Camp WAPO Memories

I recently came across a box of memories from 2002-2003.  These were the two summers I worked at camp WAPO.  The notes, journal entries, pictures, and art projects I found made me feel reflective about my time as a camp counselor.

I spent a week at WAPO every summer growing up. Located on a peninsula between two gorgeous lakes near Amery, Wisconsin, this camp was my favorite place in the world.   I looked up to and admired my college-aged counselors, and anticipated a time when I would be old enough to be in that role.  That time finally came in the summer of 2002.

Driving up to WAPO to begin my first summer as a counselor was one of the most exciting times of my life.  I fretted about what I should wear (I'll be running around a lot, but I also want to make a good impression, so do I curl my hair??  Do I wear a cute top? My favorite doc marten sandals?), how I should present myself (should I be the shy one? The out-going one? The boy-crazy one?  The Jesus freak?), and how the social aspect would pan out (I was freshly out of a relationship and looking for fresh meat, but I also wanted to make friends and be social).  Upon arriving, I was thrown into a "Family" (a small group of counselors who planned activities together) of about 8 counselors, three of whom would end up having a significant impact on my life.  We decided on JIMBF as our family name, which stands for Jesus is My Boyfriend.  We had two weeks of staff training, during which I lived in a cabin with a dozen other girls my age (at 19-22, we could hardly call ourselves women).  Although this seems completely uncharacteristic for anyone who knows me now, during those weeks I was the first one up and in the shower, and usually the only one to blow dry my hair, put on mascara and lip gloss, and carefully choose my outfit for the day. 

My first summer as a counselor was intense.  I turned 21 that August, and although I looked and felt like a grown-up, the reality is that I was still a child.  Although the young girls I counseled saw me as a role model and a good Christian example, this really couldn't have been further from the truth.  I often didn't feel like I was being honest with my campers, or with myself, by leading Bible studies and answering their questions about faith.  My time as a camp counselor was just one part in a long process of examining my religious faith, which is something that's still on-going and a work in progress. 

Relationally, camp counseling was the most unique experience of my life.  My co-workers were also my best friends.  There was no boundary between work and play, 23 hours a day (we had a one-hour break afternoon, during which we'd pile the maximum number of people possible into a car and head to the town coffee shop for a Frescata... a highly caloric frozen caffeinated chocolate beverage).  We had weekends off, and I spent as many as possible sticking around camp.  We'd hang out on the lake during the day, and stay up until dawn in the staff lounge on "big blue", this disgusting old couch that everyone loved, reasons unknown.  I really felt like I fit in with my peers at camp, and got along well with ALMOST everyone.  I formed close friendships with two other girls, and the three of us stayed in touch for many years.  Recently, I've mostly lost touch with one of them, but the other remains one of my closest friends.  If there is one single thing for which I'm most grateful to WAPO, it is that friendship.

In addition to fun and friends, I was also looking for love that summer, and I found it almost immediately.  Although it was definitely not a right fit long-term, I have nothing but positive things to say about my camp relationship.  It lasted through that first summer, long-distance during the school year following, through a second summer at camp, and half-way through another school year.  I invested much more of my life to that relationship than any 21-22 year old should.  Although I felt completely blind-sided by what seemed to me to be an abrupt ending, looking back, I can see now that saying good-bye was the best thing he could have done both for himself AND for me.  We parted ways at a mid-winter camp reunion, just a few yards from the spot we had met a year and half prior.... and we haven't seen each other since.  At the time, the 19 months we'd been together felt like forever, and starting over "at ground zero", as I referred to it, felt impossible.  Nine years later, that time in my life almost feels like a blip on the radar.  A blip that taught me a lot, and that I remember with fondness.  I think, and hope, that he would agree.  Although broken hearts are one of the hardest things many people go through in life, they also help us remember our strength as individuals, and the importance of balance and having multiple "significant others" in our lives, beyond our romantic partners.  During the time that I felt weaker than I've ever felt before or since, I also felt infinitely supported and loved by my family and friends.

