I’m about to start this blog post off with a humble brag because I really like to put my best foot forward on these things.

Recently, friends and family have pointed out that I haven’t blogged in a while. On the one hand, I’m pretty pumped that y’all check back regularly enough to miss me. On the other hand, you’re playing right into one of my darkest insecurities— that I don’t have enough to say to consider myself a “writer.” Or rather, that I was born with a finite number of things to say and I’ve already said them all.

But here’s the thing. I write every single day. It’s my job. And I love it! However, it tends to send me into an endless loop of procrastination in which I use my copywriting as an excuse not to blog, and then I get depressed about how long it’s been since I’ve blogged, and then I use all my leftover energy wallowing rather than, you know, actually coming up with ideas for blogs. It’s vicious.

Also, sometimes my hand just hurts! Here’s a fun fact about me: I handwrite everything. Every first draft for anything I’ve ever written, professionally or otherwise, has been scrawled in a college-ruled notebook. Here’s some proof:

2015 was the year I got a tattoo of a pencil on my right forearm to remind me to write for myself. In an ironic twist, I’ve still written less in 2015 than ever in my life. Your move, Alanis.  

I’m a woman of many resolutions. I don’t limit myself to new year’s resolutions, either. I make and forget resolutions at least once a week every week for the whole year long. But let this long-overdue blog post stand as my One True New Year’s Resolution. I am Title Case Serious about this one, I promise. 

Whelp, see y'all in another 8 months I guess!

I am from Dallas, but that’s not where I grew up. It’s where I went to school, and cheerleading practice, and sat down to family dinner. It’s where I learned to drive, but my road “home” lead somewhere else entirely. My hometown is Dallas, but my home was always Camp Olympia.

As a camper, I learned how to sail and how to share. I made friendship bracelets and lifelong friends.  I spent three weeks a summer every summer in an East Texas fantasyland, where I worried more about fishing line than my waistline. It’s where I learned to compete and where I learned not to. It’s where I learned about rules, despite my (continuous) desire to disregard them. It’s where I learned that if you try to dye someone’s hair black to cover up their highlights, those highlights will turn purple. It’s where I learned how to apologize. It’s where I had my first kiss, hidden behind a tree after Fourth of July fireworks.  It’s where I learned every word to Weezer’s Holiday, and where I accidentally swallowed a bunch of bugs.

As a counselor, I learned about responsibility. There was physical responsibility, like counting your campers and cleaning out horse stalls. But there’s also emotional responsibility, because when you’re living with 13 eleven year olds, you’re more than just the bedtime enforcer: you’re a role model, whether you like it or not. Camp Olympia taught me not to take myself too seriously, and to appreciate a good nap. As a counselor, I learned to wake up with a positive attitude, because you’ll never get your kids to breakfast on time if you’re frowning. It just won’t happen. It’s physics. I learned to believe in myself, because kids can smell fear. I don’t know how they do that.

I learned that working at a desk isn’t all that different than working at a camp. For every hour you spend shoveling horse tonk or paperwork, there’s an hour spent blobbing or creating something awesome. I’m just consistently pale now.

This summer, I’ll drive familiar roads through Houston to reunite with my old cabinmates to celebrate one’s wedding. We used to cheer her on as she held her breath during Dolphin Day, and now we’ll cheer her right down the aisle. We probably won’t be quite as rambunctious. Age does that.

Camp Olympia made me who I am, and I’ll never really outgrow it. But until the next time I can walk those dirt trails myself, I’m blocking all of you on Facebook because your camp photos make me super jealous.