The Future is Female...?

I had the awesome privilege of getting to go to the Women in Camp Summit in Chicago this past week... I spoke on what "the future is female" means for the camping industry... That reflection is below.

Almost exactly 2 years ago, I shaved my head as a part of a fundraiser for St. Baldricks. They support childhood cancer research. I never really realized that my hair was so connected to my femininity. It makes sense now, but I guess I had just assumed I was immune to feeling insecure about my femininity. But soon, I fell into being self-conscious about it. I had to have earrings in, or a bow in my hair.

But one day, I just decided that I didn't want that anymore. I realized that femininity meant more than looks. I have fun dressing up and looking nice, but it's more than that.

What makes you feminine isn't about your hair or clothes... So what is it?

Take a second to think about the first messages you received about being feminine. I think of playing with Barbies, and wearing really uncomfortable stockings every Sunday to church.

These messages are all things we've been told are feminine. I bed a lot of the people who told you those things are a lot like we are now... Moms, mentors, friends... They all shape our view of femininity. I'm not attaching value to the things we've been told about femininity... They're not good or bad. They just got us to where we are. I just wanted us to recognize those messages are there.

So we've talked about what we've been told about femininity... But I'd like to propose what I believe we should believe about femininity.

The phrase "The future is female" can we super inspiring, right? It conjures up the image of women leading the way, blazing paths, being frontrunners in all sorts of fields... These are all things I definitely want... But I think the phrase leaves out a key part of womanhood/femininity: inclusion. Now, I'm not saying "what about men?" I'm saying that when I think of the future being female, I feel a little sad. What about the people we're forgetting? What about those who don't identify as female, but also don't identify as male? I think people who claim that "the future is female"  also can forget people of color, people with special needs, and other marginalized people.

This summer, I kind of realized that the future being female ultimately means the future being completely inclusive. No one gets forgotten, or left behind. The future being female means that everyone's voices are heard, and everyone has a seat at the table.

My friend Jess is a kick ass mom to two daughters. Her girls rock sparkles, ride their bikes, read TONS, and love climbing mountains. One time, I was at their house helping Jess tuck the girls in before we broke out the wine. I was leaning over her youngest to kiss her head and she grabbed my face and felt the little hairs on my chin. "Why do you have whiskers? I thought only boys had those. You're like Uncle Brother!" I chuckled and shrugged and said that sometimes women get hair on their faces, and that it's not a big deal. Sammy just said "oh cool" and wrapped her arms around my neck for a hug.

That was the moment I realized that it was my job now to teach girls - friends' daughters, campers, and maybe my own girls someday - what it means to be feminine. It means making sure that everyone has a place at the table.

So how do we do this at camp? How do we make sure that everyone has a voice and are represented?

1. We ask HARD questions and don't fear the answers. Inclusivity is hard work. We need to dive deep into our organizations to see where we can be more inclusive. This may mean having some uncomfy talks - but inclusivity is worth it.

2. We need to look around and find out who's not at our table and then we need to go to them.

3. We need to listen. We've heard this a lot, but we're not going to get far with inclusivity if we don't listen.

The future being female means inclusion. But it also means extreme empathy.

For a short time of my life, I worked at a crisis hotline. We were part of the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline and a back up center for the Veterans Crisis Line. This was how I learned true empathy. When you're talking with someone who feels so hopeless that they're ready to take their own life, empathy becomes a lifesaving tool. So how do we bring extreme empathy to camp?

1. We train ourselves and staff in active listening. We open our body language, and we learn how to make others feel heard. We put ourselves in others' shoes.

Peg Smith (our speaker the first night) spoke with us about how the past of camping was female. I believe that the future of camping is also female. But this means that it's also nonbinary. Camp's future is multi-racial, multi-cultural, interfaith, and includes and embraces the whole LGBT community. Camp's future is all of this because camp's future is female.

When I was a little girl, the thing that attracted me to camp was that it was an equalizer. My counselors would learn with us, and I would learn from other campers. We all came as we were, and were part of something so unique and special and magical that it would never be created exactly the same again. Now, I get to help create that experience for campers and staff.

This week, I am recommitting to inclusion and empathy. I commit to making them part of my everyday life and work.

