Learning to Lean In

We were chatting the other day in the red rockers on the dining hall porch, a CIT and I, about how camp opens up a space for girls to try new things, and not only to try them, but to lean in to things that otherwise seem a little scary. New encounters and experiences that might feel uncomfortable, beyond what they think they can do, or even just plain “awkward.” Between us we could think of countless examples: girls who, despite being wary of something new, despite worrying they might not be “good” at it, despite all the uncertainty, find themselves meeting a challenge and surprising themselves in the process.

We decided that camp girls know how to lean in. Or better, that camp life teaches girls they can lean in. And better still, that being at camp proves something to all of us— that leaning in to an experience, rather than shrinking away from it, is rewarding, enriching, and fun. In fact, we thought, maybe having fun requires us to lean in. If fun means fully embracing the moment, immersing yourself in the game, the conversation, the feeling of it all, then guarding yourself against it is clearly un-fun. That’s why a sure way to ruin an experience is to stand outside it, distracted by thoughts of what might happen, or what “people might think,” or even what it all might “mean.”

Instead, at camp we sing as loud as we can no matter how it sounds. We put on silly costumes and dance wildly. We paint and weave even though we’re certain we’re not artistic. We climb onto a horse having never touched one before. We flip our kayaks upside down and learn to “wet exit” without panicking. We meet all sorts of new people, try strange new foods (Gumbo!), and take care of a hundred small things without our parents there to smooth out the bumps in the road.

Eventually we landed on a neat little phrase: “If you’re not leaning in, you’re not doing anything.” Hold back, and you’re certainly not getting all you can from an experience— you’re watering it down, skimming the surface, settling for a weak sample of something that could be wonderfully more full. To truly get it, to feel its impact, you have to go beyond what you already know. You have to venture out, to lean in to whatever lies past the edge of your “comfort zone.” And once you drop that “boulder from your shoulder,” you just might find— as Bruce reminded us long ago— that “that’s where the fun is.”

I should add that leaning in is not the same as jumping in. Jumping in throws all caution to the wind; leaning in understands potential risks and takes them into account. It isn’t reckless; it’s prepared and measured. That’s exactly why our adventure activities, like climbing the Alpine tower, depend for their thrill (and their fun) on specialized safety equipment and careful training. To climb without a solid belay would be terrifying, not fun. We should always consider risks and manage them as best we can. But since we can never fully erase the chance that something will feel awkward, or end in embarrassment or even failure, learning to lean in despite the uncertainty turns out to be essential to doing much of anything at all.

Fortunately, no camp girl has to find that courage by herself. Rockbrook is built to help everyone lean in— to notice the camper who’s shrinking back from something new, and to stand beside her until she’s ready to try. So much here is unfamiliar, and that’s just the point: a place where nearly everything is new is a place where leaning in becomes the ordinary thing to do. What makes that possible is the culture of kindness and non-judgment underneath it all, the quiet assurance that nobody is keeping score of who looked silly at dinner, struggled climbing the Alpine tower, or sang off-key at the campfire. Cheered on like that, a girl tends to discover she is stronger than she thinks, more capable than she knows, and braver every day. In ways large and small, Rockbrook en-courages courage.

One more thing I’ve been meaning to pass along: back in March, Rockbrook was selected by Cliffs Living Magazine as a featured camp in their article “Camp Summer.” The piece celebrates how, for more than a hundred years, the camps in this corner of North Carolina have prized “exploration, independence, and time outdoors.” It’s true— there really is a “formative power of place” that summer camps enjoy, and Rockbrook is a wonderful example of it.