Lessons from the Tent
Camping didn’t play a big role in my childhood. I wasn’t raised with stories of campfires and hiking trails. The first time I went as an adult, I realized how much of life I’d spent insulated from discomfort, and how that insulation had quietly shaped me.
I enjoy camping now, but not without friction. Contact lenses, cold air, middle-of-the-night bathroom runs, all reminders of how much control I usually have over my environment. But that’s also what I like about it. There’s something grounding in surrendering control, in being stripped down to essentials: warmth, light, food, shelter.
Every trip resets my perspective. The first night, my mind resists. By morning, it softens. The noises of the forest start to sound like language. The quiet tranquility gives my mind room to wander and wonder.
It’s not just about nature, it’s about humility. About remembering that life doesn’t have to be curated to be meaningful. And that a little discomfort can be a teacher if you let it.