I hope you'll join me... Because camp's future is truly female.

Camp's future is us!

Care for the Earth

I wrote this reflection to give after mass as part of a series of reflections.


When I was little, my family would drive an hour and a half to drop my older sister off for a week of summer camp. I was not old enough to stay, and I would routinely break down begging my parents to let me stay. There I was, having a breakdown, begging to stay... while other already homesick campers were begging to leave.

I loved the atmosphere - the way the cabins felt like you were inside just enough. The way the pool was in the middle of a field, and a young girl could imagine it was a water hole somewhere exotic. I loved the freedom that is woven into the place so that everyone has the time to stop and observe a new bug.

When I was finally able to attend, my new best friend and I found a baby bird. We wanted so badly to keep it in our cabin, but we had to give Chirpy to the nature specialist. We visited him everyday.

The years went by and I spent more and more of my summers discovering the special corners of camp. I learned about the buts, the trees, and even the stars on the special occasions we could stay up late.

But what I learned most in my almost 18 summers at camp is that God is in nature. God is in the huge 200 year old oak tree watching over the camp at the edge of the property. God is in the mud of the creek that sometimes eats your shoes. God is in the bunny that patiently lets kids get too close before running away. God is in the steadiness of a friend's hand as you cross a log over the creek.

People sometimes ask me why I am passionate about combating climate change, or why I love recycling, or why I get angry when people brush off the realities of the state of our earth. It's because through nature, I found God. Through the worst times of my life, I could go outside and feel the still, small whisper of God's love in the wind.

This is my challenge to you: Allow God to meet you in nature. Find a spot where you believe 100% in God because of the sights you see or the things you feel. Love the Earth like you love God because the Earth is one of the major ways God meets us and loves us!

Uncharted Territory

Uncharted territory conjours up visions of new beginnings, starting over, and grand adventures.

But what happens when the uncharted territory becomes the norm?
When you start over so many times so close to each other that starting over becomes second nature?

What does uncharted territory mean when the cartography of your past five years looks like blank spaces, question marks, and goodbyes?

The best answer I have is to cling to the things of life that will always be charted...

A few friends.
Your family.
The feelings of being invested in a place.
Belly laughs.
The bittersweet feeling of goodbye.
And the crisp sound of the page turning sometimes too quickly and the anticipation of what or who waits for you in the next chapter.

Voting is still a privilege... Even if it shouldn't be.

In the summer of 2013, I had just graduated college. I went to a small, private, Christian, conservative college in the suburbs of Rochester, NY. Before that, I went to a small, conservative high school in a rural town only 40 minutes outside Rochester. Needless to say, I had not experienced much diversity. The summer after I graduated college, I still had a few degree requirements to finish up, including a full time internship. I was placed in a program for teenage parents in Rochester and Monroe County. After a few weeks of being there, my supervisor decided to "throw me right in." I was to offer the parents on the program's wait-list short term services: anything from a ride to a doctor's appointment, to walking them through the steps to get an internship/job experience. I was eager, and dove right in. I began internship processes with two girls. I drove them both to interviews; they were accepted and the paperwork began... But the paperwork came to a screeching halt because I had neglected to check one thing: I failed to check if they had government photo identification. My clients didn't, and therefore we had to stop the internship process and start the process of getting a state ID card. This hadn't even crossed my mind: that someone might not have a photo ID. Something I had had for 5 years at that point. These girls were my age, some even older, but their lives were very different. This was one of the most meaningful lessons in privilege I have received. Something I had so easily taken for granted: a photo ID. 

When I was a little girl, my parents' polling place was my elementary school. My mother also worked at the same school. She would come into my classroom, and sweep me away for five minutes so I could go with her to vote. Sometimes (I'm not sure if this is legal or not, so I hope I don't get my mom arrested or something), she would even let me pull the levers and push the buttons for the candidates she wanted to vote for. This was always valuable to me. I loved voting and what it stood for. I loved the smell of the auditorium. I loved seeing the people lined up. I loved that crisp sense that only comes with the possibility of change that comes on Election Day. I loved standing on my tip-toes to see the names lined up on the ballot, each representing a hopeful candidate or proposition that would bring a fresh point of view to our government.

