For as long as I can remember, I have always thought I needed to hit certain milestones in life. In middle school, it was becoming a teenager and letting go of toys that made me feel like a little kid. In high school, it was getting my license and conquering the SATs. In college, it has been finding a passion I can build a career from. Through all these stages, I’ve had big and small goals I’ve constantly worked to reach. Whether it was to keep up with where I felt I was meant to be or simply to fit into the role of the person I wanted to become, I had tunnel vision on where I thought I needed to go next.
With such a narrow view, I rarely made room to celebrate my hard work even after hitting whatever the current goal was. My attention only moved onto what I had to do to get to the next milestone. That left me feeling incredibly unfulfilled. I had earned all these things on paper, but there was an emptiness behind it all that grew harder to ignore.
When I focused on where I wanted to be so intensely, it made the fact that I was not there much more apparent. It was as if I had become a sailor out at sea looking through a telescope and seeing the island I wanted to get to. The more I looked as I stood on my ship, the more out of reach the island seemed.
My motivation to hit certain markers was driven out of desire for acceptance. I wanted to prove myself as a person and there was no exception my first couple years at RYLA. I felt like I needed to demonstrate that I could constantly improve as a facilitator in order to be respected. Through wanting to be taken so seriously as a person and leader, I lost touch with the joys the journey brings.
A couple summers back, I was sitting among the students I was facilitating at a camp wide event. The room was silent except for the person who was speaking at the front of the dining hall. I was in my head brainstorming how to optimize my group’s next activity when I heard some of my campers making noise. When I looked up, I saw that they were trying to hold in their laughter from another camper making silly faces. As soon as I made eye contact, I too felt the infectious desire to smile. Something about needing to be serious made it that much harder. I was wide eyed, beet red, and I couldn’t hold in my laughter. That sparked my campers to let out their own snickers. We started gaining attention, which made us try even harder to be quieter. Unfortunately, that just made everyone look funnier. It got to the point that I had to step away with a camper who couldn’t stop giggling. As soon as we got outside, we both continued to crack up. I hadn’t had a moment of goofiness where I felt I couldn’t control my reaction in such a long time. It helped snap me out of my seriousness and appreciate the fun going on around me.
After that moment, I let myself soften and experience the journey at RYLA. I allowed myself to truly let go and be silly in the games we’d play at camp. Playing was no longer filler before I got to the next serious and transformative activity for the campers. I began to understand and embody the power of simply running and giggling as if I were a kid again. I was able to internalize the value of goofiness for my campers and myself as a leader.
By letting go of my agenda, I could sink into the moment and be more in tune with the environment around me. I had more room to appreciate the beauty of Camp Hinds itself. I was able to sit by the pond and observe the pigment of the vast sky and vibrant trees. I was able to slow down and absorb the scent of pine and the texture of the needles beneath my sneakers.
Moments of traveling to the next activity at camp became opportunity for connection along the way. Times where I’d typically be intensely planning my next move became a time to share a smile with anyone who passed by. I could appreciate the community at play to a new and truer extent than in previous years. I was able to admire the inviting nature of my fellow staff members and the tone they set amongst their own campers. By opening myself to those connections around me, I found that staff and campers also experienced the same sense of urgency and desire for perfection at times. Once I stepped outside my own mind, I felt infinitely less alone.
I leaned into the opportunities for authentic playfulness and caring energy that was waiting for me. These simpler elements I tapped into added an even deeper comfort to RYLA that I didn’t realize I’d been missing. I was able to appreciate all the little things that made me feel safe, seen, and quite frankly a little silly at Camp Hinds. I allowed the purity of the present to permeate my being as if I were a puppy laying in the warmth of the sunlight. This allowed each area of pressure I put on myself to soften a little. My fear of imperfection, drive for acceptance, and desire for control eased just enough for me to gain more clarity. Finally, I cut through the narrative of what I thought I was meant to do, how I wanted to be, and what I needed to achieve next. I could simply enjoy that I was in beautiful Raymond, Maine among incredibly bright humans experiencing something much bigger than myself.
At a place like RYLA, there is a common desire to understand others and help people grow into who they’re capable of becoming. That mission is what I connected to when I was a camper in high school and that is what I was able to return to on staff. Opening myself up again at RYLA showed me that even the parts I considered imperfect or unlovable can be seen, appreciated, and honored in their truth. Parts of myself riddled with growing pains such as hyper fixation on hitting milestones and taking joy away from the present. Those parts of myself that were imperfect were always welcomed. This allowed room for me to drift from feeling the need to constantly accomplish things to embrace some of the most valuable and honest lessons only found in life’s smaller moments.
Today, I have more goals than ever. I still get stressed and feel a roller coaster of emotions through the journey. The difference is I allow myself to experience the wholeness of growth. I have learned to celebrate who I am and others at each step. Rather than checking off accomplishments, I fully experience them, and I now understand that is the greatest gift. So, I will continue to sail toward the island, but I’ll be certain to enjoy my travels through the sea as I make my way.
Bridget Monteith is from York, Maine. She went to RYLA in June of 2017, was sponsored by the York Rotary Club, and graduated from York High School in 2019. Bridget is a big fan of cold water dipping, photography, supporting local musicians, and caring for animals.