. They will get there, they will, it may just take them a little while. Next time you're talking to someone and they zone out for a second, try to understand that maybe they just missed a moment. Try not to take it personal or be upset with them, because as tough as it is to be around a camp counselor in the off season, it's a lot tougher to be one.

As ever,

Becca Biscuit