In 1920, white women won the right to vote. This will always be a meaningful victory in history, and I am so grateful and am proud to be able to fill out my ballot tomorrow. I am excited. Many women fought for years to earn the right to vote, and I am honored to join their ranks as a voting member of society. With the passing of the 19th amendment, white women were no longer fined (or jailed) if they tried to vote, or fought for the cause. Most could get to their polling places with ease and cast their vote, proudly. Black women, however, weren't able to as easily. It was a victory for the white, middle class woman. It wasn't until well into the 1960s that voting became mostly uninhibited for black people. Some still want to make it difficult again today for people like the clients I told you about above with Voter ID laws. This would force people to have to pay to vote (it costs money to get a photo ID... I hardly realized that because my parents paid for mine). That is not right.

Another time I had to reflect on my privilege during the summer of 2013, was during a day long conference on poverty. The speaker gave the example of a mother who lives in poverty that needs to do laundry. I'm going to try to recreate the example for you: This is a mother of two who lives in an apartment with her children. She works during the week, so the only time she has for laundry is the weekend. She can't afford childcare on the weekend because she needs it during the week, so she has to coordinate how to take her children to the laundromat with her. This means she needs to push a stroller, walk with a child, and carry laundry to the laundromat. Feasibly, she can only carry 1, maybe 2 loads of laundry, so this means she either has to do the whole process (most likely 3-4 hours) twice in one weekend, or choose what she washes carefully. I had never thought about how a task like laundry (which I hate with a passion, but is generally easy for me to do), could be so difficult. As I was reflecting on voting in this election, the story of this mother struck me. It must be difficult for some people to take the time out of their day to vote, let alone find their polling location, coordinate transportation, decide whether or not to take their children with them, and learn about the issues. 

I guess I am saying all of this because as I learn more about our society and our world, I become increasingly aware of my privilege in it. I believe that when we are aware of our privileges, we have the responsibility to both educate others who don't see their privilege, and to speak/act out against injustice (which is really based in allowing those in the margins to tell their stories). I am still searching for ways to do that in my life. But, I do know that voting is still a privilege. Yes, it is technically a right in our country, but until we are all equally able to vote, it will be a privilege. The way getting a photo ID is, the way doing laundry is, the way knowing you are probably safe around a police officer is, the way clean drinking water is.

I am so excited to vote tomorrow, which is why I am making Election Day choices not only for myself, but for others who most likely can't, and I encourage you all to do the same!!!

A Word on Your Profile Picture

When terror attacks happen like the one in Paris on Friday, we all long for community. We long to be close and to be together. People feel feelings they never knew they had for people they have never met. We feel broken.
I know these things because I feel them too. We all feel a little closer, a little more humbled, and a little more heartbroken. I hate that it's true, but this act has truly instilled terror in us. The victims in Paris that evening were at a concert, they were out for dinner, they were out for walks. They were living life... Things we do every day. They made us realize, again, just how easily something like this could happen to us. And that is terror.

I'm struggling to put these feelings into words because no one talks about these feelings. When terrorism happens, people talk about "those people." We talk about the victims, we talk about their families, but no one talks about the global bystanders. And in some ways, that is okay. I would never want to say how we are feeling is more important, more awful than the direct victims. But when a terror attack happens, we are all victims. We're all trying to reconcile the fact that this act happened in a world that we live in. All I'm trying to say (in this part) is that the sadness, the vulnerability, the numbness is okay.

I wish media was fair. I wish it gave the same attention it's giving to France to Syria, to Beirut, to all the hurting places in the world. I wish we could be completely aware of things going on in the world so that we can have the appropriate reactions to all these hurtful things. I hate that I have to let media decide what shows up on my news feed (If I read the newspaper daily, I think I'd have a better idea of what was going on in the world, I want to be upfront about that).

Anyways, here's where this is going: I want to mourn life. Human life lost is a tragedy. I want to wrap my arms around the world and hug it so tight that everything falls back into place. I want to dry tears and make lasagna for victims' families. I am a fixer. And this situation is something I can't fix. I think that's how a lot of us feel. And so we do the next best thing: we post. We reach out...but only kind of. We change our profile pictures because it's something small that says we're hurting and that we stand with France. But I'm not convinced that's the best strategy.