If you were ever a camp counselor, you probably have similar experiences and stories.  Ultimately, I think my summers as camp counselor hold all of my most influential "coming of age" stories.  I worked a little, played a lot, made mistakes, made friends, made enemies, fell in love.  As a young camper looking forward, being a counselor seemed glamorous and grown-up and exciting.  As an adult looking back, being a counselor was formative; a learning experience and a stepping stone.  If you are reading this and were a part of my WAPO experience, thank you for that.

If You Told Me A Year Ago That I'd Be Doing This Today, I Wouldn't Have Believed You

2012 is the first year I've ever actually kept a New Year's resolution.

It's also the first year that my resolution wasn't something like dropping 10 pounds or eating more vegetables.

There were a lot of social unknowns at the beginning of this year.  (see December 2011 "The Privilege of Saying Good-bye").  A good portion of my friends had recently moved out of state, and others were disappearing into a suburban world of 2.5 kids and picket fences.  To avoid boredom and loneliness, I knew that I needed to make some changes and do something new.  So...

I decided to make it my resolution to accept all invitations, to take relational risks, to have new experiences, and to not worry about staying up past my bedtime.

Check, Check, check, and CHECK.

The result: beyond my wildest imagination. So many times this year, I've found myself saying, "If you would have told me a year ago that I'd be doing this today, I never would have believed you."  And it's true.  Every day (that's only a slight exaggeration) has been an adventure.  I haven't said no to anything.  I've had more "firsts" in 2012 than I'd had in the decade prior, combined. 

I've not just stepped, but LEAPED out of my comfort zone more times than I can count this year.  I didn't know if I'd be accepted, if I'd make friends, if people would appreciate or understand my quirkiness.  There were a few false starts, and a few little road bumps. But I learned from them, and moved onward and upward.

The payoff has been so much greater than I expected. I don't even have the words to explain my feelings about this year, so instead, here is a Top 10 list of "If you would have told me a year ago that I'd be doing this today, I never would have believed you" Moments/Experiences:

1. Meeting my new best friend, and the resulting whirlwind of adventures, invitations, hilarity, and general awesomeness.

2. Traveling to Colombia with some of my favorite girls, to visit some of my other favorite girls.  Particular highlight: Taganga, which to date is my favorite place on earth. Meeting people from all over the globe.

3.  Holi Party - wearing white and throwing colorful paint on friends, in the rain.  Getting messy can be the most fun.

4.  Ben's re-proposal to me on our 5-year anniversary. 

5.  Being part of my Ami's wedding.  Okay, so THIS I'd known I would eventually be doing since circa 1998, but it was too special to not mention.

6.  My 30 Before 30 Project.  Doing one new thing each day for a month to celebrate the beginning of a new decade. 

7.  Having an amazing 30th birthday celebration.

8.  Impromptu trip to Wisconsin Dells and Market Days.

9.  Becoming involved in the largest grass-roots political campaign in Minnesota; joining 27,000 like-minded volunteers and witnessing The Day that Love Won.

10. Making my "drag debut" at the hottest "night club" in town, Chateau Fremont.

To say that this year has been a success is an understatement.  To say that I am blessed beyond belief is an understatement.  

I don't think it will be possible to have this many new experiences in 2013.  But I've learned this year to not be limited by expectations.  Every day is a new adventure, and I can't wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

The Important Things

Like a lot of other people, I'm not perfect.  Here is a non-exhaustive list of the reasons why this is true:  I don't like team sports because I'm always the weakest link.  I'm terrible at any and all forms of art; any attempt at craft projects make me frustrated and cranky.  I am not good at deferred gratification; when I want something, I want it now.  My sense of direction is startlingly bad.  I spend too much time checking my texts, e-mails, and Facebook notifications on my phone.  I don't get enough sleep on the weekends.  I spend too much of my gym time doing cardio and not enough on strength training, which explains my increasingly disturbing amount of flab (an extra layer for the winter? Sure, we'll go with that).  Although I'm an okay dresser, I can never pull off looking "fancy", and my ability to accessorize leaves a lot to be desired. I'm nosy.  Sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain, an unfortunate fact which some people refer to as having no filter.  My hair gets all over EVERYTHING.  I can't remember the last time I made my bed.  My idea of cooking a real meal is throwing pre-packaged tortellini into a pot of boiling water.  I have zero self-control. Unlike a startlingly high proportion of my friends, I don't and never will have a PhD, MD, JD, or anything else with a D.

