I dug out my old headlamp, had my mother ship me my sleeping bag, looked over my urban wardrobe despondently before picking out some articles that could function as “camp attire,” and boarded a flight to North Carolina for the 2009 Rockbrook Camp Reunion. I started going to Rockbrook when I was 12 years old and was a camper there for 5 years, a staff member for an additional 5—and I hadn’t been back since August 2004. As a matter of fact, as I walked down the unlit gravel path to my cabin on Friday night and was actually slightly afraid of the dark and the woods, I realized that it had been 5 years since I had been camping at all.
After 10 summers of living in rustic cabins, prowling around after dark without a flashlight, going on daily hikes, hauling boats around, wrestling with campers’ massive Kmart sleeping bags on overnight trips, and living exclusively in Chacos and Patagonia, it was hard not to laugh at myself. Here I was in my American Apparel get-up, periodically checking my Blackberry to make sure everything was fine at home with my dog, and very cautiously treading on the “uneven” and “rugged” camp trails I had spent years recklessly barreling down.
When I had worked at Rockbrook, in addition to being a cabin counselor, I was on the Outdoor Staff. I led both overnight and day hiking trips, raft guided, belayed climbers, and even drove the bus. I was outside doing stuff everyday. One thing I particularly enjoyed was hiking up to Castle Rock, a rock bald on the camp property, which was a picturesque destination proceeded by a steep climb punctuated with Rhododendrons. Campers usually insisted on stopping several times for breaks on the way up, and on the way down counselors usually encouraged campers to take it slow as the steepness and slipperiness of the trail often resulted in dirt-covered shorts. But once at the top, campers were lead out to the rock bald and helped across a slight gap by counselors, to see a beautiful lookout of the camp property and the French Broad River below.
Castle Rock as seen from camp
So, while on my weekend reunion, my friends and I naturally wanted to go on the hike to Castle Rock we knew so well. Laughing all the way up and telling old stories, I was not-so-silently dismayed at my fatigue (I used to do this hike multiple times a day sometimes) but was relieved to know that all the twists, turns, trees, and rocks were the same as they had always been.
When we got to the ridge, we ducked under low-hanging mountain laurel until the path came to an end at Castle Rock. My throat closed up bit as I saw the gap between the path and the rock bald that I would have to jump over. “That is bigger, and scarier, than I remember,” I thought to myself. Things started to move in slow motion, my senses were heightened, the fight-or-flight response kicking in. “You can do this. You’ve done this one-hundred times. Don’t look like a chicken.” I watched as Molly, who had been hiking in front of me, gracefully hopped over. I looked down at the rock: it seemed so curved, how could you stand on that without plummeting to your death? “A group of 50-year old women just hiked up here this morning. And they were all at lunch—still alive.” I stepped closer, casually of course. My eyes darted to the few trees and shrubs clinging to the edge of the woods, reaching out to the rock bald. They were not going to be of any help. “7-year olds do this! You used to help them do this! On a daily basis!” I was trying to reason with myself, but all my body wanted to do was stay put.
And then…I just took one big step and was on Castle Rock.
On Castle Rock. Check out that gap!
I sat down and looked out over the beautiful view and thought about my 5-second trauma as a city-girl in the woods. I had encountered something, that upon initial evaluation, I thought was impossible to accomplish. Ludicrous even. The rationale I used to convince myself of its possibility was that (a) people of all ages can do this and (b) I myself had done this, not once, but many times. I had known both of these facts before I reached the rock bald, but none of that seemed to matter. All I could think about was, “This is CRAZY!” Believing in yourself in the face of perceived impossibility I think involves four elements (1) practice, (2) a little bit of blind faith, (3) just “be the counselor” mentality, and (4) good friends. Futhermore, I think this applies not just to hiking but also to entrepreneurship–another risk taking venture that involves taking big leaps.
Practice: If you are never outside of your comfort zone, you won’t know what that feels like and the only thing you will be experiencing is some type of hysteria. When I was hiking up to Castle Rock every day, hopping across that gap onto the rock was something I did without thinking about it. When you are used to doing things that make might you a little uncomfortable, like taking risks, speaking in public, networking, making pitches…each task does not seem like a big deal. But if you aren’t doing these things on a regular basis, each incident can get blown out of proportion—and will ultimately take more out of you, preventing you from reaching your ultimate goal.
Blind Faith: Just do it. Don’t think too much about it. (Of course, I am not endorsing reckless behavior on mountains J). You are more likely to spend way too much time sweating over the details than necessary. Sometimes you just have to jump right in and see what happens.
The Counselor: At camp, from one Summer to the next you go from being the camper to being the counselor. In 1998, if there was a snake in the cabin I could still scream for help and run away. In 1999, other girls got to scream for help and now I was the one who had to deal with the snake. In 1998, I was the one being encouraged to climb to the top of the Alpine Tower and given advice from a belayer. In 2000, I was the one encouraging girls reach the top (I had seen it a hundred times, I knew they could!) and giving them advice on “trusting their footing.” On one hand, you rise to the responsibility and you are able to handle situations with grace that you never thought possible. On the other hand, you are a mentor to others—which gives you a unique perspective on possibility. Whether that means you are the CEO or the secretary, the power of responsibility and mentorship is already within you…you just have to find a way to put it to good use.
Good Friends: I’ve always really liked this quote musician Matt Singer gave in an interview:
You seem content where you are currently as a musician. Would you shy away from fame if it comes?
Are you implying that I’m not famous? Anyway, seriously…No. Bring fame on. I’m a big boy now and I think I know real friends from fake ones. And if fame means that I can afford to eat sushi more than once every two weeks, then Fame is my middle name.
Now, to finish up the story on Castle Rock: I had made it across (sweating bullets, of course), Anne hopped over, followed by Ann Marie. My sister (who did not have the good fortune of being on the Outdoor Staff), lingered on firm ground “to photograph.” “Come on!” We urged. But my sister didn’t have that menacing inner dialogue to give her that final big push. So we shouted it out to her: “You can do it! 7-year olds do it! We all did it! It’s not as scary as it looks!” At camp we had grown up in a culture of encouragement and possibility, we all were used to helping others learn new things, overcome their fears, or accomplish something great. After about five minutes of exclaiming that this was just way too scary and laughing at the fact that I was wearing acid-washed jean shorts, my sister made it across, her hands a little shaky. We all laughed at our own ridiculousness, the time that had passed since we had last been up there, and our choice words of encouragement (“Mom could do it!”).
Know who your real friends are. They will always be there to encourage and support you in any endeavor you pursue, and they will be the ones to make you laugh throughout the process.
Wow. Thanks for writing this Lauren. Reading it, I was right there with you, and yes, jumping that same gap in the rock. I love how a simple “walk in the woods” could both recall childhood experiences and reveal important lessons for adulthood. Very perceptive and nicely put.
Thanks for the note, Jeff! It’s always nice to see how some things never change, like good friends, but its also very eye-opening to see the things that do change…and why that happens. It was great to get out of the big city and spend some time in the mountains, reconnecting with my love of the outdoors. RBC was the birthplace of many great things in my life