I believe we need to have open conversations. We need to tell people we're hurting and scared and tired of this happening over and over. We need to plead the media to tell us all the stories. We need to stand in solidarity, but in solidarity with all. Not just the white people. Not just the developed nations. We need to speak up against crimes against all people.

Changing your profile picture is a coping strategy. I completely understand that. It's a way of saying "I'm sad and hurt and angry and I stand with you, France." But please take it further. Stand for our hurting world because there are too many things that are against humanity right now. Bake a lasagna, hug your loved ones, be informed but not terrified, put a smile on a child's face and be good to each other; tell people how you're feeling. It's not bombing the perpetrators, I know, but these are the most effective, practical strategies I can think of in a world where we don't have very many options as civilian people.

I'm sad, and hurt and confused about the things happening on this earth. And chances are you are too. There is evil out there, and who knows what today may hold. So the best responses I can think of are kindness, and humor, and compassion, and open, informed conversations.

Neighbor Grandparents

They loved deeply. Slowly. Steadily. They were always there. They were constant. Steadfast. Friendly & funny.

They loved consistently:
Always there to open the door for a small scared girl who left her key.
Always there for a driveway bike ride loop.
A king sized candy bar on Halloween for a few special kids.
A blue light on the front porch for a neighbor friend.
Sitting in the living room watching TV, reading a book, always there to reassure peeking neighbors that they always had someone to turn to.

And when one wasn't, the other walking by on a daily trip to the cemetery for a visit.

My neighbor grandparents, who weren't my grandparents, but were. Neighbors who were always there for graduation parties and weddings. Musicals and life events. And the small things. Bike rides, Halloween, Christmas cookies. Always quiet, consistent reassuring. Never second-guessed.

On Achieving Your Goals

These few weeks have been full of good things: visiting camp, spending time with friends (old and new), and most excitingly crossing things off of my 25 Things Before 25 List. For some reason, this list was oddly emotional to make. I always felt like making goals was just setting myself up to not finish them, and so I never wanted to make goals because I didn't want to disappoint myself even more. The list making started off as a light-hearted thing among friends, but as I was sitting there, I couldn't think of things that I wanted, but also didn't want to allow myself to be disappointed about. Then I realized these goals, this list, was a gift I was giving myself. I was giving myself 25 adventures to enjoy. And if I didn't make it, it didn't matter because I simply was giving myself the opportunity.

At first, I wasn't sure why this list was cause for such emotion, but I figured it out....

Anyways! I'm beginning to cross things off, and that is so exciting. So far I have:

1. I've been on Weight Watchers for 1 month.
2. I've read 2 books.
3. I got to the top of my tree climbing rope at camp!!
4. I went camping with friends.

So really, I've crossed two things off, and I'm partly done with the first two listed.

Now a word about the success of my list:

I never thought I would get to the top of my tree climbing rope. I put this on my list thinking I'd get it done at the very end of the 2 years before 25. This means that I pulled myself up about 30 feet into a tree. It was incredible. I wanted to quit a few times, but my friends wouldn't let me (quite frankly I would have quit without them). I think this happened for a reason. That was the hardest thing on the list in my eyes, except for maybe staying on Weight Watchers. The rest of the list is cake (okay, maybe reading 100 books will be more difficult than I bargained for... But if I make it to 55, I'll be happy). Now that I've done that, I know I can do any of the other things.

I have always been a big advocate for goal-setting, but not the best goal setter myself because of reasons listed above. I was scared of disappointment. I was too hard on myself. If this is you, listen to me: if you set goals, you are not allowed to beat yourself up if you try hard and don't reach your goals. If you work your butt off, give it your all, and still fall short, get back up and try again. Feel defeated for only a moment, get up, dust yourself off, and try harder. See your goals as a gift to get yourself motivated, not a beacon of disappointment. You should only be disappointed if you don't give all you've got, and even then, you should still get back up and try again. Learn from your mistakes.

But overall, be kind to yourself. You goals are there to make you a better you. Let them do that!