But...

You can count on me to be the among the first to RSVP to your event... and I'll show up with my best "party face" on.  I'll call you back if I don't answer the first time.  I'll remind you why he was never good enough for you - because obviously he wasn't.  Even if it's been a year since I've seen you, I know we will pick up right where we left off.  I'll try to strike a balance between making you laugh and letting you cry.  When I like your outfit, I'll let you know.  I'll remember your birthday.  Actually, I'll probably plan your party.

I'm not good at most things.  I hope, though, that I'm pretty decent at the important things.

My A-List

On Friday night, I was standing with three friends in one of the swankiest bars in Minneapolis.  We'd never been there before, but we'd heard good things and wanted to give it a try.  We were enjoying immaculately-made expensive drinks and having ridiculously great conversations.  It was a perfect night.

And then the A-Listers walked in. You know who I'm talking about. They're gorgeous, tall, extremely well-dressed... they have money, they have power, they have influence.  They don't WALK into a bar; they saunter in.  Heads turn.  Surely they are coming from an "event" of some sort, and likely are just passing through this bar for a drink, on their way to the next big thing.  They're people that my friends and I don't actually KNOW, but do know OF.

Which makes me think: I wonder if ANYONE really knows them.  We're judging them by their exterior.  We're assuming that because they LOOK and ACT completely put-together, they actually are.  If we really sat down and talked to them, we'd probably find that they have insecurities and struggles and who knows what else.  Maybe we'd have more in common than we think.  But maybe not.  And maybe it doesn't matter, because....

I have my own A-List: The people in my life who enhance every experience; who are the first ones on the invite list when I'm hosting a party. They're the people I can relate to, who understand the things I struggle with.  The people with whom I share inside jokes and who know that my favorite drink is Malibu diet.  People who can read between the lines when I'm having a hard time articulating my thoughts.  The people who bring out the best in me, and vice versa.  People who share similar interests and values, and who love to have fun.  People who I can text at a moment's notice and meet for a walk around the lake or a cup of coffee.   People who make me know that I am never alone.

My own A-Listers are a lot like me.  They're not fancy or powerful.  They have influence, but not in the same way as the "actual" A-Listers.  I don't even know if they "have money" or not, and I don't care.  They're as comfortable showing up in shorts and a t-shirt as they are in a bow-tie or a fancy dress.

I don't need or even want to be well-known, popular, or influential.  But I do need my people, my A-List.  And I'm thankful for the ever-expanding number of people on this list.  SO thankful.

And as for the TRUE A-Listers...  I hope they have their own people, too.  Because even if you are "really, really, really, ridiculously good-looking", you still need true friends.

For Better, For Worse.... For All.

The worst week of my life happened during what was supposed to have been one of the best times of my life.

Ben and I had just tied the knot. We were settling into our new marriage, our new apartment, our new lives together.  The gifts had been unwrapped, the thank-you notes had been sent. We'd been on a wonderful tropical honeymoon.  This was what I'd been looking forward to for so long: having a normal, married life... sharing everything with the person I loved more than anyone else. 

And then Ben got sick.  It started off with what seemed to be a mild flu... fever, achy, terrible cough.  But it didn't go away.  He spent a month going to various doctors, trying to figure out what was wrong.  He was diagnosed with pneumonia, and was given large doses of antibiotics, but they didn't help.  One day, I got home from work, and he wasn't home.  He'd been home sick every day for a couple of weeks, and I immediately knew something was wrong.  It turned out he had spiked a fever of 104 and had gone to the ER. 

Ben was admitted into the hospital that Friday evening.  He explained his symptoms to yet another doctor, and was given the same antibiotic that hadn't been working.... this time through an IV.  He was in the hospital for over a week while doctors literally argued about what was wrong with him.  With every day that passed, it seemed like the working diagnosis got scarier and scarier.  A lot of the diseases that they thought he had were potentially life-threatening.  Meanwhile, his symptoms were getting worse and there was still no consensus about what the problem was, or how to treat it.  I remember calling my dad one day and telling him that I was afraid that I would become a 25 year-old widow.

Eventually, a very intuitive doctor ordered a test that resulted in the diagnosis of Blastomycosis... a rare form of fungal pneumonia in his lung, which didn't respond to the same antibiotics that are used for normal bacterial pneumonia.  Untreated, it would have spread to other parts of his body and eventually would have killed him.  With treatment, he was able to be discharged and eventually made a full recovery.

He stayed in the hospital for over a week.  During that time, we fell into a routine.  I'd come to the hospital directly from work each day, and would stay all evening, until it was time for him to go to bed.  Visiting hours were long over, but I was able to stay because I was his wife.  We tried to make it as normal as possible... playing games, watching TV, talking about that day's events.  We were in this together.  In sickness and in health.  We were both scared, but being able to be there with Ben, through the physical sickness and the resulting emotional repercussions, was truly the only thing that kept us grounded.   Although we were frustrated about the lack of a diagnosis, the doctors, nurses, and other healthcare providers treated us with respect and as a family unit.

But what if we hadn't been married?  Would the hospital administration have let me stay with him?  Would they have treated me as his family?  What would have happened if he'd been all alone during that time?  What if I'D been all alone during that time? 

What if we were a same-sex couple? 

There are 515 statutes in Minnesota that discriminate against same-sex couples who are unable to get married in our state.  A number of them have to do with health care and hospital visitation rights.  I honestly don't know if Ben and I would have been treated the same way in the hospital if we were a same-sex couple.  But I do know that our ability to be together during that time, well beyond regular visiting hours, was what held us both together.  I don't even want to think about the alternative. 

No one should go through this sort of thing alone.  When Ben and I took our marriage vows, it was for better or for worse.  All committed couples deserve to take, and heed, that vow.

If you're in a legal, heterosexual marriage, you have 515 state benefits that your fellow citizens in same-sex partnerships do not.  If the constitution is amended to preclude same-sex couples from getting married, thousands of Minnesotans will lose the hope of ever receiving these same rights that we so easily take for granted.  Like being able to be a part of our spouses' medical emergencies and decisions. 

Please think about that when you're casting your ballot next Tuesday. 

If The Marriage Amendment Passes...

Today, I watched two television advertisements that were launched by Minnesota For Marriage, the campaign that supports the passage of  the constitutional amendment that would forever preclude so many people from entering into the bond of legal marriage.  I had an actual physiological reaction.  My whole body felt cold, my palms were sweaty, and I could feel my heart pounding.   I also felt very emotionally confused. I couldn't quite define my feeling as anger, or sadness, or extreme worry.... it was more like a combination of all of all of these. 

Ever since this issue became a ballot measure, most of us have been feeling very positively about how it will turn out.  Almost all of our peers are voting no.  You can hardly throw a rock in our city without hitting an orange Vote No lawn sign.  Hundreds of faith organizations have stood up against the amendment.  There have been fundraising and awareness-raising events nearly every day lately.  The momentum has been growing and growing, and there's an undercurrent of hope and positivity.

But we live in a bubble, and that bubble does not represent our entire state.  And the reality is that we are behind in the polls.  If the election was today, we would lose.  And these hurtful advertisements are not going to help.

I recently read an article written by a Minnesotan woman who was asked how she would feel if the marriage amendment passes next month.  She had some very eloquent things to say about what that outcome would (and would NOT) do to her family.  And that prompted me to think about my own response to that question.

I don't really know how anyone who has been invested in this fight can be fully prepared for the possibility that we will lose.  I do know that I will feel disappointed in my fellow Minnesotans, and I will feel disappointed in myself for not doing enough. 

The outcome of the election won't affect my own marriage, so it could be said that I would not be "personally harmed" if it passes.  And that's true, sort of.  I'm not pretending to know first-hand what it feels like to be systematically discriminated against.   I'm not pretending to be impacted in the same profound way that thousands of other Minnesotans would.

But I know what this means to the people who would be personally harmed.  Most are strangers.  Some are colleagues, neighbors, acquaintances, former classmates.  A lot are friends.  A few are people I love with all my heart.   For all of these people, the passage of the amendment would mean that a majority of Minnesota voters think that their relationships shouldn't be legally validated.  That their families are somehow less than mine.

I don't understand the arguments presented by the opposition.  I don't understand why anyone would want to write discrimination into the constitution, or especially why anyone, regardless of their stance on the issue, considers the amendment necessary given the current state and federal laws which already prohibit legal same-sex marriage. 

It is an uphill battle, but I'm still hopeful that Minnesotans will stand up for what is right and will be the first state to vote down this proposed amendment.  But this won't happen simply by "hoping".  Please join me in donating and volunteering in whatever capacity you can. www.mnunited.org.  

21 Things I'm Thankful For

I've been thinking a lot lately about thankfulness.  I feel SO thankful for so many things, and lately I've felt like it's been hard to contain my gratitude.  I put this list together of the Top 21 Things I'm Thankful For, initially thinking I'd write one every day and post it around Thanksgiving time... but once I started, I couldn't stop.  These are not in order of importance or really in any order at all.  But they all contribute to the incredibly vast beauty that I am so lucky to experience.

1. The World's Best Husband.  I can't even describe how lucky I am to have Ben.  He's the best partner anyone could ever ask for, in so many ways.  And really the all-around best PERSON that I know.

2. Living in Minneapolis, which I truly believe is one of the best places on earth.

3. Education.  This can take a variety of forms.  I'm thankful for both my formal higher education, as well as the drive to be a life-long learner and the small things I learn every day.

4. My Thursday Night Dinner (TND) friends.  Even though TND is a rare occurrence these days, I'm grateful for this amazing group of women who are enriching, life-long friends.

5. Running.  Running makes me feel good emotionally and physically. Also, I am very thankful for my running buddies!

6. My long-distance friends, who provide opportunities to travel and visit!  In the past year, I've visited 8 friends in 3 different locations.

7. The stable and secure jobs that both Ben and I are lucky enough to have.

8.  Jacob's Well.  Relevant, Honest, Thinking, and Casual. 

9. My "girly group". I look forward to Tuesday nights and meaningful discussions with amazing women.

10.  The many new friendships I've made this year....

11..... Especially the person who has taught me (among many other things) the definition of the term "best friend", and who complements and parallels me in so many ways.

12. Social media, which enables me to make and keep connections.

13. Chocolate.  Because let's be honest, life would suck without chocolate.

14. My little sister, who used to be just a baby and has grown up in every way imaginable.  She is a tiny package of brilliance and amazingness, and I've never been prouder of anyone. 

15. My health.  Once in awhile I'm reminded of how easy it is to take this for granted, and yet how important it is. 

16.  Lake Calhoun.  I love this lake.  This summer I've run around it, walked around it, biked around it, kayaked, canoed, and paddleboarded on it, and swam in it.

17. My book club.  The opportunity to read books that I normally would never pick up.

18.  Extroversion.  I have some personality traits that admittedly might not make it into the list of things I'm thankful for (my husband would probably agree!), but I am really happy to be an extrovert.  I love that I get my energy from being with people and that I love socializing with lots of groups of people. 

19.  Theater in Minneapolis.  The Twin Cities has the 2nd largest number of theater seats per capita (behind NYC), I'm happy to say that I have sat in dozens of them.

20.  My parents, who have been constants my entire life.  Not everyone is that lucky.

21.  A past that I look back on and smile about, a future in which I anticipate wonderful things, and a present that I continually live in and thrive in.